“Your disguise as a boy is lots better from in front than from behind,” he said with a grin..

 
We were going up the stairs to find the phone when we heard Neary ask in a strange voice, “You’re not going to leave me down here alone for another six years, are you?”

Travis squeezed past me to go back and retrieve the lonesome mirror, then he followed me up the stairs. He muttered something just as we got to the top and I responded with an intelligent remark. “Huh?” I said.

“Your disguise as a boy is lots better from in front than from behind,” he said with a grin.

“Hmph,” I said, not admitting that I might have added a bit of extra wiggle, knowing he was back there. I’m pretty sure I blushed. My feelings for Travis were in total conflict with my former self-identification as a straight boy. I couldn’t help but smile, though, absurdly pleased that he had been looking at my butt.

Travis handed me the mirror which I put down on the kitchen cabinet, leaning it against the wall. “Thank you, Jonni,” Neary said. “I hate being left in the dark.”

“Were you really alone in the basement for six years?”

“Yes,” said Neary. “I can see out of the mirror, even while not summoned, but there was nothing going on and no one to talk to.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Wonder you’re not as nutty as a pecan pie,” I commented.

“I did have other avenues for entertainment,” he admitted. “Anytime anyone talks to a mirror anywhere in the world, I can listen in and see out for a time.”

I thought about that for another moment. “Yikes,” I said. “Remind me—”

But Travis had dialed a number and was talking to Sol Berger, the lawyer, by then and motioned for us to be quiet.

“Mr. Berger,” he said, “I’m interested in hiring you regarding a real estate transaction.” He listened for a bit then said, informatively, “Uh-huh.” Then later, “Yeah, we can do that.”

We? I wondered.

Travis said, “Let me get something to write with.” He looked at me, and I magicked up a pencil and a pad of paper for him. He scribbled a downtown address on the pad and promised to be there at 3 p.m.

“Can I go, too?” I wheedled. “Please?” The “we” had encouraged me.

“Sure,” he agreed. “And I think we should start by creating some new identities for ourselves. Mirror, can Jonny do this? Create IDs we can use that won’t attract attention?”

I blinked, startled at the idea. But Travis had a point. One way to avoid having problems with our own identities would be to have alternates.

Neary spoke. “You would want clean IDs that no one would be looking for but would stand up to scrutiny. Yes, I believe such could be found.”

“Can we be just a little bit older? Like make me eighteen at least,” I suggested. I couldn’t resist giggling, remembering Travis’s restriction on dating girls under seventeen. Well? I’m a genie, maneuvering and manipulating seem to be part of the job description.

“Mmphm.” Travis was non-committal

“Via Genie magic, almost any sort of ID could be created and supported with documentation,” said Neary. “What you want is unused identities, with documents that can be altered to fit you two.”

We discussed this with the mirror. One thing got settled early during this.

“Either we figure out how to change me back to me,” I said, “or we don’t. If we do, all is keen and hunky-dory, and I’m me, and we have no problems. If not, then I’m stuck as a girl, a genie, or both.”

“Uh,” said Travis.

“If I’m stuck, then I’m going to need a female ID since part of the magic makes it hard to disguise me as a boy.”

“Okay,” Travis agreed. “I see where you’re going with this.” He looked at Neary. “Who would be the best two, safe and unused, identities we could assume, both for the purpose of seeing the lawyer to acquire this house and for long time use?”

“Good question,” said the man in the mirror approvingly. “Thomas Mikkelson, of Davenport, Iowa and Marisol, Texas, was twenty-six when he disappeared in the Caribbean last year. He was a minor member of a drug cartel, and no one misses him. Do you want to know what really happened to him?”

“No,” said Travis with a shudder.

“It’s not so much gruesome as just stupid,” said Neary, “but he had no close relatives, and there are no good recent pictures of him anywhere. He even has the same initials you have.”

“Okay, he sounds perfect,” Travis said.

“For Jonni,” Neary began, and I leaned forward to listen. “There’s Jacqueline Waalfort, of Great Neck, New York, age nineteen, sneaked out of the country to elope with her boyfriend two years ago and is currently living under an assumed name in South Africa and extremely unlikely to return to the US. And no one is looking for her because her family knows where she is now.”

“Jacquie?” I tried the name out.

“Here’s a picture of her from her high school yearbook.” The mirror changed image to show a blonde with curly hair and dimples.

Travis shook his head. “You don’t have to look like her,” he said to me. “I’d prefer you looked like yourself, but, uh, but I guess, you know, uh, female?”

Was he blushing? I giggled and nodded, taking the thought that he preferred me to be female as progress of sorts. Well, if I were going to be stuck, anyway….

We discussed the wording of the wish with Neary, it got long and complicated but we wanted to be able to see ourselves before we went to talk to the lawyer and we wanted to include business-appropriate clothing. Travis used his fifth question to double check with the mirror that we had a good wish that wouldn’t have any bad side effects.

“As good as may be,” Neary admitted. “Please don’t wait too long before you call me back,” he pleaded before his image disappeared from the mirror.

“We won’t,” Travis promised. Then he looked at me. “Do it,” he said.

I giggled. I had a picture in my mind of what I wanted Jacquie to look like, something like some of the old photos of my mother. This might be the face I used for a long time. I did my wishing job, ending with the blink.

And there stood Travis, very handsome in a blue-gray Western-cut business suit which alone made him look older. He stared at me, and I stared at him.

“You look lovely,” he spoke first. “Very demure and grown-up, Jacquie,” he added, using the new name.

“Thomas,” I said. “You look scrumptious.” And I giggled.

He grinned. “Jonny,” he began but left off. I might have been wrong, but I thought I could guess what he was thinking.

“I am all grown-up, now,” I said to tease him. I stood on tiptoe in my sensible, business heels, still six inches or more shorter than he was.

He shook his head. “We both know you’re still only fifteen,” he said. “Let’s check our documentation.” He pulled a tooled leather wallet out of his inside jacket pocket.

I checked in the mirror first. I wore a pink and white business ensemble with dark blond hair down to the middle of my back and some very good makeup. I’d have to learn to do that, I thought. I also had a purse that matched my suit, and I took it out to look it over. We had included in the wish that we would have California IDs, Neary had said that the magic would have no trouble inserting the appropriate information into records to make our paperwork legit.

I did have a California ID in the name of Jacqueline Constance Waalfort, showing my age as nineteen but it wasn’t a driver’s license. I pouted a bit over that but reflected that it was just as well since I really did not know how to drive. In fact, Travis’s real DL was less than a year old.

Travis, or Thomas, grinned at me. I used my dimples back at him. I magicked up a briefcase (my own from my closet in the house next door) and we filled it with the money.

“Don’t wait up for us, Neary,” Travis called out. The mirror blinked once. “Okay, Babe,” he said to me, “can you nod us downtown about half a block from Sol Berger’s office without a wish?”

I nodded, resisting the temptation to wiggle all over. ‘Babe” was what he called his girlfriends!

He pointed at me. “Do it,” he said.

I did.