It was almost midnight. Cassandra stood at a balcony overlooking the harbour, where the glow from quayside restaurants and casinos cast flickering reflections upon the water. She ran her fingers across the smooth stone balustrade, surprised to find it still warm from the day's heat. A languid Mediterranean breeze rustled nearby palm trees. To her left a pair of soon-to-be lovers flirted clumsily, paying her no mind, while behind her the embassy party droned ever on. Cassandra took a deep breath. Against her better judgement, she took a sip from the champagne she'd been nursing all evening. A decent vintage. Not the best she'd tasted, but far from the worst. Clearly Ambassador Ramirez had experienced an uncharacteristic pang of generosity. Maybe that odious old leech had finally siphoned off enough of his country's money to loosen the purse strings for a few hours.

She resisted the lure of a second sip. Tonight she would need her wits about her. After one final look out to sea, she nodded to herself before striding back to the party. High heels clicked upon marble floors with each decisive step. She noted with a certain satisfaction the way eyes turned at her approach. And so they should look. Let them gaze upon the raven-haired beauty about to rob their host blind.

Beauty was half the reason she'd made it this far. She had no invitation, no security clearance. Not that obtaining one would have been an issue. Every identifying document she possessed had been forged. She went by twelve different names across four continents. In this case, though, she'd judged such efforts unnecessary. One look at the miserly Ramirez's security detail and she knew that with her close-fitting black gown's plunging neckline and the trailing gold necklace that guided any onlooker's gaze to her cleavage, it would take little more than a smile to get inside the building.

It was almost a shame. All her talents, all her cunning, all utterly wasted against such feeble opposition. Idly she looked to one of the murals emblazoned on the walls. It was some scene of glory from myth or antiquity. There came a point where it became difficult to tell one from the other.

"And when Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept... for there were no more worlds to conquer."

Cassandra had spoken under her breath, but nearby a face turned to her. It was a young woman, about Cassandra's age, alone and seemingly relieved to have found someone to talk to. "Ooh, that sounds familiar," said the newcomer. "Let me guess... Plutarch?"

"Hans Gruber," Cassandra replied. Though she remained facing the mural, her lips curled into a wry half smile. The momentary pause told her the other woman didn't get the reference.

"Oh... Um, I don't think he was on the syllabus."

Cassandra spared the woman a cursory glance. She'd met countless like her; gorgeous, wide-eyed and quite obviously out of her depth. With blonde tresses cascading halfway down her back and a backless gold party dress that ended only a few inches past her waist, the woman looked to be dressed more for a night on the town that an embassy reception. As the blonde tried to engage her in insipid small-talk, Cassandra felt a touch of sympathy. Once she'd been much the same, awkward and fumbling - a dove in a room full of hawks.

Tonight though, there could be no distractions. As the woman began babbling introductions, Cassandra raised a hand to pause her and smiled politely. "I'm sorry, would you excuse me a moment? Here, hold this."

With that Cassandra handed her glass to the somewhat taken-aback blonde and strode off into the crowd.

Head high, blue eyes sparkling, she breezed past a sweaty guard in an ill-fitting suit and into the VIP lounge. As with so much in life, confidence was everything. Act like you belong, and half the time nobody will even challenge you. In Cassandra's experience there were few doors that wouldn't open to a beautiful young woman who knew what she was doing.

The VIP hall was all portraits and chandeliers. Gold glimmered from fittings and ornaments, while a firmament of precious stones sparkled where their wearers danced and dawdled. Perhaps it was Cassandra's imagination, but the place reeked. Maybe it was the cigar smoke, or the dozen warring perfumes... or maybe it was the sheer obscene, congealed opulence of the clientele. This crowd was a cut above. Media tycoons, industrialists, aristocrats, movie stars - plus at least one former crime lord trying to turn respectable - all drinking and talking and pretending to like each other. Cassandra stopped herself from picking a few pockets while mingling her way through the throng.

