“Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?”

I enter the supervillain’s kitchen. Stood nose to the floor is a 1950 A-bomb.

“No wonder we’re dead in space!”

“Please help me,” Amy asked, approaching cautiously. “I need a ride.”

“It’s a spell?”

His suit is impeccable, the physique under it attractive. His head is a skull.

“Isn’t this a paradox?”

“I don’t do changing back,” Circe says.

Power is restored with a smoky haze of ozone.

It turns. It sees him.

The marine points at the mysterious rift. “2D-Bs!”

Can the Yanoth hear our thoughts in our hijacked bodies?

“You believe monsters or gods will save you?”

“We look like Ghostbusters,” he says.

We grew up together, and I could never love another.

“They can’t see me,” the girl wept. “How can I be home, and they can’t even see me?”

I found a skeleton key. It fits no door in the abandoned house.

“I feel alive again,” she says leaving the masquerade, “but you love a lie.”

“Shut up,” she stomps. “*Shut up!*”

“I see an angel. What do you see?”

His heart pounds. “I’m a software designer.” “A god of technology,” she says. “I’m not, Hephaestus.”