Helena grabbed her phone and checked the time. More than an hour had passed since Madison left. If she really told someone important, they wouldn’t take long to act.

  She paced around her room, trying to think.

  Maybe she could transform into someone else? But after what happened earlier, no fucking way she would do that again.

  She hated waiting.

  A sudden noise outside made her freeze.

  A car pulling up.

  Helena swallowed hard and stepped toward the window, carefully peeking out.

  A bck car.

  Two people in suits stepped out. A man and a woman.

  Not cops. Too clean and professional.

  Something else.

  Helena clenched her jaw.

  —"Those guys are not something else. I don't like them." Helena speaks to herself out loud

  Helena’s grip tightened on the windowsill.

  She wasn’t running.

  This was her house. If they thought they could just walk in and take her, they were wrong.

  She turned away from the window, taking a breath.

  Attack the moment they step inside? Or let them talk shit first, py dumb, and see what they wanted?

  Nah. Let's do the same as always.

  A knock at the door. Firm and Professional.

  She smirked.

  They weren’t kicking it down.

  That meant they weren’t completely sure what daughter-of-devil they were dealing with.

  Helena rolled her shoulders and walked to the door.

  She unlocked it, but didn’t open it yet.

  “Who is it?” she asked, her voice casual.

  A short pause. Then the woman answered.

  “We just want to talk.”

  Helena grinned.

  “Then talk. I listen very well, you know.”

  Another pause.

  “Face to face,” the woman said. “Please.”

  They were sOoO polite. That was cute.

  She opened the door just a crack, just enough to see them.

  The man was tall. The woman was lean, sharp-eyed. Both of them looked serious.

  The woman spoke first.

  “You’re Helena, correct?”

  “Want an autograph?.”

  The man frowned slightly, but the woman didn’t react.

  “We’re investigating the recent… incidents in the city,” she said. “We have reason to believe you might know something about them.”

  Helena tilted her head.

  “Oh?”

  The woman nodded.

  “Would you be willing to come with us for some questions?”

  Helena smiled, slow and zy.

  “No.”

  Then, the man took a step forward.

  And Helena smmed the door shut in his face.

  — "You're not going to catch me, you office supervisor!"

  Helena grinned as she pressed her palm against the door, her fingers tingling with magic.

  If they wanted to have a autograph, she’d make it memorable. They're going to be the autograph.

  Outside, she heard the woman sigh.

  “Look, we don’t want to—”

  Helena flicked her wrist and interrupted her.

  — "But i want, red-hair."

  The woman screamed.

  A wet, bubbling sound filled the air as her ginger hair melted, strands liquefying into a boiling-hot orange fluid that dripped onto her shoulders, down her arms, starting to oozing on her body, burning her skin and clothes.

  She screamed by this infernal pain, clutching at her head, but the more she touched it, the more it spread, thick, molten strands running down her body like va.

  The man barely had time to react. He reached for his weapon.

  Helena snapped her fingers and his body colpsed.

  Limbs twisted, shrank, bones breaking, flesh morphed.

  In less than two seconds, he was nothing but fabric.

  A pair of blue and softs ballet fts.

  Helena picked it up, feeling the material flex in her hands.

  “Hmm.”

  The shoe trembled.

  The woman was still screaming outside, stumbling backward, trying to wipe away the burning liquid, but it only clung tighter, searing her skin with each second.

  Helena just watched.

  Then, without a care in the world, she slipped her foot into the transformed man.

  Perfect fit.

  She giggled.

  “Ooh, At least now you have a life purpose. Be used in my little feet. ” She ughs silently "You're also more beautiful with this color."