The opportunity came almost immediately. No sooner had she reached the kitchen doors when a waiter emerged bearing a tray of canapes. Quick as lightning Cassandra ducked through the doorway, took a left, darted up a flight of stairs, and began picking her way through labyrinthine corridors usually known only to butlers and chambermaids.

Cassandra always did her homework. Every detail of the planned route had been committed to memory. On passing through a staff room, she noted a purse protruding from an unattended handbag. She passed it with barely a thought. Stealing from little people was beneath her. A thief of her calibre demanded a more suitable prize. Sadly such opportunities were becoming few and far between. Nothing challenged her like it used to.

Coming to a corner, she pressed herself against the wall. "Four, three, two, one," she whispered.

As always, her timing was impeccable. A loud click sounded, followed by a fading whine as the waiting security camera deactivated. Now anyone watching the feed would see only a looped seven second clip of empty corridor. Cassandra had seen to that a few weeks prior, when she'd helped 'service' the security systems.

"Ahh... sometimes my brilliance astounds even me."

Relishing her triumph, Cassandra's lips pursed into a satisfied smile as she strutted down the passage, to a set of solid, double-reinforced doors. Unable to resist a little theatricality, she clicked her fingers on approaching them and gave a contemptuous laugh as they swung open, all their electronic locks and fail-safes already overridden by her boundless ingenuity.

Her eyes lit on seeing the room beyond. She stood in a stark, stainless steel vault lit by sterile striplights, its only feature an incongruous oak table set with a snow white table cloth, upon which lay a black leather briefcase with polished gold clasps. Cassandra reached behind her head, unbound her flowing dark hair and shook it free. This was her moment.

"I've done it. I've really done it. Ramirez you old fool, you made it too easy. It almost takes the thrill out of winning. Almost."

Beaming at her own cleverness, Cassandra strutted to the table, entered the combinations for the briefcase, and purred in satisfaction on hearing the locks release. She paused to run her fingers over the leather, savouring her triumph, before finally swinging it open. Now all that remained was to-

A geyser of pea-green slime took her full in the face. Thick, gooey and with a consistency like unset jelly, the pressurised spout sent her staggering backwards with a gargled squeal, arms flailing frantically. What the hell was this stuff? Instinctively she retreated a step, hands rising in an attempt to clear her eyes, only to gasp in shock as the gunk splurged through her cleavage and began spilling down inside her dress. With a curse she realised she ought to have sidestepped. Tottering drunkenly, she shielded her face as she turned, only to shiver on feeling the goo splash slick and ticklish beneath her arm. For a few seconds she wobbled on her heels, her attempts at balancing accompanied by a drawn-out warble that rose to a squeal when, with a wrenching crack, one of her high heels snapped, sending her toppling to the ground amid an expanding green puddle. At last the spout was dwindling, the last pulses befouling the back of her dress as she slid her way out of the quagmire. A smeared trail glistened in her wake.

Gasping, she rolled into a sitting position and stared, aghast, at the briefcase. What the hell had just happened? What even was this stuff? It was like no security system she'd ever encountered. Panic gripped her. Some of the strangely tasteless liquid had got in her mouth. What if it was poisonous? Eyes wide with fright, she began wiping at her lips, but just then a woman's voice emerged from concealed speakers.

"Why Cassie, it's so good to finally speak with you properly. After watching for so long, I can't help but feel like we're old friends."

With the gooey gown clinging to her skin, Cassandra wiped at her face and looked angrily about. "Who's there? What is all this?"

"Oh, you mean the gunge?" Quiet laughter echoed through the vault. The voice bore an educated British accent, but Cassandra's keen ears detected an underlying hint of somewhere else, somewhere eastern European. "You needn't worry, Cass. It's quite harmless really. A quick shower and you'll be good as new. Not sure I can say the same for the goods, though...."

"You... my God, you haven't!" Cassandra tried to stand but her feet went sliding in different directions, sending her flopping back onto her bottom. Irritated, she kicked off her ruined shoes and scrambled back up.

