I slap Hector a couple of times and admister a breif bolt of pyschic energy. He opens his eyes, and smiles at me a little shyly. "Boss never hugs me like this."

"And I don't intend to carry on," I say. Saucy bogart. "I think our friend Miracleman may need some assistance." We look at the powerful wizard rolling on the floor and Aimee's worried face, then at his bat-winged evil twin. "Oh, damn it. I'm doing something about this. Penny, Aimme, I think I know what we need to do. I can do the chanting, and if you'll just light some incense that'll help the magic take."

Hector pulls the dog end of a cigar out his pocket. I look at it. "It'll do," I decide, and light it with a flick of my fingers.

"What are you doing?" Penny asks, her arms full of ice.

"Jorcgan's Repatriation of Sundered Desires," I tell her. "Do you know it?"

She thinks for a moment, and I don't wait for the answer. I should be able to guide her power, if she'll hand it over freely. With luck, she's in enough shock she won't think about it. ('I'm really still here, you know, and you're acting on me,' nags my evil side, but I ignore it.)

I start the chant, the strength in the words making my voice louder, and slightly deeper. I sound a little like a slowed-down record.

"taht hcihw si trapa emoc rehtegot,
taht hcihw i si erised eadm hself emoceb tub erised niaga,
dna taht hcihw sekam su tnaw oteb ylthgils ythgaun i emoc kcab rednu lortnoc."

Okay, Am-Chau can do magic. That's either very useful or very scary.

"Am-Chau, my cursing/blessing ability is a hereditary gift. I'm not actually a trained witch or anything. I need some direction here." She gestures to the incense, which I light quickly.

I make a few cold compresses from the ice and towels and hand them to Miracleman and Hector. Aimee seems to know what's going on. She gets up and stands beside Am-Chau.

Am-Chau is engrossed in her spell. Her voice sounds like something from a bad horror movie. The room is starting to spin. Ugh. Nauseating. I reach for a towel.

Spinning. Ooops- that's a bad sign. My training's extensive, but practical expriments tend to go wrong.

Well, but late to stop now.

"Tsurt em, M'i a hctiw."

"Well, then..." Evil!Hec starts to say as he's crawling out of the mirror when I plug him in the face with a .45.

A couple years ago I might've bothered to talk to him. My dark side is too dangerous to let loose anymore. I get Ryan and the boys on the intercom and tell them I need a clean-up crew in my office.

I throw on my black overcoat, take the elevator down to the lobby and catch the streetcar to Town Hall. I fumble with the keys while the sky lowers oppresively and flame-breathing critters fly over head.

I flip on the lights. Huh. Haven't been here since Theresa's coronation. Long time.

Head down to the basement and open up what looks like a supply closet door. Shift a panel and a false wall swings open. Inside is an alcove with The Resistor. Sang Sacre accepts a certain amount of chaos as a matter of course. More than most places certainly. But it's still got to maintain it's structural integrity. I twist the main control nob and watch the bubble move closer to plumb. It's sort of like adjusting the horizontal hold on reality.

I can't get it all the way back, there's too much pressure on the city. But this ought to keep Evil!Twins from popping out of every mirror in town. Only people near mirrors would be affected.

Hmmm, I should check with our Tithing Elementals. They didn't do much during The Battle of Town Hall. Might be useful to have a few enormous Behemoths and Leviathans at the ready.

I'm exhausted. Blood pumping in my ears, chest heaving, bending over to catch my breath. She's kneeling a few feet away, gasping.

Well, that was a glorious waste of time. And I do mean glorious.

I glance back up towards the bathroom.

"What do you think would happen if ..."

"Let's not."

"Fair."

There's a stone to hand, knocked to the floor when I went careening into the bookshelf. I fling it at the mirror, and am rewarded with the crack of shattering glass, and the music of shards hitting the stone floor.

And an explosion. A quiet explosion, but any explosion in my bathroom is too loud.

I look down at my hands in confusion. I don't keep explosives.

I have recently encountered two things that boggle the mind. The first is that the media keeps calling these "random bombings". Hello? Anyone with a grain of taste, or a dictionary could see that my bombings are anything but random. The second is that a store could have the sheer gall to feature Ann Coulter's "book" prominently in the display window. Ah, well, perhaps this will teach them a lesson. Bottle, match, sling, and we're off.

I realize that I will have to get gas for the scooter, and more kerosene. Also, I will have to get some cash, as my double has probably cancelled the card by now. I pull up to a self-serve station. It accepts the card. Ha! Perhaps my double is keeping as busy as I.

