"Well, don't just leave me hanging." Teddy's widened eyes looked even larger magnified by his horn rimmed glasses. The lighting of Lockers and Wardrobe wasn't as flattering as his station back in Hair and Makeup. Here, he looked way too much like our mother, ashen and severe, though I'd have rather jumped on a grenade than tell him. "Did they find any prints?"

Sliding out of my flats, I placed them in the bottom of my assigned locker. "No, nothing. He wore gloves. Just like all the other times."

"Oh my God," he murmured sympathetically, a hand to his mouth. "It's like something out of a true crime show. Wild. I'm so sorry, puddin' pop."

I shrugged with a defeated smile. After a week of dwelling on it, the incident had lost some of its edge. "I don't even wanna know what he was going to do with the mannequin."

Teddy shuddered. "Or what he did with the mannequin."

"Thanks, that was just the mental image I needed to get me through the night." Our conversation was interrupted by a wheeled rack of empire-waisted gowns as it rolled between us. I was immediately drawn to a soft rose-colored one. "Are these for me?"

"Fat chance," came the curt reply from another Kairos employee, pushing the dress just out of my reach. It made its way to the other side of the department, where a petite brunette was waiting for it.

"A simple 'no' would've been fine," I muttered, before looking to Teddy. "Where are my clothes, then?"

"Already waiting for you in the dressing rooms," he answered. "Let the lady know if something doesn't fit."

I blinked in surprise. "I don't get an attendant this time? Who's going to help me into my stays?"

"I dunno—maybe she's already in the dressing room." He waved dismissively, already on his way out. "Come find me when you're ready, mmkay?"

While I would be more than grateful for an evening that didn't involve squeezing into some kind of shape wear, something wasn't adding up. Shutting my locker with a shoulder, I watched my brother until he disappeared into the employee lounge. Hopefully he was right.

My path to the dressing rooms was blocked by a middle aged woman getting a crash course on maneuvering in a hoop skirt. I waited as she bobbed and swayed through a few awkward steps before finally spotting an opening.

Each dressing room door was set with a tiny chalkboard written with the name of the client it had been prepared for. I passed by three that were already occupied, marked with GALT, ARNETTE and SCHEU. Yet another had been recently erased and the door left hanging ajar, but the fifth was clearly mine.

BLOOM, the chalkboard read in cutesy, curly handwriting. The attendant had even gone the extra mile of turning the Os into daisies, underlining the name with a leafy vine. Too bad they hadn't put the same effort into spell checking.

Still, the Kairos dressing rooms were nice enough that I couldn't muster up much complaint as I locked the door, sealing the clamor of Wardrobe behind me. The small space was something like a well-appointed walk-in closet with its own antiqued dresser, plush ottoman and full-length mirror. There was no attendant to be seen.

The right side of the small space was dominated by a well-stocked rack of long satin dresses and woolen coats in a variety of understated prints. A few shelves held folded garments—sweaters and long skirts, I quickly discovered—along with a stack of polka-dotted hat boxes.

I shifted through the collection of hats and jeweled head wraps, eventually settling on a brown velvet cloche. Trying it on in the mirror, my reflection's faint smile soured with slow-dawning recognition. "Dammit, Ms. Little."

***

Thirty five minutes later, I crept into Hair and Makeup like I was on a covert mission. Unfortunately, Teddy was waiting for me, lounging in his salon chair with a leg draped over the padded chrome arm. As we locked eyes, the idle swinging of his foot came to a sudden halt. His mouth opened, but nothing came except stunned silence.

"There's been a mistake," I announced.

"I'll say." He popped up from his seat. "I thought you wanted to get laid, not get help with your algebra homework. You look like a middle school nightmare."

"That's not what I meant." I shot him a dirty look, but it withered under the knowledge that he was right. None of the dresses Wardrobe had picked out for me had been particularly flattering; long, shapeless, and over-sized, they made me feel like I was wearing a tent. In the end, I had opted for one of the less-slouchy sweaters and a pleated skirt. "Is it really that bad?"

"No. It's worse." Tsking, his eyes flicked down to my calves. "Is that support hose?"

The question made me self-consciously tug at my stockings. "No, but it might as well be. An attendant caught me on the way out and forced them onto me. She wouldn't let me wear garters, Teddy. She said they were 'out of style' for the time. They're rolled to my knees. Rolled! Like knee-highs!"

