After we left the shop, I saw the douchebag at the losing end of an argument with a policeman’s baton just ahead of us.
I had to point out the douche to Zoe.
She laughed at how even though she hadn’t wound up scrambling the guy’s brains herself, someone else did it, anyway.

• * *

The rest of our time in London was spent trying to figure out the ins-and-outs of Zoe’s newly aquired skill.

That night, we managed to get onto the roof of our hotel, and from there we got an impressive nighttime panoramic view of the London cityscape, aglow with neon.

From there, we tried to get Zoe to do her thing…

…but nothing happened.

We were Peter Parker trying to figure out how to websling.

“Why isn’t it happening again,” she asked.

“I think it might be because you have to be in a stressful mood for it to work.”

“Uuum…OK. Try slapping me. Round the face, real hard.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Come on! When else are you gonna get permission from a woman to slap her?”

So…I did.

And finally, the magic happened.