I'm ready to call it a night and ride gloriously into the sunset when I am overcome by dizziness. Damn! This isn't good, at least not for me.

My evil twin's returned. Apparently he's reacted to the chaos by shopping. "So, what's the deal?"

"Honestly I think it's overrated. Half the town seems to be getting on fine with their evil twins, the ones who really seem intent on causing trouble are outnumbered, and they're just not playing well together anyway. There's a lot of 'There can be only one' crap out there. Do you have any tuna?"

I nod towards the pantry. "So you didn't feel inclined to join in?"

"What's the point? I figure -- ah, honey soy, good -- my life's only going to be easier if they whittle the list of contenders down to one. Then I'll consider my options. How about you?"

I sigh. "When I first came here I was rather hoping for a quiet life. Seems that may be harder to come by than I thought; apparently around here the price of freedom is eternal superpowers. Or insanely ridiculous gadgets. By the way, what were you planning to call yourself?"

"Hm?"

"If you're going to be here for any length of time, we need some means of differentiation. Plus, I'm not having a housemate I have to refer to as 'Hey you', much less 'Hey me'. So, pick a name."

"How about... Zorkoth?"

"You'd better be taking the piss."

"The Crocodile Hunter."

"So evil extends to your sense of humour."

"Yeah, yeah, let me think about it, ok? For now just call me Evil Twin -- E.T. for short."

"One more and you're looking for new accommodation."

He mutters something under his breath. It sounds suspiciously like "At least evil has a sense of humour."

Time to change the subject. "What's in the bag?"

"Oh, just some supplies. Went to RadioShack."

"You really are evil."

"You say that a lot. I do not think it means what you think it means."

"Great. I'm sharing a house with the Piranha Brothers."

He perks up. "That works for me! You can call me Doug. And meanwhile, I've made tuna sandwiches. Want one?"

"...Yeah, ok." I take a bite out of the proffered sandwich, and grimace. "It's a bit tasteless."

He shrugs. "I have evil bland issues."

I sigh. "It's lucky for you I'm letting you stay here. Out there an angry mob would lynch you within a week."

"What did you do?"

"I broke the mirror."

"Duh. But with what? What exploded?"

I look down at her feet.

"Did you throw one of those?" I ask.

"I guess so. Wonder which one ..."

There are only 24 runes in a set. Working it out shouldn' take too long.

There appear to be two more bodies in the bed than should be there by rights.

Right.

No, wait. Wrong.

I open my eyes and stare at... me. I appear to be glowering. And breaking the spine of the paperback I'm reading.

"HEY!"

"What? I'm evil, what did you expect?"

"I don't know, perhaps a Celine Dion collection. But not spine-cracking."

"I'm evil, evil has good taste, you ninny."

"Oh, right. I forgot. What's Evil Paul doing?"

Evil me looks over at the two lumps on the right. "Same thing regular Paul is doing."

"Oh, sleeping?"

"Yep."

"Heh. Want to take a shower?"

Evil me gives me a wicked grin. Shit, the bitch is going to hog the hot water.

I come back downstairs from a nice long non-talk with the gargoyles on the roof. Evil me is gone. I don't ask. Bob's in the kitchen with a bottle of beer.

"Sorted," he says. He doesn't look happy.

I shouldn't feel pleased. "Not so easy getting rid of a version of me that agrees more with your ideas on how to spend an evening?"

"God, no. She was--I think she would have done mean things to kittens. That attitude with your face messes far too much with my world view. By the time I got her to stop babbling, it was a relief."

"Mm, maybe a little TMI there."

"Sorry." He came over and actually hugged me. "She tasted horrible."

He's very nice to hold on to, so I let the hug go for a while. Then I pull back. "Since when do you like kittens?"

You'd think I'd just accused him buying tickets to a Celine Dion concert. "That's--where did you--hmph."

"You don't sulk well. It makes you look like a four-year-old who's just been told to finish his creamed corn before he gets dessert."

He gives me a serious look. "Are there any mirrors between here and hte roof? I cannot believe you actually mentioned creamed corn."

I should be out there fighting evil in all its forms and incarnations. But I have not had a happy day. "Probably only one way to be sure I'm really me. Make sure I taste right."

The doubtful look fades so fast into his patented evil-in-a-good-way grin that you'd think the face muscles would cramp. "I could do that."

Note to self: When the floods roll back, get a kitten.