All the Mirrors Are Broken

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“Do you have any missing art supplies?”

The woman standing in the open doorway, still blocking my entrance, blinked at me and said, “What?”

“Art supplies.  Especially high-end supplies.  Maybe some fancy imported ink.  That kind of thing.”

Her gaze dropped briefly—to take in my apparel, I’m guessing—and then she smiled at me, or at least, her mouth smiled at me.

“I’m sorry, Miss, uh—“

“Diamond.”  My mouth also smiled at her. Continue reading