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face. A man in a Predator costume, sans face mask, screamed: Shit, I’ve been shot, shit; all the while holding a thick piece of gauze tight against his alien arm. It’s not that bad, the woman next to him said, I only shot you with a BB rifle. It was clear that she was his girlfriend. She wasn’t wearing a costume, and for that reason, she looked the weirdest in the room. The man next to the twins wore a gorilla costume with a cage attached to the front. In the cage was a man in jungle fatigues, hands wrapped around the cage’s foam bars. The twins didn’t immediately realize it was one costume, and that the wearer’s head was poking out of the gorilla’s chest, becoming the head of the caged man.
    Fire undid Water’s buttons and pushed out into the open. Staring around with open curiosity, he seemed completely at home in the melee.
    Hey, you’re not going to the Halloween pageant at the Fremont, are you, the gorilla asked the twins. ’Cause your costume looks even better than mine. The pot is five thousand dollars and frankly, I don’t need the competition.
    This isn’t a costume, Fire said. We are twins.
    Right, got you, the gorilla said. Bending down, he added in a conspiratorial whisper: I won’t tell.
    Before Fire could answer, Salazar came over and led them to an examination stall, screened off but otherwise open to the ward. Fire overheard him say to a nurse: I want a psych consult for the patient.
    Why, the nurse asked.
    Salazar looked at her name tag: Andrea Hassiba. Listen, Andrea, Salazar said. My assessment of the scene leads me to believe they are a risk to themselves.
    Fine, Nurse Hassiba said, I’ll call for one. In the meantime, it would help if you go to the admissions desk and fill out all the required paperwork. They will get the duty psychiatrist down here.
    I would rather have my own psychiatrist come down, someone who has worked with me before on police business. A Dr. Singh.
    Nurse Hassiba shrugged. Work that out with Admissions, she said.
    Salazar headed off to take care of things.
    Alone with the twins, Nurse Hassiba attempted to wrestle what she thought was a wet doll away from Water. Dressed as she was for Halloween, as a vampire, teeth and all, and having been an ER nurse for twenty years in Vegas, she had seen weirder costumes.
    Please unhand me, Fire said, his grip unexpectedly firm, all but immobilizing the nurse.
    When she realized that this was no costume, and just before she apologized and let go, a primordial look of disgust crossed her face.
    Can you fetch the doctor now, Fire asked.
    Yes, Nurse Hassiba said, glad for an excuse to leave the examination stall.
    While Water stroked Fire’s bald head, Fire rolled his eyes and muttered, Bigot, under his breath. Lost in meditation, the twins waited for the doctor.

Eight
    H ello.
    Sunil started, looking up. Sheila was standing at his door. Dr. Sheila Jackson was a colleague and one of the smartest and most beautiful women he knew. He liked her but there was something about the way she dressed, like a young Pat Benatar with spiky black hair, dark shaded eyes, boxy ’80s tweed jackets with weird lapels, Palestinian neck scarves, and ripped jeans, that made him wary of her. It was Halloween and yet Sheila wasn’t in costume. He’d always thought it was an odd way for a black woman to dress, although if pressed to explain what he meant, he wouldn’t be able to.
    Hello, Sheila, he said. You startled me.
    She sat opposite him and put her legs up on his desk. Her shoes were shiny.
    So, he said, what’s up?
    Not much. Just heading out for the day. Thought I’d stop by and warn you to stay out of Brewster’s way.
    Bruiser Brewster, as the interns called him. Bad mood, Sunil asked.
    Worse than usual, Sheila said. How’s it going, anyway, Sheila asked.
    It’s good, he said.
    Really, she asked. I’m sorry, Sunil, but all those dead apes and no results