Thinking of Garkin, I realized that a card like this would be a really good practical joke. What if you planted one of these where a buddy couldn't resist picking it up? I chuckled.

The others were still staring. I glared back.

"Knock it off, guys. It's still me in here."

"Um, well," Parvattani gulped, his cheeks a brilliant teal in embarrassment.

"Not Skeeve," Chumley rumbled.

"Yeah." I sighed. "Well, we can't leave this hanging around." I picked up the orange square and tried to snap it between my fingers. Her fingers. In any case, they weren't strong enough. "Hey, Chumley, do you mind?"

"Not at all."

"Hey, monsieur," the mall-rat protested, struggling with his guards. "Don't do it!"

"Shut up," I barked. "Break it," I ordered.

The Troll took the card from me and bent it in half. It broke with a clap of thunder.

The next thing I knew I was flat on my back, staring up into the anxious faces of Parvattani's guards.

"Back off," I snarled.

My body was my own again, my handsome scales restored to their bright green, my clawlike fingernails intact, the fingers reduced to the right number. The guards jumped back. I staggered to my feet and tested my head to make sure it was still fastened on.

"That kicks like a mule. Gimme the next one."

"Isn't that a bad idea, Aahz?" Massha asked, worry written all over her big face. Her voice seemed to echo in my head.

"Not if I disinvoke before we break them," I insisted. I gestured toward the rat, who was crooning a worried song to himself. "He didn't go into a fit when I fell over, did he?"

"Nossir!" exclaimed the two guards flanking the prisoner.

I turned back to Massha and Chumley. "See?"

The mall-rat stared at me in astonishment. "You must be of the ultimate toughness, monsieur. That snapback killed Farout."

"Who's Farout?"

The rat, sensing he had said too much, clamped his jaws shut.

"Never mind." I waved a dismissive hand and reached for the next one.

"Me try?" Chumley suggested.

"No way," I stated firmly. "If I become something large and hostile, you'll have to be the one to sit on me. Let's get this out of the way and identify the Skeeve card. We can be back at the Bazaar in an hour. We'll just wing through them until we get the right one."

Par cleared his throat. "Aahz, we must keep a list of the—er, people-a you become. They are all-a victims inna this, too."

I raised an eyebrow. Massha nodded.

"Just because we're getting what we want doesn't mean we can't spend a little more time and help The Mall," she pointed out. 'Think how their friends and family feel about the violation of their identities."

"Aww." But Massha was right. "I'll do it," I agreed.

We repaired to Moa's office. We brought the administrator up to date, though he'd been following the chase by crystal ball. He was fascinated by the whole process, by the cards, and my experience with the first one.

"No wonder we've never been able to detect the thieves in all this time," he exclaimed, thumbing through the stack again and again. "Remarkable, remarkable." He glanced at Eskina. "Young lady, maybe I owe you an apology."

Eskina tossed her head. "And maybe I accept."

"We've got to go through the rest of these," I explained. "Thought it'd be nice to do it in more comfortable surroundings, where it's more private."

"Of course, Aahz, of course," Moa insisted hospitably, spreading out his hands. "It's nice to find such consideration in the world."

"Er, speaking of consideration" I began, then interrupted myself. "Never mind! I just need some space, all right?"

"Whatever you say," Moa assured me. "Would you like to use my office?"

I glanced around at the furnishings, especially the handsome upholstery and the range of breakables on the walls and tabletops.

"Better not," I stated. "If I can't control the cards, I might end up redecorating in here."

We ended up in an empty storeroom down the hall from the offices. Two of Parvattani's guards stood sentry outside the door. Four of them hung out at each wall. Massha, Chumley, and, to my extreme annoyance, Woofle stood at a safe distance, but close enough to jump on me if I needed it. All of them were watching me nervously.

I invoked the next card.

I have experimented with magik a lot. Not during my younger days, when I was way too serious, but later on, sometimes out of necessity, other times out of boredom, but I had never come across anything like the Ratislavan system. Like most magicians I was accustomed to taking my power out of the lines of force present in nearly every dimension to a greater or lesser extent. Nature renewed that flow. It was impersonal, neither good nor evil, and a magician could make use of it according to his, her, or its own talents, gifts, and inclination. This was different. I could feel power coming through me from the card in my hand, a weak trickle, and with it came a personality.

If you have never been possessed, don't. Let me give you my spur-of-the-moment reaction to using the card: it was weird. I knew who I was, Aahzmandius, Pervect, and all the millions of little details that make me me, but at the same time I knew I was also Dreo, a wood-carver from Creet. I thought of myself—my borrowed self—as a nice enough guy, but I didn't like to be around a lot of other people. I could almost sense through the walls the thousands of other shoppers. It made me jumpy. This was directly opposed to me, Aahz, who likes being in the midst of the bustle of a busy place. The two personalities rubbed one another raw. It was worse than telepathy; there was no place to hide from the other guy. I found myself feeling sorry for hydras.

"What's his-a name, Aahz?" Par asked, clipboard at the ready.

"Dreo. Cretin. I mean, Creetan," I corrected, at the fierce urging of the "visitor" in my head.

I pushed the card away. Soon, but not soon enough, I was alone in my head again.

"This could be marketable," Woofle was saying, as I snapped out of it.

"No," I bellowed.

He gave me an annoyed look. I liked the finance guy less than ever.

"Never. I can't even begin to tell you what a bad idea that would be. You'd be asking for assassination attempts, or worse, lawsuits, if you tried to sell this process over the counter. You like it so much, you try it."

"All right," Woofle snarled, accepting the challenge.

He took a card from Massha. Once he had chanted the spell, his scrawny body was replaced by a tall, black-shelled insectoid fashionista from Troodle.

"Now, look at the possibilities inherent in this..." Woofle began, gesturing at his/her figure. Then his mandibles clicked uncomfortably, and his multiple-lensed eyes started to roll. He clutched his head. "Stop that! Shut up! No, I am not a boring dresser! Be quiet! Aagh!"

Hastily he undid the spell and threw the card on the ground. His round Flibberite face contorted with fear and disgust.

"Get rid of them! All of them!"

"We're trying to, Woofle. Calm yourself," Moa advised.

"Name, sir?" Parvattani asked, politely. "We need it to compare with store receipts to verify fraudulent purchases."

"Do you think I want to remember?" Woofle shrieked.

I groaned. Wimp. "I'll do it." I picked the card up off the floor, and was in and out of the Troodleian in nothing flat. "Ch'tk'll."

"Thank you, sir."

"See what I mean?" I tried not to gloat, but I didn't like Woofle. "You only were in for a moment. If you stayed a different being too long, you might lose your own identity,"

"Then how come a rat like that can keep using them over and over?" Woofle demanded.

"We have, how you say, not much mind to call ou-air own," the mall-rat acknowledged modestly.

"If you've got a healthy ego, this system could destroy it," I told Eskina.