"For chrissake. You'll be tugging at your hose like a granny in church every fifteen minutes," he scoffed, before a devious grin spread through his features. "Well, they'll be down around your ankles by the end of the night one way or another, mm?"

"Oh, hell no. I'm not going anywhere like this." I crossed my arms. "Something's up. Last time, Ms. Little was trying the hard-sell on a bachelor from the 20s, but I told her I wasn't interested."

"Looks like she went with it anyway." Teddy tapped his chin thoughtfully before retreating to his station. Cracking open a makeup palette marked with Kairos forget-me-nots, he pulled out a small booklet and held it over his head. "Yep. This is a Lookbook from 1922."

Squinting, I could just make out the half-dozen watercolor models in fringe and feathered fascinators on the cover. "You know I like my moscato way too much to live during Prohibition."

Teddy spun the chair towards me with a pointed look. "A single dry evening won't kill you, you know."

"Unless he's so boring he drives me to drink." I glanced down the line of stylists hoping to find someone sympathetic to my plight, but Teddy's coworkers were all wrapped up with their own clients. "Couldn't you call Ms. Little? Tell her I want to go back to regency instead?"

"Regency? After last time?" He arched an eyebrow. "You're hell-bent on being somebody's mistress, aren't you?"

"That's not funny."

"Sorry, couldn't help it," he said with a blithe shrug and a flutter of his eyelashes. His shoulders dropped. "It's been a roaring dumpster fire of a week, hasn't it?"

"Nuclear-grade." I felt myself deflate with the admission. "Please call her. This has been one disaster after another."

He gave a hopeful glance to the clock, but from the fall of his face I knew he didn't have any good news for me. "I'm supposed to get you out the door in twenty-five. There's no way we can send you back to Wardrobe and get out of here on time. My supervisor will kill me."

I crossed my arms. "I guess I could cancel my appointment."

That earned me a surprised look. "And pay a last-minute cancellation fee?"

"Right. I had forgotten." Resigned, I flopped down in the chair. "I guess there's no help for it."

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad." Teddy whirled me around once. "Go out for an evening, have fun, boink somebody's great great grandpa. I'll take you out to dinner afterwards."

"Hm, that's tempting." I tapped my lip in thought. "Does it have to be somebody's grandpa? I'm too young to be a grandmother."

"Sure, sure. Somebody's great uncle, then. That better?" He unfolded a plastic cape and threw it over my shoulders. "It's not like you're stuck there forever, is what I'm saying. I've never understood that—the marriage-types, I mean. A night is one thing, but who wants to move to 1922 permanently? Who would want to live in a world without Netflix?"

I suppressed an uncomfortable squirm. "No Netflix means no Netflix and Chill."

"Fair point." Teddy pumped the chair up until my reflection appeared in the vanity mirror. "Still, there's a reason I gave you my employee discount, and it's not just because I find Kairos' queer dating pool to be a little, well, shallow."

"You're still bitter about the James Dean thing, aren't you?" I asked.

"Yes, of course I'm still bitter about the James Dean thing." He took a comb from its jar of pale green sanitizer. "You know, Elizabeth Taylor seemed pretty sure about what team Jimmy was playing for. I'm just saying that if they want to know for sure, I'd be glad to find out for them. But no, suddenly we're worried about timelines and historical integrity—"

"—For what it's worth, they wouldn't let me see Elvis, either," I sighed. "How many times have you watched Rebel Without a Cause this week?"

"I'll have you know I've only watched it three times, and once was while I was folding laundry so it barely counts," he said between strokes of the comb. "So, what were you thinking about for hair?"

"No idea, considering I was supposed to go to the 1800s." I bit my lip thoughtfully. "Throw it in a bun?"

"I mean, sure, we could do that, if you wanna be boring." He toyed with my hair, folding it under so it came to my chin. "Since I can't cut it, how about a faux bob?"

"Sure. You know better than I do." I closed my eyes as he sprayed my hair. The taste of heat protectant settled on my tongue. "So maybe life in the past isn't for you. Have you ever thought about visiting the future? Things can only get better from here, right?"