Trying to ignore her tormentor's mocking laughter and the feel of slime squelching between her toes, she skidded back to the briefcase. She knew how delicate its contents were. Priceless manuscripts from the excavations at Tell Ay-Jonge. All unimaginably ancient... and worth a fortune to the right bidder.

As she reached the case, the voice spoke again. "You know, Cassie, I'm surprised how quickly the slime stopped. I could've sworn I'd loaded a bit more."

"Well it's a good thing you're... wait, what?"

Gunk surged forth once more. Again Cassandra got a face-full. Knocked off balance, she swayed, arms wind-milling, but then her determination won through. Whoever this person was, she wouldn't let them beat her. She was Cassandra - Cassandra - the greatest thief of all. Already her thoughts were turning to retribution. With eyes closed and teeth clenched, she pressed back in, the spout still deluging her face as she fumbled for its source. It was like facing into a gale, the sheer force threatening to knock her off her feet altogether. Locks of slime-soaked hair twitched, medusa-like, around her face, but she was relentless. There had to be an off switch, a valve - something.

With the benefit of hindsight, she was starting to regret opting for a dress with such a daring neckline. A gloopy river coursed between her breasts, and by now the front of her gown was soaked inside and out. Ooze flowed like slithering serpents down her legs. The sound of near-manic laughter rang accusingly in her ears. Every sense was assailed, yet Cassandra refused to break. Still she searched.

It was no good. There were no controls to be found, and trying to pull the mechanism apart proved equally fruitless. Planting her hands atop the nozzle produced a hissing emerald explosion that sprayed all across her torso, but at least took the pressure off her face.

Cassandra's mind kicked back into gear. What was even happening here? Why slime of all things? Why were there no alarms, no rushing guards? Why toy with her? Whatever the reason, there was clearly no stopping the mess. All she could do now was escape with the manuscripts. She just hoped at least some were still salvageable.

After taking a deep breath and closing her eyes in readiness, Cassandra released the nozzle, flinched as the spray engulfed her face, and gathered up the case's soggy contents. On turning to flee, she gasped on feeling the gunge intensify into one final surge that broke like a wave between her shoulder blades, knocking her to her knees. The papers spilled from her grasp, onto the slime-slick floor. Now on all fours, Cassandra gasped in horror and commenced gathering them back up as fast as she could.

Wait, something was amiss. The texture was all wrong. Frowning, she wiped one of the pages and, blinking away goo, took a closer look. No, it couldn't be. With a sharp intake of breath she snatched up another and looked at that too, then another.

They were photographs. All of them. Photos of her, all elegantly captured in stark monochrome. Pictures of her scouting the embassy, of her 'supervising' the security upgrade, leaving her hotel, even her arrival at tonight's party.

Again the voice spoke. "No need to fear. The manuscripts are safe. Soon they'll be in a museum, where they belong."

Cassandra breathed heavily. Her mind whirled. Rage was building, but she kept it in check. She turned her head in a vain effort to pinpoint the voice. Strands of wet hair clung to her cheek. Slime dripped from her chin. She couldn't believe this was happening.

"What... I don't... how did...?"

A sneering chuckle seemed to emerge from every direction. "You know, Cassie, you've been a hobby of mine for some time now. The legendary thief who no one can catch, or at least not for long. I almost went mad trying to track you down. Ha-ha, some might even say I did, a little. So many artefacts vanishing, seemingly by magic. Clearly the work of an expert... and yet the pieces never surfaced on the black market. At first I thought you were playing the long game, or some private collector had you in their pocket, but then a few pieces began turning up, seemingly at random, all practically given away."

Cassandra made a show of sliding around while secretly gathering her wits. It often payed to appear more vulnerable than one truly was. Clearly she'd come to the attention of someone eccentric, if not downright unhinged. She'd need to play this carefully.

"Will you at least tell me your name?" she asked.

The voice paused as though contemplating. "You can call me Alexis. Now as I was saying, for a while I thought you were a fool, but at last I realised: It's never been about money, has it, Cassie? It's the hunt. It's all you care about. Honestly, I can relate."

