I gave my best friends two friendly middle fingers, and then, embarrassed by the attention, I nervously pulled out my ponytail in order to fix it up tighter. When Grizzie hissed, I cursed as I realized my mistake.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?” she demanded. “Some of it's… missing.”

I sighed. I may have emerged from Conleth's Boston attack unscathed, but my hair hadn't. The first time I went to brush it out after the attack, I'd realized that my brush strokes were shorter in the very back. I really needed to get it fixed, but I was afraid a hairdresser would cut all of it off, and I'd always had long hair.

That said, I did look like I had an inverse mullet. Plus, my hair was a constant reminder of the awful week I'd just had. When I'd first gotten back to Rockabill, I'd been terrified every minute of every day that I was going to get a phone call while at work that my dad had been barbecued, or a phone call at home that Grizzie and Tracy had been torched in their beds. I wasn't big on getting attacked myself, but I was more frightened about my family and friends.

Nell, however, had been a constant presence, popping up in the most unlikely places to give me a little wave of her chubby hand and a reassurance that she'd just checked on everyone. Also, when Ryu hadn't been able to get hold of Anyan, he'd sent Daoud and Caleb back with me. Introduced as friends from college, and glamoured to hell so my dad wouldn't notice Caleb's goatier half, they'd immediately started playing poker with my father and had only stopped to sleep and eat since. Luckily, they played for pennies or I think both supes would have been wiped out financially. They'd assumed a mere human would be easy pickings, until my poker-god father beat them at nearly every hand.

Thankfully, however, there hadn't even been a wisp of smoke to indicate that Conleth was in any way aware of who I was or where I lived. He was definitely still in Boston, taking potshots at Ryu, Stefan, and their deputies whenever he got the chance. But he seemed distracted, or at least not as intent on killing everyone and anyone as he had been the first round. Which made me wonder if he wasn't just trying to come home and going about it in the only bass-ackward, violent way he knew how.

Caleb and Daoud were scheduled to stay another few days, and I did finally feel safe again. So even though I still hated the idea of leaving Ryu behind with a very powerful and very murderous halfling, I felt we'd done the right thing. Ryu didn't have to worry about me, I didn't have to worry about Conleth, and we could get back to “normal” life. For me, that meant training, and for Ryu, that meant chasing down baddies.

And for Grizzie, it meant freaking out about my hair.

“Seriously, what the fuck did you do to it? It looks like it's been burned. It looks like shit…”

“Grizzie!” Tracy barked.

“What?” my ever-so-honest friend whined. “It does. I mean, look at it!”

I buried my face in my hands as Grizzie picked up the sizzled bit at my nape and held it up for Tracy to see. Even Tracy was flummoxed.

“We are getting this fixed, missy,” Grizzie threatened.

“Griz, no… I'm just going to let it grow out,” I gasped, panicked.

“Hell no. You can't just let that shit grow out. It's awful.”

“I know, but I know a hairdresser will just cut it all, and I don't want short hair! So I'm just going to let it grow—”

“Nonsense,” Grizzie snapped, pulling out her cell phone. When I made to protest again, she silenced me with a stern purple look. And a kick to the shins.

“Salim?” she cooed. “I know this is last minute, but I have an emergency. And I mean an E. Merge. En. See. Like of biblical proportions… No, not me. A friend. Thank God!… I know, right? But, yeah, she looks absolutely craptastic… If I get her there in one hour, can you work your magic?… All righty, see you soon… Mwah,” she finished, kissing into the phone.

“C'mon, Jane. Get your coat. We've got to go now to make it to Eastport in time,” Grizzie said, as she stood.

I glared up at her mutinously. “I don't want my hair chopped off!”

“Salim will fix it, not chop it off. He's a genius. And you look like a mental patient, Jane. Even more than you did when you were a mental patient.”

“Grizzie!” Tracy gasped, throwing me an apologetic look. But I was already giggling.

“You are such a bitch, Griz.” Then I remembered I had a trump card. “Okay, fine,” I said, my voice gone crafty. “I'll go with you to see this Salim person if… you tell me where it is you go when you disappear.” I figured I had her there. That was her biggest secret, the thing no one knew besides Tracy. She'd never agree to tell me… .

