From the author of Fate Accompli, a 2021 Foreword INDIES Finalist for Humor, Life Indigo by Keith R. Fentonmiller is part comedy, part noir, and part high-octane fantasy. Below is an excerpt from the book.

Isana picked up the hand mirror and studied her reflection. She blinked hard, not comprehending what she was seeing – or, rather, not seeing. There was the outline of her head, her short black hair, and round ears. Her eyes, however, were voids, as were her chin and nose. They were blanks.

It’s got to be a practical joke, a parlor trick Klaus picked up from an illusionist on Lutherstraße.

Isana brought the water glass to the blank spot where she should have seen her nose. The glass did not vanish. No trick mirror could distinguish between a glass and a nose. Klaus had altered her eyes or her brain. Solemnly, she set down the mirror.

“What’s the matter, Fraulein?” Klaus asked. “You do not seem as confident as before.”

She pounded the table. “I’m sick of being Edisoned.”

“Edisoned?”

“Questioned,” she said curtly. “Just tell me what the hell you want.”

“I want to know if you see your mouth in the mirror.”

She hesitated. “That’s idiotic. Of course, I do.”

“I wish I could take your word for it, but we must be scientific. Identify the color of your lipstick, and then I can be certain you are telling the truth.”

“I . . . I wiped the lipstick off before you kidnapped me.”

“That was three days ago. We painted your lips last night, while you were sleeping.”

She touched her lips with alarm. What else had they done while she was unconscious?

“I am no expert in these matters,” Klaus continued, “but I’d venture that the color I chose for you is more aesthetically pleasing than your usual ‘passion red.’”

Jesus. He knows my lipstick color.

Klaus pulled ten metal cylinders from the drawer and set them on the table. Some were jeweled; others etched with ornate patterns. Some were round. Some square. One was octagonal. He extended each stick, exposing a spectrum of reds, plums, browns, and oranges.

“The color is among these ten here,” he said. “A rather wide selection, don’t you think? Maurice Levy. Helen Rubinstein. Max Factor. My goodness. They’re all made by Jews. Why are you people so obsessed with covering your faces?”

“You got it all backwards, bub. Makeup is not a veil. It’s how us normal folks say to the world, ‘Look at me! Ain’t I just the cat’s pajamas?’”

Klaus scoffed. “Pitiful. An elaborate self-deception because you can’t stomach the way you look.”

Isana glowered. “Says the freak hiding his face behind a scarf.”

Klaus let the comment pass. “You have a one in ten chance of guessing the correct color.”

“I don’t need to guess.”

“Of course, you don’t. The answer is as plain as the lips on your face.”

She picked up the mirror. She studied the lipstick colors on the table and glanced back at her reflection. She sat back and folded her arms.

“I assume from your silence, Fraulein, that you do not know the color. Your mouth has vanished. Am I correct?”

She sat up and steeled herself. “Nope. Your little experiment failed. My lips are there in all their glory.”

“Fascinating. And what is their ‘glorious’ color?”

She hadn’t a clue.

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