Kali is lying next to me.

She often wakes before me, and it is obvious she is awake now. Her eyes meet mine, expecting something. I begin rolling up the blanket. Heat still clings to it, and leaves hang off the back. I begin picking out forest clutter, one clump of decaying plant matter at a time, and settle myself to the earth while the others awake.

"Elle? You sleep well?" she asks.

"Yes." I say. "You?"

"Well as I ever do." she says. "By the way, that's terribly." She laughs.

"Oh." I am about a quarter through the blanket. The city is a half day away. It will fall on me to con us accomodations.

"I'm going to go bitch at Red," she says. "Feel free to come on over. Or don't."

I am halfway done with the blanket and half of the group is up. Carrying it while everyone walks is going to be a nuisance but I can't ask them to hold for my purposes. "Do what you like," I respond, another message humming under the surface.

Angel is singing again when we get on the road. She is not good at it and none of us remember lyrics from any song we've heard in the cities. The result is a disoriented mash of lyrics. Damien joins in, carefully, and begins going on about harmonies. Angel nods intently, dropping a few bags in a hustle to get to her notes. Angel has five notebooks full of notes. I have looked through them in the past, but the handwriting is atrocious and the content is banal.

The singing hits a sharp high.

"Would you mind?" I ask.

"Mind what?" asks Damien.

I remain silent.

"I'm sorry. Is my singing really that bad?" Angel asks, her hands on her hips. Her lip pouts slightly, and she squints at me from behind her near opaque glasses.

"Is there going to be a fight? Woah, is Angel going to fight Elle?" Mary asks, her hand on Damien's head.

I twitch with irritation. "No."

"No," agrees Angel, "But I think you're being unnecessarily harsh--"

"I'd just like some quiet." I say, this time more forcefully. The group abates, the fog that comes over the eyes of those I coerce settling over them and slackening their expressions.

"That's fair enough," Angel says beneath her breath. "If it really unsettles you that much, we'll practice some other time. Sorry, I'm a little bit--"

I hold up a hand, lips drawing back into a timid, innocent smile. "It's fine."

I catch mismatched eyes in my periphery. Dylan, who is watching the middle of the group, watches clear-sighted and catches my eyes.

The sky above is the same shade of blue. I watch it for several miles, the town ahead already at the back of my mind. Meanwhile, I pluck the blanket clean of leaf clutter. When this is done, I look at my bags, identifying bulging shapes in the groceries. I think about food and a potential grocery run. Anything besides squirrels strikes the group as fine cuisine.

I despise squirrels.

The first buildings of the town appear from around the bend. The town starts quite suddenly, which is discomforting. The group breathes out a collective sigh. My eyes fall on a nearby grocery as Red talks to the others, splitting them into more covert groups. His lieutenant is at his arm. I feel my skin prickle.

I announce to no one, "I'm leaving."

Dylan is at my side out of nowhere. Horns no longer adorn his head and he is wearing casual clothing, but he can't do anything about the brown markings on his face. He is the opposite of covert. "You're going into town again?"

"Everyone is going into town. We are inside the town right now."

"But you're going into town. For food." he specifies.

"We're low on everything." I say.

"Good, good." He leans in. His breath is not pleasant. "So Elle. I know this isn't on the list, but listen... you should get me some scotch."

"I'm not getting you scotch. You're underaged."

His form shifts gently, gaining a few extra inches easily as one might rise onto their tiptoes. "Am I, Elle?" he asks in a deeper voice.

I lift one eyebrow.

"Elle, I've seen you drinking wine. We don't get intoxicated- that's a superpower onto itself." He leans in, his older form melting away in the sunlight, "Get scoooootch."

"This is an egregious appropriation of our funds." I say.

Dylan winks, handing me several more half-empty bags. He raises goosebumps all up my arm when his skin touches mine. "Love you, Elle!"

I want to strangle him.

The money we have, fragile accumulation though it might be, lies at the bottom of my bag. The plastic is tearing. Dylan's bags have soup cans that have been scraped clean and a few cylindrical containers of salted chips. I can see the grease on the topmost one. Its curve gives the impression of a frown.

Revolting.