"Mm, not necessarily. Things are always fluctuating." He clicked on the styling wand. "Most parts of 1920s America are Code Blue on the visitation advisory scale. By 1950, it's been elevated to Code Orange. Later doesn't mean better."

"Oh wow. Code Orange," I breathed. "Regency England was blue, too. My hand still cramps up thinking about all the waivers I had to sign."

He sectioned off my hair and started curling. "Well, the BTA is always going to issue some special alert for women time travelers regardless of where you're heading. Bet you I wouldn't have a very hard time going back to Ancient Rome, though."

"I'll get your toga ready."

"I was thinking about pteruges, actually." Once my head was full of curls, he tore open a pack of bobby pins and poked a handful past his lips.

"Excuse me?"

"Those leather skirts the soldiers wore," he said from the side of his mouth. He tied off the bottom layer of my hair and tucked it under, pinning it in place. "Sexy. Good air flow."

My face pinched at the thought. "Seems drafty."

"Then I'll wear a pair of printed leggings under it. Start a new trend," he said flatly. The pins rolled in his mouth as he worked, until finally the last one was in place. "What do you think?"

I reached up to touch the curls that framed my face. Only a practiced eye could've seen the difference. "You've got to show me how to do this."

"It's nice, isn't it? The drama of a short haircut without the three years of intense regret," he said. "Let's get to work on your makeup. How's life at the bank?"

"Same as it always is." I braced my chin on a knuckle until Teddy shooed it away. "Corporate keeps pushing for more and more sales, but the people over in Insight keep denying every mortgage, loan, and credit card application I send their way."

He shook his head, clicking open an eyeliner pen. "Using time travel to see who will default on their payments. That's so messed up."

"That's business." My nails drummed on the armrest as I tried to stay still while Teddy dotted my lids with eyeliner. I breathed a sigh as he picked up the smudging brush. "This wasn't what I wanted to do with my life."

"So maybe it's not exactly how you envisioned things. You've done all right for yourself, though. There's a lot of people in this world with degrees that are just flipping burgers." Once the eyeliner was finished, he tapped out some eye shadow. "I'm going to work this a little further up than what you're used to. Almost to the brow line."

"That's fine." I closed my eyes. His brush strokes were faint against my lids. "And I know. I should be grateful, all things considered. I just thought I was doing the responsible thing. People always joke about the women's studies or liberal arts degrees, not law school."

"Things could always be worse," he said. I heard the palette open again. The brush strokes resumed. "I've almost got enough saved up to cover a year of college."

"And Mom still hasn't offered to help at all, has she? Did she even call on your birthday?"

"You're funny. She didn't call when I turned thirty last year, why would she start now?" He paused to tap the excess off the eye shadow wand. "At least I have my cosmetology degree to fall back on. Mmkay, what do you think?"

A halo of gunmetal grey powder glistened around my eyes. "I like it. I would've never had the courage to do it myself. It's really heavy, but it looks good."

"Makeup was just becoming a socially accepted thing in the 20s, thanks primarily to the rise of the film industry." He picked up the mascara wand. "So trends were inspired by over-the-top looks worn by the first screen stars, developed to accentuate the face in black and white. Look over my shoulder for me?"

I stared over his shoulder until the vanity lights became unfocused. "So it was more like stage makeup."

"Mmhm." He dumped a trio of lipsticks in my lap. "Pick a color. Hope you remembered to bleach your teeth, they're all pretty bold."

I turned the lipsticks over in my hand, settling on a vibrant orange-red. Holding up its tube to the light, I narrowed my eyes to make out the tiny gold letters on the side: STRAWBERRY SPICE. "Oh. Strawberry and parsnip jam."

"What?"

"Nothing." I passed it over.

"Mmhm." He didn't sound particularly convinced as he deliberated between two shades of foundation. "How would you feel about moving in with me?"

An old fashioned phone in the next room seemed to ring forever, unanswered.

"Oh, Teddy, I don't know..." I stammered. "You've always taken care of me. I really don't want to be a burden now, too."

"You're never a burden, hon." He turned my arm over and dabbed a dollop of the lighter shade against my wrist, rubbing it in with small circles. "After everything that's happened, I'd feel a lot better if you did."

"But you and Antoine—"

"—Are taking some time off," Teddy finished, looking away. "So no, you won't be crashing our love nest or anything."