Cassandra's eyes fixed on the doors. They were still open. If she made a dash now, what would be the best escape route? Just then the doors swung shut. A series of clicks sounded as the locking mechanisms engaged. Difficult though it was, Cassandra kept her expression neutral. Her adversary had intentionally waited until she was watching before closing off the escape route. Whoever this 'Alexis' was, she clearly wasn't following orders from Ramirez. That old goat would never have agreed to something so ludicrous. This person was different. A freelancer? A vigilante? Either way, they didn't just want to beat her, they wanted her to know she'd lost. Cassandra refused to give her the satisfaction.

Biting back frustration, she took a moment to level her voice before speaking. "So what now? You want money, is that it?"

Alexis tutted. "Cassie, Cassie, you disappoint me. You really think I'd stoop to something so base? No-no-no. I imagine you're wondering why I've used such... unorthodox methods?"

Wringing slime from her hair, Cassandra snorted contemptuously and with a flick of her wrist sent beads of goo spattering across the ground. "It crossed my mind, yes."

"It's simple. One call from me and you'll be dragged off and thrown into a cell. But we both know what'll happen then, don't we? By the time the police realise who they're dealing with you'll have charmed, seduced, bribed or simply broken your way out. Then in a few months you'll surface in another exotic location with a new name. You've done it before. To you the law is nothing but a mild inconvenience. This, though? This you'll remember."

"Hah. You're insane."

"Am I? Hee-hee. Am I? Well guess what? It's not up to me anymore. You get to decide how this ends. You have two choices. You can either leave this place in the back of a police car or you can have a wash, put on a clean outfit, and walk out the front door a free woman. I suggest you take my offer. I'm going to count to three. There will not be a four. Decision time, Cassie."

At first Cassandra thought she'd misheard. "I... I get to walk out? What's the catch?"

Alexis giggled. "One."

"It's a trick, isn't it? There'll be more mess."

"Perhaps, but would you prefer a jail cell? Two."

Desperate, Cassandra stared around the vault. Was there a vent she could fit through, a control panel she could commandeer? She sighed. It was no use. It was time to make a choice.

"Thr-"

***

A short while later, Cassandra stared into a bathroom mirror. Wrapped in a white towel, with her dark hair hanging loose about her pale shoulders, she stared at her reflection, her fine features pinched into a sneering scowl. This was outrageous.

She'd been led to the washroom by a trail of plastic sheeting. This told her two things: that Alexis had helpers, and that she'd fastidiously planned every detail of her scheme. She'd immediately discounted any thoughts of making a break for it. Alexis seemed able to predict her every thought, and had no doubt taken suitable precautions. There was probably a guard posted around every corner not on the designated route.

On reaching the washroom she'd immediately stripped, jumped into the shower and frantically scrubbed off the green goo. When she'd emerged, intending to rinse her dress as best she could, she'd instead found a cream envelope in its place. The handwritten note had assured her that her belongings would be returned to her hotel, and directed her to a black flight bag that had been placed on the washstand.

One look at it and Cassandra's expression curdled. It was her own getaway bag. The one she'd hidden away in the deserted subway station beneath the embassy. Every last element of her plan had been discovered. Worse still, she now knew what the change of outfit would be.

With a face like thunder she unzipped the bag, paused, stared at her reflection for a few more seconds, and then brought out its contents.

A bikini. A tiny black string bikini. She was expected to walk past the highest of high society in nothing but this.

Cassandra sighed. The plan had been to escape the embassy through the tunnels, lay low until morning, and then emerge through a convenient culvert to make a glamourous entrance at the beachfront, where she would've risen from the waves, reclined on a lounger and sipped cocktails while reveling in Ramirez's impotent rage once he realised he'd been robbed. How had it come to this? How could her plan have unraveled so utterly? The conclusion was inescapable; too many easy victories had made her complacent. She'd grown too sure of herself. She'd grown sloppy.

