With a gust of wind, her clothing began to transform into an evening dress. Layala brushed her hands over the empire-waisted champagne dress hugging her curves. The long sleeves were sheer and wide, tightening in silk cuffs at her wrists. Moments before it had been on the mannequin in the window across the street. She narrowed her eyes at Hel who wore a black suit much like Presco’s. “That’s stealing, you know,” Layala said. “Add it to my list of offenses, love.”
