We left the estate straight after lunch looking like two complete nobodies, and it felt fantastic.
Rachel clipped a small glamour disc behind my ear and tucked another into her own hair. In a shop window my reflection blurred into a stranger with dull brown eyes and a forgettable jaw. When I looked at Rachel, though, she was just Rachel. At our level, a glamour like that is a whisper to the world, not a command to the people who already know you.
"Official Saintess duties: cancelled," she said, pulling a knitted cap down over her eyebrows with a grin that was entirely, unmistakably hers.
"Nobody suits you," I said.
"So does day-off you." She laced her fingers through mine. "Come on. You've never seen Luminarc. You've only seen its meeting rooms."