Again she scowled at her reflection. One small mercy was that she'd stashed some waterproof makeup in her getaway bag, and had already reapplied pink lipstick and her favourite dark eye shadow that made her frosty blue eyes even more striking. If she was to face this, she intended to do so looking her best.

Despite seething with anger, she knew from experience that it paid not to lose control. Her best course of action now was to play along, accept her punishment, and then plot revenge. Delicious, merciless revenge. Cassandra comforted herself in the knowledge that whatever indignity she was about to endure, there would come a day when it would all be visited back on Alexis. She would make it her mission.

It was a surprise to find herself grinning with satisfaction. Something was smoldering within her. A yearning she hadn't felt for so long. The drive to be the best, to conquer all opposition. It was back. She was back.

Cassandra nodded to herself. "Alright then. Showtime."

***

The party was close now. Cassandra felt a sinking feeling in her stomach yet refused to falter. Dressed in nothing but a bikini that left very little to the imagination, she strutted along the passageways with her shoulders back and her head held high.

The ordeal ahead was inescapable, she knew that much. How she faced it, though - that would be down to her. If Alexis wanted to see her squirm, she would be in for a disappointment. The next few minutes would be mortifying, but that didn't mean she had to show it. The plan was simple. Cassandra knew she looked fantastic. She intended to walk out there without a hint of embarrassment and simply stride through the crowd as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

The trail of plastic sheeting veered right. The sound of revelry grew louder. One more turn and she'd be back in the party. For a second Cassandra hesitated, her hands fidgeting with the knots holding her meagre attire together. She took a deep breath, hoping to steady her nerves.

At that moment someone came around the corner in front of her. It was the woman in the gold dress, the one she'd spoken with earlier. She looked somewhat despondent, having no doubt been snubbed by everyone she'd tried to speak to tonight. Her eyes lit in relief on seeing Cassandra, then widened when she noticed what she was wearing.

"Oh hey there! It's you! Remember me from before? Wow, you look amazing. I didn't know the embassy had a pool."

Cassandra had no time for this nonsense. Her composure wouldn't hold forever - she needed to get this over with quickly. Trying to remain polite, she made her excuses and stepped around the wittering blonde.

The other woman was clearly incapable of taking a hint. Racing after Cassandra, she moved in front of her and waved in warning. "Hold on, you're going the wrong way. That way's going to take you right into the party. They're getting set up for some kind of show. There's all these dessert trolleys lined up...." She paused. "Wait, are you part of that?"

Dessert trolleys? Cassandra stifled a groan. For an instant she considered using her self-appointed new friend as a human shield, but quickly discarded the idea. At this point adding further complications would do more harm than good. It was better to just face this and get out.

"Please. I don't mean to be rude, but I need to go." With that Cassandra once again moved around the blonde, who seemed to have finally comprehended. Summoning her courage, she marched around the corner to meet her fate.

What she saw very nearly turned her knees to water. It was all she could do to maintain the facade. The plastic sheets formed a path across the packed hall, and lining the route were trolleys piled high with cream pies and gooey desserts. This was the gauntlet she would have to run. Raucous jeers and wolf-whistles greeted her appearance. Though some partygoers remaining aloof, lingering at the hall's edge, the majority had crowded up to the trolleys. People in tuxedos and gowns, in coronets and cummerbunds, a tipsy countess swaying on her feet, a fat general whose gaudy uniform bore a ludicrous amount of self-bestowed medals, all eagerly arming themselves with pies and bowls of creamy gunk.

Then something strange happened. The drunken roar subsided in the face of Cassandra's withering glare. Standing tall, her arms folded beneath her breasts, she stared them down. The roar dwindled to sniggering, then uncertain muttering, then near silence. Only then did Cassandra advance.

Onward she went. All eyes were on her. Cassandra was acutely aware how underdressed she was, but simply made a 'what of it?' gesture and continued on, her expression one of absolute calm and certainty. She barely dared breathe. How on Earth was she pulling this off? One false move would break the spell.