Grizzie eyed me appraisingly, her lips pursed. Tracy appeared to be holding her breath. Finally Grizzie nodded sharply.

“Fine, Jane. I owe you the truth after all these years. And I've been wanting to talk to you, anyway. We'll kill two birds with one stone. So get your coat.”

Shocked, I did as she told me, trailing behind her to her car. I couldn't believe, after all these years, Grizzie was going to tell me her secrets. The question was…

Could I handle the truth?

The hairy man eyeballed me lasciviously, his full lips slowly pursing into what I think was supposed to be a “come hither” smile. I backed away a step.

“Salim, this is Jane. Her hair is horrifying. Fix her.”

Salim let his eyes rove over Grizzie. Then I watched as they roved over another passing customer. Then they roved over his own image in the mirror, at which time he noticeably sucked in his paunch. Finally, he deigned to return his attention to us.

“Darling. Of course. I will fix your friend.” His gaze again raked over me. “Oh, yes. An hour with Salim and she will be beautiful.” Salim's throaty accent spoke of desert heat, sweet tea poured by soft women, and sex. Tons and tons of insanely raunchy sex. Which was no small feat, considering he was only about three inches taller than my five-foot-one and about as wide across. Masses of chest hair sprang from his half-unbuttoned shirt, flowing up his neck to blend seamlessly with his longish stubble and then spraying out of the top of his head in a thick wave of carefully coiffured jet-black curls.

“Darling. This hair. It is… unfortunate. But Salim make it beautiful. Oh, yes. Do you know Salim's method?”

I shook my head. I hadn't known there'd be a “method” involved.

“First I cut you wet. Then I cut you dry,” Salim said, finally looking me in the eyes. “Have you ever been cut dry before?”

I had no idea what he meant, but I had a funny feeling he wasn't just talking about hair. I responded by doing an ambiguously circular “maybe it's a nod, maybe it's a shake” motion with my head.

Salim clapped his hands sharply and I jumped. “Today. I cut you dry. ALFRED!” he bellowed, nearly making me jump out of my skin.

A large man with a doughy face shuffled over, clearly terrified of the hirsute tyrant standing before me.

“Alfred. Take Jane. Prepare her for me.”

I swear Alfred actually bowed before turning to me with a kind, if harried, expression and nodded toward a row of sinks in the back of the salon. I followed, grateful that my “preparation” only involved a shampoo. At this point, I wasn't sure if Salim had misunderstood my desire for a haircut and was, instead, treating me to a sampling of his patented sexual-harassment treatment.

I was profoundly grateful I wasn't there for a facial.

Alfred's huge hands were clumsy, if gentle, on my head, and he managed to get water all down my back. Scared that Salim would actually beat Alfred in front of me, I vowed to go to my grave keeping my damp skin a secret. Finally, I was returned to where Salim waited for me, standing behind an empty chair. Grizzie sprawled in the chair next to him, her kinky purple catsuit clinging to her surgically enhanced frame.

Upon delivering me, Salim barked something at Alfred in a foreign language and the huge man skittered off.

“My cousin. From Lebanon,” Salim informed me, as he draped me in plastic and began furiously jacking up my chair, his fat little leg pumping like a scratching rabbit. “He's an idiot. But family. Did he get you wet?”

“No,” I replied, reminding myself not to squirm as my soaked shirt pressed against the back of the chair.

“Good. Only I get you wet. Ha!”

Grizzie shrugged her shoulders at me, apologetically, as Salim began moving about my head, peering and poking and pulling. I met her eyes in the mirror, trying to remind her that it was her turn to spill. She smiled.

“Jane wants to know my secret, Salim.”

I pulled a face, unable to believe Grizzie's hairdresser knew her secret when I, one of her best friends, did not. But I guess what they say about hairdressers and gynecologists knowing everything about their clients is true.

“Ha!” Salim barked, again, as he began furiously stroking the right side of my head with both hands.

“Should I tell her?”

“Hmm.” The hairy little man shrugged, starting in on my left side.