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with bright green flecks topped a short leather skirt died
bright orange. I’d slipped a purple headband into my dark, auburn hair and I’d
even donned a brand new pair of bright-blue leather boots. It was a
headache-inducing getup and it made my heart light just to look at it.
    The best part was the horrified reactions I’d been getting
since Myra had deposited me on the celestial plane. You’d think the Big Guy had
invited Freddy frunkin’ Krueger to tea. A couple of them had even suggested I
might want to change into something a little less…bright…before meeting my
therapist for the first time.
    I’d briefly considered planting a bright-blue boot in their
nether regions for their trouble. Looking down at said boots, I frowned. Did
they look a shade less bright? Or was I just getting used to them?
    “Mx. Phelps?”
    She was standing in front of an open door with a
pale-skinned hand splayed on its surface. I hadn’t even seen her move. When I
looked at her she inclined her head toward the door. “He’s waiting.”
    Stepping past the snooty receptionist, I noted the way she
leaned away from me, as if touching the pretty colors would infect the stick up
her ass and transform it into a rainbow. Personally I thought it might do her
some good.
    I entered the room and looked around, not surprised to see
that it looked pretty much the same as the waiting room. With one notable
exception.
    Bathed in silver light from a nearby window, a man sat
behind another white desk, this one much larger. He was skinny to the point of
emaciated and, judging from his long arms and legs, looked very tall. He was
dressed all in white and had pale skin—again, not a surprise—and his large
hands were folded in front of him on the desk. He had small, dark-brown eyes
and a wide mouth, with lips that were just a shade redder than usual, and a
frothy cap of bright-green hair.
    I grinned.
    He smiled back and stood, offering me one of his large
hands. “Mx. Phelps, I’m Gus. I’ll be your celestial counselor while you’re
here.”
    “Nice hair, Gus.”
    He reached up and patted the tangled, green mop. “Thank you.
Enjoy it while you can.”
    I frowned as he indicated the white couch across the room.
“Would you like to sit? Or lie down?”
    “Actually, Gus. I’d like to run like hell.”
    Gus nodded but didn’t look surprised. “Why don’t we
compromise and you can just pace.”
    “Deal.”
    Gus sat down and folded his hands on top of the desk. He
watched me pace for a few minutes, saying nothing. Finally I stopped and looked
at him. “Do you want me to start?”
    Gus shrugged. “If you want.”
    I frowned. Was this some kind of sick joke? “What if I said
I just wanted to leave?”
    Gus shrugged again. “You’re not a prisoner here, Astra.”
    I stared at him for a minute and then it hit me. He was
being tricky. “I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to impress on me that I
need to work at this to fix it. That it’s up to me to make myself get better.
And that if I’m not willing to try I’m not going to get better.”
    Again he shrugged. He reached up and scratched the mop of
green on his head with one finger.
    I gritted my teeth against a wave of temper. Despite the fun
addition of the green hair, Gus was starting to piss me off. “I wouldn’t be
here if I didn’t want to get better.”
    He cocked his grass-colored head. “Really? Are you sure
about that?”
    I frowned. “Is that a trick question?”
    “Do you realize you answered a question with a question?”
    “Is that bad?”
    “Don’t you know only therapists are allowed to do that?”
    I looked at him. He looked at me. I grinned. He smiled. “How
is this gonna go, Gus?”
    His smile widened. “Would you like to sit now?”
    With a sigh I admitted defeat. “Would you be pleased if I did?”
    He snorted. “Would you care if I was?”
    I sat, crossed my legs, and clasped my hands in my lap.
Frowning, I noticed my pretty boots were no longer