A bead of sweat began forming on her brow. Cassandra began blinking rapidly, her hands bunching, but still she refused to let her expression waver. To the left a hiccupping businessman made to throw a pie, only to freeze when Cassandra fixed him with a death-stare. Mumbling excuses, he looked at his feet and lowered the pie.

Cassandra's heart was hammering. That was close, and she was only a third of the way through the hall. She could see the stairs leading down to the exit. Part of her wanted to make a rush for them, but she knew she'd be splattered by the time she got there. She needed to keep this up a little longer.

Over to her right the drunken general made to flick slime at her from a bowl of pink slop cradled in one arm. Reacting instantly, Cassandra rounded on him, hands planting on her hips as she gave the officer a look of furious disapproval. The man's face went pale - clearly he was unused to being treated in such a manner. Maintaining eye contact, Cassandra took a step toward him and almost giggled on seeing him recoil.

Just then, behind her, the hiccupping man slurred a question to someone further back in the crowd. "What's with her? I thought she was the, hic, the enner... the entertainment?"

"Don't worry, it's all part of the act," came the calm reply.

Cassandra froze. That voice....

She whirled toward the sound. There she was, studying Cassandra with wry amusement - the woman in the gold dress. It had been she who'd spoken, except this time her accent had changed.

The two women stared at each other. Cassandra's mouth opened and closed a few times before any sound emerged. "It-it's you! Alexis!"

The blonde's smile broadened. "So glad you decided to join us, Cassie."

Cassandra stared, dumbfounded. Suddenly she squealed in shock. A cool gobbet of whipped cream had splatted against her bottom. Seeing she was distracted, one of the partygoers had seized their chance.

"Who threw that? Come on, own up." Cassandra cast accusing glares at all around her, but it was no use. A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd. She was losing them. Movement at the corner of her eye heralded a shower of blue blobs that speckled her left side, their touch wet and oily. On hearing her affronted gasp, the laughing grew louder.

Growing desperate, she tried raising her voice, but the laughter drowned her out. The spell was broken. Cassandra gulped. She knew what this meant. As dozens of hands reached for the dessert trolleys, she looked despairingly to Alexis, who winked and nodded.

Pies and slime came flying from all directions. In an instant a whirling, multicoloured blizzard enshrouded Cassandra, who shrieked as creamy goo splattered all over her, befouling her hair and bursting in great roiling sprays across her body. She stood rooted to the spot, quivering in disbelief with each successive impact. Cream and custard, mousse and syrup, melted ice cream and great wobbling trifles, all splashing and spurting against her barely-clad figure. Plenty of the nameless gunge she'd been subjected to earlier was present, too, though now in a whole spectrum of colours. The sensation was surreal. Seeping tides slid down her, their languid motions forever disturbed by the arrival of yet more mess.

The sight of Alexis tittering jolted Cassandra into action. All she could do now was make it to the exit. Spent pies and heaped muck had already gathered around her ankles when she finally staggered onward. It was like walking through a monsoon. She could barely see where she was going past the ceaseless splattering. With her head bowed and arms alternating between wiping her eyes, reaching out for balance or swatting uselessly at incoming gunk, Cassandra tottered ignobly for the door. Sounds of raucous mirth mixed with splattering slime reverberated in her ears. Gritting her teeth, she consoled herself with thoughts of her eventual revenge. When the time came, it was only fair that Alexis be repaid in kind.

A huge pie broke against the top of her right arm, sending ticklish fingers of custard spilling against the side of her breast and up to her face. Disoriented and off balance, she slid to her knees. For a few moments she knelt there, breathing heavily, matted locks of hair bracketing her vision. Barely able to comprehend what was happening, she watched translucent slime ooze down into swaying, noodle-like threads that dripped from her bikini top and onto her thighs.

The brief reverie was shattered when pastel pink dollops began spraying her torso. A sozzled woman with neatly coiffed red hair and an expensive-looking lilac gown had crouched in front of her and begun merrily dousing Cassandra with gunge whisked from a plastic container the size of a salad bowl.