"Oh, come on. You guys are always doing this." I rolled my eyes. "In two weeks he'll be back and I'll be a third wheel. No thanks."

Satisfied with the way the lighter shade looked, Teddy sponged out a small portion on my forehead, cheeks and chin. "I don't know this time. I think he's just out my league."

"Shut up. You're adorable and you know it. And he knows it too, if he's got any sense at all." The chill of the foundation made me cringe as he applied it. "So excuse me if I don't bust out the cookie dough and break up songs just yet."

"Jesus, girl, who needs a life coach when I have you?" The corner of his mouth twitched with an incoming smile. "Will you at least consider moving in? With all the rent money we'd save, we could have a pretty fun vacation in Barbados..."

"Okay, okay, I'll think on it." But I knew that it wasn't really an option. Teddy's on-again, off-again relationship aside, moving in with him felt like a temporary solution to my problem. As our conversation lapsed, a question flickered in my thoughts, growing bigger and brighter in the silence until it burned. By the time he finished outlining a cupid's bow shape onto my lips, I thought it would burst out of me. "Have you seen Samson?"

"What?" Teddy slammed a drawer closed a little too hard. "Where?"

"Here."

"No, no I haven't," my brother said in a hushed whisper, tone growing darker by the second. The lipstick opened like a switchblade in his hands. "And he had better hope that I don't."

I stared up at the ceiling. "At the end of my session last Tuesday, the door opened and there he was."

"And you're just telling me this now?" He dabbed a fluffy brush into a bright red rogue before applying it to the apples of my cheeks.

"I wasn't sure if it was worth mentioning." In reality, I'd been afraid that Teddy would overreact in typical big brother fashion—and it was clear from his expression that my concerns weren't completely unfounded. I tried changing the subject. "Shouldn't you be following the cheekbones? My face is round enough as it is."

"Actually, round faces were preferred back in the 20s. Think of the big red circles on the face of a Raggedy Anne doll," he answered without missing a beat. "Did he say anything to you?"

For the thousandth time, I replayed my conversation with Sam, scouring each line for sinister intent. I still couldn't find any. "He was friendly. Told me to call him, that we'd get lunch sometime."

"He could stand to go without a few lunches, if you ask me," Teddy muttered. "Do you think he's stalking you?"

"Ms. Little said he was one of the clients here. That's a pretty steep price tag just to stalk someone."

"That doesn't mean anything. You can't afford Kairos, but you're here on my employee discount. The man has ways of pulling strings, and he's not exactly scared of burning money."

"But why, though?" I asked. "There's much more immediate ways of trying to reestablish contact. Social media?"

"Yeah, like Sam does social media. You know, that'd explain his money problems—he probably does his taxes on an abacus." He pursed his lips, lost in thought. "Ada. The break-in."

"What?" But as I held my brother's gaze, I knew exactly what he meant. "You think Sam was the one who broke into my apartment?"

"Convenient, isn't it? Resurfacing on the same day." Teddy leaned against the vanity, arms crossed. "Almost as if he broke into your apartment to find out where you were, what you were doing."

"That'd make sense, but what about the note? The mannequin?"

He shrugged. "Maybe Sam's into some kinky shit."

I snorted with laughter, but it was short-lived. "Could you look into it? Ask around, see where he's going, who he's seeing?"

He nodded. "Let me do some snooping. Figure out who his Kairos stylist is, see what they know. I have a feeling it's probably Marcella or Ryder."

"Thanks, cuppycake. You're the best." I couldn't help but giggle as I stole another glance at my reflection. "I look like Betty Boop."

"That's the idea." Teddy leaned against the vanity and admired his handiwork, but his pleased smile flinched after a moment. "Just promise me you won't take Sam up on his offer."

"Teddy..."

"Look, I'm usually all for making bad decisions, but there's a line, and Sam St. Laurent didn't so much cross as it he did pole-vault over it." His voice was firm. "And I know you're twenty eight now, but you'll always be my baby sister. So humor me, all right?"

"All right, all right." I threw my hands up in defeat. "I promise."

"Good girl." Opening a drawer, Teddy produced a small, plastic case. "Mmkay, time for falsies."

I grinned. "Speaking of which—when is your next drag show?"

"Oh, that was smooth," he laughed. "You were saving that one, weren't you?"