Miracleman's house moves a few feet sideways, and someone comes crashing through the wall towards the street side. Looks like the other me. Sucker. There's a lot of shouting and roaring and flames from inside the house. Pity. Not about the people inside, about the decor. Very tasteful.

I duck down the alley and make my way down the mean streets. I strut and sneer and challenge everyone I pass with my outthrust chin. I'm bad, and I don't care who--

"Want some lemonade, mister?" A cherub-faced child asks from behind a hand-painted booth.

"No. And for your information, it's spelled "-ade," not "-aid." And 25 cents is a pittance. You'll never make your profit margins, and your parents will be forced to put you out on the street for not earning your keep."

The child throws a glass of lemonade in my face. "For your information, amateurish spelling is a marketing technique, considering my demographics. And the profit comes later, after they're hooked."

I spit out the lemonade. "You're not related to Gudanov, by any chance?" The child stares at me blankly. "Very well. Carry on with your shenanigans, then."

I walk the mean streets.

I slam into the concrete center stage of a repertory production of "Shakespeare on the Corner." Apparently they're doing "Twelfth Night." I've stepped--perhaps landed on is a better term--on one of Malvolio's lines. The actor seems discombobulated.

"I marvel," I whisper at him.

"I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal," he says, and nods his thanks at me. I mend the cracks in the concrete as I tiptoe off the corner/stage.

I step inside from the garden, pull off my dusty gloves and set them on the hall table. My peppermint roses are coming along nicely-- I'm a shoo-in for the fourteen-to-nineteen categories at the Garden Expo, and I might give Gudanov a run for his money in the adult competition. Though I suspect he'll beat me at giant-pumpkin growing again, due to the fact that he has access to many highly volatile chemicals and a nuclear reactor. I call it an unfair advantage, but what can you do?

I glance in the mirror over the table and frown at the smudges on my face. It comes as something of a surpripse when my reflection sticks her tongue out at me, flashes a wicked grin, and climbs out of the mirror. Less of a surprise than it would be anywhere else, though. I look my twin over critically.

"Well, you're not a clown or a beastie, so this is already going better than my last magic-mirror encounter."

"I hear that, dude. Clowns creep me. Well, obviously-- they creep you too."

A thought occurs. "Hey, shouldn't you be evil or something?"

She shrugs. "Not really. We're remarkably well-integrated people for our age. Not so much with the good side/bad side dichotomy."

"Oh, good, you've got my vocabulary. Wanna hit the Electric Maid tonight? TMLE is playing, and they're discounting Discworld on the bookstore side this week."

"Can we make that cute clerk's clothes disappear?"

At my raised eyebrow, she shrugs again. "Okay, maybe I'm a *little* eviler than you."

I don't know what idiot leaves a perfectly good mini-scooter running outside a coffe shop, but I like Darwinism in action. Wheee!

My first stop is to pick up supplies. The folks at the Sang Sacre library seem to be trusting folk - either that, or libertarians. I think the easiest route will be molotov cocktails. They're simple and cheap to make, and they have the advantage of distance. I don't want to get caught with kerosene on my hands. I have way too much work to do.

A sign catches my eye. Some people just ask to be set on fire. I zip around the back, and unleash my first bottle. Within a few minutes I get that warm, cosy feeling that only comes from arson.

Krispy Kreme. Feh.

Other!Holli and I (Evil!Holli doesn't really work, and SlightlyNaughty!Holli takes too long) spot the flames go up in the distance. We can catch the the smell of burnt sugar on the breeze; this can't be good.

"Feeling noble?"

"Nuh-uh. You?"

"No, but that could be desserts burning, and I know neither of us wants that on our conscience."

I could probably stand to get new clothes. Or throw out half of what I own. Because we're dressed the same now, dry and stretching as we pace around each other.

I'm not sure how to fight myself, but at least that means I'm not sure how to fight myself.

A quick step in, a feint, a right hook.

Fuck! Those hurt when you're better at delivering them than taking them.

We pace some more. I avoid the round kick, simply because I make sure not to be standing right there when I deliver mine. Which hits nothing but air.

Widdershins now, more slowly. I could step up to working out what I'm bad at defending, and leap forward with that, but I see the same thing in her eyes.

I need a randomizer. I start a routine of attacks in my head, flicking my gaze from side to side, hoping for something to move at the edge of my vision, outside of hers entirely.

And I get it ... I dart forwards and grab for the lapels. Not the most brilliant move, but I'm the only one making it.

When I get back Miracleman is poking a stick into his own heating vent. Everyone else is looking at a huge whole that has suddenly appeared in the wall. Everyone except Knut.

I run over to the wall. Knut is outside. He seems to be fine. Dear, sweet, brave Knut. I get tears in my eyes contemplating the wonder of Knut; the wonder of us all, really. I feel more certain than ever that if we all just work together, the world will be a better place.

What? I shake my head. I seem to have been possessed by a foreign train of thought. The mirror thing may have affected me more than I realized.

I tap Miracleman on the shoulder, causing him to send a bolt of fire across my shoes. Thank goodness for Docs.

"Say, Miracleman, do you have any idea what happens if you kill a magically engendered evil twin?"

"I saw them first!"

My evil twin glares at me.

"You did not. Bitch."

"Did so!"

We both look longingly at the black and white loafers with bat shoe clips that I'm holding. I sigh.

"Look, we could share them."

"I'm evil. I shouldn't have to."

"Yeah yeah yeah. C'mon, I'll get these, and you can get the next perfect item we find."

She sighs. "Fine. Let's stop for coffee when we're done here."

"Franks Furniture"

Honestly, what are people thinking of? Fortunately, I'm getting good at this, and fast: bottle, match, sling, and I'm off.

I'm halfway down the block when I hear the explosion.

"Spring for the apostrophe next time, jerks!"

I speed into the darkness. So much work to do, so little time.

The first thing to do is search Gert's room for clues. I need to know how long she's been planning to go bad, any hints about where she might go. I stalk across the lobby, through the big glass doors out to the courtyard. Gert's quarters are out back.

"Specially designed, handcrafted by ghouls, cost a fortune. Ingrate." I mutter under my breath. I'm not really sure exactly how I intend to face down a chaos demon. I'll worry about that later. Right now, I'm only thinking about Fiel and Enano and the others.

I grab the door handle and turn. She never locks it because, well, 8 foot chaos demon. It opens a few inches then bangs against something. I give it a couple of shoves but I can't budge it. I take a few steps back and give the door a stern look.

"No tengo tiempo para jugar. Abre." It's harder than it should be, but the door finally slides open enough for me to squeeze in. I gingerly put my foot through and brush up against something hard. I clap my hands twice and the lights come on. Gert loved the clapper.

"Huh?" I look down and see a chaos demon on the floor. "Didn't expect that."

I close the door. Light glints off the mirror hanging on the back of the door. I stoop down to try to check on Gert. How do you check a demon's pulse? All of a sudden, I'm feeling a little woozy.

"Whoo, head rush. I better sit down for a second." Gert is stirring a little, I think. "Gert, are you ok?"

"She's out like a light, but I'm feeling just fine, not that you asked."

I jump up and whirl around. The room is spinning slightly. Damn, head rush again. Once my vision clears, I see her, uh I mean me. Did I get a boob job?