I enter the store, the burden of interaction falling away like a coat lifting from my shoulders. I avoid the sterile isles and walk into the bathroom. It is empty, and there are no stalls--I turn on the lock and click it shut, turning to the mirror. With elation, I run a hand along my face, subtly altering my features. I run color over the lips, lengthen the lashes, mess with the hair, and draw my hands towards my chest to correct other features. I am unidentifiable when I have finished, and the rush of it overwhelms me. I smile at his new person, whose teeth are whiter than chalk, and she grins back.

I pull the strings of my body towards, hand clenching around the door, and entire the grocery again. The list is engraved into the finest workings of my mind, and I meander the halls, plucking cans and boxes from their shelves. The coloring of each is different, neon to the extent no flower could reach, and the smell is excruciating.

Fake person. Fake food.

Humans browse the shelves, most in drab, unassuming wear whose color does not atone for the lack of care. They do not speak to each other, but my mouth splits into a white-toothed smile as I pass and people stare at the face, the assets, search my body for the invisible strings.

Humans, separate from each other, line the isles. It's a shame-- they have the whole world's worth of people to talk to, yet somehow they always end up being irreversibly lonely.

The cashier watches me, her every breath tense, and I reach the end of my funds. I look to her, lips pursed. The conveyor belt halts as I raise a hand to my mouth, revealing my modest pool of green papers and assorted coins. "I'm so-o-o sorry, I'll put these back." I say, reaching daintily for a bag of orange, despicable 'macaroni'.

The clerk laughs, blushing. "No need." Her hand meets mine and she looks up, face flushed. "I'll d-de-deduct that..."

"Would you be so kind?" I ask, intensifying the power of each syllable. The easy grace of charm lights my face.

"Yes." she gulps. "Of course. Do you need anything else? May I help you?"

"If you must."

She types something out on the register and hands me a white paper. I pass over a smaller wad of cash, which she places in the register. She frantically begins bagging and when I lift them from her, leaving the store, I hear her call after me: "Have a nice day!"

The store is bordered by trees on one side. I exit and lean against one, holding three bags in each hand, and will my features back to normal. My body settles onto skin, and I sight with relief. The only thing that has ever made this form desirable is wearing another. The body is better, but she, too, is not a real person. She is as much a shell as the woman in the supermarket, but the thing beneath her is one layer closer to the surface. It writhes under the skin like a thousand ants.

Calm, Elle.

I breathe out, nostrils flaring, and obey. I feel wind toss my dark hair, the silken threads rising before clinging to my back.

I can not see the others through the trees. My hand meats bark, coarse below me, and I press off. The streets are long. Someone will know where to find me. It would be hard to get rid of them.

The bags weigh heavy on both my arms. I pass them off on a dusty-haired stranger, distinguished by the flecking across his face and arms.

"Put sleeves on." I say. "They can see your..."

Dylan looks up, daring me to finish. His eyes are embers, and then they soften, face broken into a smile. "Did you get the scotch, Elle?"

I hand him a bag. A delicate bottle lies within, the orange liquid quivering with the slight movements of my arm.

He whistles. "You're the best."

"Anything for you," I say, faking a smile. "You're quite the charmer." Get out of my face.

"Really? I had gotten the impression you were pretty convincing yourself." His voice lowers. "There are rules against using your powers on other Amalgams, Elle."

My face holds on a neutral expression, but I feel my nose twitch. "You act as if the middle children don't use their Veritas like playthings. You were endangering our safety earlier for petty reasons. Mimsy is almost never not a threat to our safety. Angel has little she could use and Trace and Adaline would use their powers constantly if they could control them. Red is..."

"You watch your mouth."

My eyes sweep over his violent expression, casting down my gaze. My lips meet. "Everyone in this group is a problem. You're fooling yourself to think otherwise."

"I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about your particular set of abilities, Elle."

"I'll be more cautious if it pleases you."

"Don't make this weird, Elle."

My eyes narrow. "I will not manipulate them again."

"Glad we had this talk." Dylan says, looking back into the distance at the assembling others. He makes a swift turn, going to rejoin Red. When he grips the other's hand, they are at once made invincible, energy humming between them. My heart thrashes in my chest, a singular action. I raise a hand to it, mind stirring with the vaguest image of people in pairs.

I press up the sides of my face into a grin, and Dylan looks right through me. Fear holds me at the neck. "Have a nice day."