They paid the driver extra to wait, then melted into the crowd.
New clothing from one vendor, boots from another, backpacks and hair dye from yet two others. The dye was for later, once they found lodging for the night. When they returned, the elegant businessman and his designer-clad companion had vanished, replaced by backpackers in worn jeans and practical boots.
Carol shed a few tears over having to leave the designer wardrobe and the luxury matching luggage that would have to stay behind, but Lokan kissed away her tears and promised to replace every item.
"Ready for an adventure?" he asked, shouldering the hiking pack.
"Always." She shouldered hers. "I've always wanted to see the Mongolian steppes."
They walked back to the taxi hand in hand, two young-looking travelers in a city of millions. Behind them, their old life burned like bridges that they'd never cross again. Ahead lay adventure, and eventually home.
The driver looked surprised at their transformation but said nothing. Money bought silence as effectively as compulsion, but Lokan was going to use thralling and compulsion as well once the driver's services were no longer needed.
