Abigale wiped a circle with her palm and frowned at the pale reflection that stared back at her. Bluish shadows hung like half-moons beneath her dark-brown eyes, making her look as exhausted as she felt. When had those tiny lines popped up? She rummaged through her cosmetic kit, found an old stick of concealer, and dabbed it around her eyes, then finger-combed her hair. She wrinkled her nose as she studied her reflection in the mirror. No matter how many hairdressers told her how lucky she was to have “natural body,” she regarded her mane of curls as a curse. Sure, given proper time and a blow dryer she could tame it into soft waves, but more often than not she simply pulled it back. Tonight, her fingers moved swiftly as she wove it into a French braid. Abigale twisted around, looked over her shoulder at the mirror, and tucked in few wayward hairs. “Guess that’s as good as it’s going to get.” She dressed quickly in her black slacks and blouse. A dark, spicy aroma wafted up from downstairs and her stomach grumbled, reminding her that it had been over twenty-four hours since she’d last eaten a meal.