"Eww, stop it," bleated Cassandra. She tried to ward off the sprays of creamy pink goo, but the woman in lilac simply tittered and carried on. From behind her the bombardment hadn't stopped - a scattered hail of pies and pudding crashed against her back and tickled the rear of her bikini bottoms.

Feeling her cheeks flush with annoyance, she dipped her hands into the gooey flotsam that had collected in front of her lap. "I said, quit it!" she declared while launching some of the collected ooze at the expensive lilac gown.

The way the redhead bristled in sudden outrage brought a satisfied smile to Cassandra's lips - until, that was, the slime-filled bowl went over her head. Smooth and thick, the pink slime engulfed her head and sloshed down her front, splashing off her cleavage and into her lap, where it slid over her thighs to join the ever-growing puddle in which she now wallowed.

"Ugh. That's it."

With the bowl still atop her head, though angled so that it only obscured one eye, Cassandra rose unsteadily to her feet and struggled on. She was close to the exit now, and at last the gooey bombardment was easing. Those drunken idiots had to be almost out of ammunition. The embassy's front entrance was closed, but two expressionless doormen stood ready to open it for her.

Wanting to regain a little dignity - if that was even possible at this point - Cassandra straightened, paused to regain a little composure, and strutted the remaining distance while doing her best to ignore the gooey barrage. At last, bespattered and bedraggled, she reached the exit, where she removed the bowl from her head, grimaced as a final pulse of slime dripped into her hair, and then with only a momentary glance over her shoulder tossed it like a frisbee above the crowd.

Alexis had been shadowing her the length of the hall. She hadn't gone near the trolleys, content instead to watch and revel in Cassandra's gunging. Now she stood impassively as the bowl sailed toward her, dripping slime in its wake. Alexis remained motionless, refusing to dodge, until at the last moment the bowl veered off to the right and landed with a clattering splash on a roulette table, prompting grunts of consternation from some important-sounding people.

Plainly amused, Alexis nodded with what might have been respect.

Cassandra cursed under her breath at having missed and stepped toward the door... but then hesitated. The barrage had ceased, and it felt demeaning to just slink away. She needed to say something. She needed to leave on her own terms. Placing hands on her hips, she faced her tormentor.

"Just so you know, Alexis," she declared, "you were right about one thing. I'm going to remember this."

Alexis, seemingly unfazed by the threat, lifted her champagne in mocking salute. "Then until next time." With that she drained her glass and strutted back to the bar.

Cassandra opened her mouth for one final retort, but then noticed the unexpected hush. The crowd were watching her expectantly. All wore wicked grins. "And what are you looking at?" she demanded. "I'll have you know that...." The words tailed off. Only now did she see that many of them had saved one final pie or bowl. "I... wait... hold on... Argh!"

She let out a scream as a final salvo drenched her. Pies carpet-bombed her front, turning Cassandra and the door behind her into a slithering tapestry of custard and cream. With her face covered in gloop she floundered backwards, but just then the doors were thrown open. The night air greeted her, cool against her wet skin. Barely keeping her balance, Cassandra spun around - and was immediately dazzled by the glare of a dozen flashbulbs. Paparazzi had gathered at the embassy steps, and now a feeding frenzy commenced.

Dazed and dripping, Cassandra stared. Hundreds of pictures were being taken, and she was well aware of the state she was in. For long moments she peered down at the photographers. Finally she sighed, smoothed back her soaked hair, brushed a few blobs from her shoulder as though they were specks of dust, and ignoring the barrage of sniggered questions proceeded serenely down the steps before strutting away through the city streets, taking pains to ignore the reactions from confused passersby.

It would be fair to say that tonight had not been one of her more successful operations. Cassandra knew it was going to take some time to live this down. She'd need to relocate. Miami maybe, or perhaps a nice Greek island. Yet somehow, for all the rage and shame, part of her wanted to cry out with joy. She couldn't remember when she'd last felt so energised. At long last she'd found a rival worthy of her talents. Alexis had won the battle, but the war had just begun.

The End