Blending In

by RJ Blain

  Truer words had never been spoken. Before I could draw a breath, I snapped back to human, clipped my head on the edge of Chase’s desk on the way to the floor, and barely missed landing on the puppy, who pounced with excited yips. I fended her off with an arm, which left me easy prey for Goliath, who invaded my lap.

  A lap full of cat and puppy with Chase for company all while I was a human seemed like a Christmas miracle to me.

  “Thank you, Gavin. I’ll keep you in the loop on how we’re progressing on identifying everyone involved. I’ll let her know.” He hung up. “Gavin changed the terms of your curse, as he claims it’s too much of a bother to fully remove it. So, as long as you don’t book plane tickets, wear a bikini outside while it’s snowing, jam out to heavy metal in a library or a church, or buy chicken for yourself, you’ll remain human.”

  I was fully behind all the conditions until he reached the chicken part. I could live with everything except that last, critical condition. “I can’t buy chicken for myself?”

  “He said the instant you reach for any method of payment, you’ll become a chameleon. Also, you can’t pay anyone back for buying you chicken. If you try to ask for chicken, you’ll also turn into a chameleon.”

  Chase’s parents stopped paying attention to their phones long enough to laugh at me.

  “I can’t even ask for chicken?” I wailed.

  “He had to make the conditions equivalent, and it seems I underestimated your adoration for fried chicken. You’re now at the mercy of those who know you for your next hit of chicken.”

  I needed to figure out how to get revenge on Gavin. Death wouldn’t do. Oh, no. Death would limit his suffering. I scowled and stroked the animals vying for space on my lap. “He will pay for this.”

  “It’s not that bad, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll help you make him suffer for limiting your access to your favorite food. In good news, there’s still chicken left over from this morning.”

  Leftovers would help some. “I feel like I’ve been tricked.”

  Chase grinned. “Being a chameleon was easier knowing you could ask for chicken?”

  “Now if I ever ask for chicken again, I’ll have to do it as a chameleon, and I’ll have to hope my wallet doesn’t transform with me. Knowing Gavin, it will. With my wretched luck, I’ll never have chicken again.”

  I blamed the stress of people trying to kill me for my overreaction, but I gave myself credit for realizing I overreacted. A normal person wouldn’t get so upset over losing fried chicken, would they?

  Then again, I was cursed by a divine for refusing to marry him. That eliminated me from the pool of normal people.

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry much about your chicken problems. I think you’ll find your chicken supply safe despite your new inability to ask for it at your whim.”

  I considered his words and the implication he’d provide me with chicken. Yep, my odds of locating my lost heart and restoring my common sense deteriorated by the minute. I’d cope, and while I coped, I’d look for some new goals in life, including ditching my tendency to blend in even when human. “Do you think killing Gavin will put me on Santa’s naughty list?”

  A coal mine would make me a fortune in the long run, wouldn’t it?

  “Don’t limit yourself to murder, Miriah. The suffering lasts longer if you leave him alive.”

  Who needed a heart or common sense when a partner-in-crime could be had? Not me. “What do you think would maximize his suffering?”

  Chase’s grin promised trouble for someone. “Well, it’s obvious he likes you, so you should date others and think about how much you’re really enjoying your dates with other men. Since he’s a telepath, you’ll drive him loony. You might even teach him to stop listening in on your thoughts. With a little work, you can make him uncomfortable and jealous.”

  I knew one way I could make Gavin jealous. “Like thinking about the location of my tramp stamp?”

  “Yes, but it’s a tattoo. It’s not a tramp stamp if you’re not a tramp. You’re not a tramp.”

  “Why do people keep telling me this?”

  “Because you’re too sweet and loyal to be a tramp. I thought this was obvious.”

  I hoped my heart and common sense enjoyed their vacation together, probably visiting somewhere with better weather. “Do I have to charge to be a good tramp? Is it the sweet or loyal part that’s a problem? I don’t see how I’d make a poor tramp, thank you. I’d make a good tramp if I tried, I’m sure of it.”

  “Tramp, Miriah. Not prostitute.”

  “There’s a distinction?”

  “Prostitutes are paid.”

  I narrowed my eyes and considered that. “Ask Gavin if prostituting for chicken is off the list.”

  “It’s off the list. You’d still be asking for it.”

  Judging from the sounds coming from Chase’s couch, his parents might die from trying not to laugh. I sighed and bowed my head. A double count of accidental murder would put me on Santa’s list and likely land me in prison. In court, would they believe me if I blamed Chase for their demise?

  “That came out wrong. I’m sorry,” Chase muttered.

  His parents laughed harder.

  The glare he leveled at his parents would’ve killed lesser mortals. “Are you two children?”

  “Body of an old woman, mind of a teenager,” his mother reported.

  “I never matured beyond age eight or so. I was an early bloomer,” his father added.

  Chase grunted. “Want a pair of parents? I’ll sell them cheap.”

  Chase’s parents seemed like an upgrade over mine. “If I take them, you have to take my prejudiced devout Catholic parents off my hands.”

  “I sense family drama worse than mine on the horizon.”

  “I’ll give them to you for free.”

  Chase eyed his parents. “Your parents can’t be that bad, can they? Do you spend any of the holidays with them?”

  “Christmas Eve Mass. Otherwise, no.”

  Chase’s smirk, a reflection of his father’s when he meant to cause trouble, worried me. “Want to have some fun with them?”

  I really needed my common sense back. “What do you propose?”

  I’d accept any offer of marriage, possibly participation in parental shaming, or anything else that might land me on Santa’s list—or admittance into mandatory community service and possibly prison.

  “Invite me to the Christmas Eve service along with the troublemakers on the couch. We’ll have a great time. Go for broke and invite Gavin, too.”

  The thought of Gavin, a non-Christian divine, attending a Christian holiday service was enough to make me giggle. “May I borrow your phone?”

  Chase handed it over, and I called Gavin.

  “Hello, Miriah,” he answered, confirming the pesky divine continued to snoop in my business. “What can I do for you?”

  “Please ask Caleb if he wants you to go to Mass with him this year.”

  “Your parents are Catholic, Miriah.”

  I smiled at the utter disbelief in his tone. “I’m aware.”

  “You want me, a divine with zero affiliation with the Christian religion, to go to Midnight Mass, arguably one of the Christian faith’s most important religious ceremonies?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m asking of you.”

  “But why?”

  I grinned, unable to contain my good humor. “I’m going to be so bad for Christmas this year Santa will give me a coal mine.”

  “And here I thought you were preparing to kill me for the curse condition.”

  “Death is too good and kind a fate for the likes of you, Gavin. Also, thank you for the heavy metal in church idea. I may use it at Mass.”

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Obviously, this is psychosis triggered by the new curse conditions. Hey, am I allowed to prostitute for chicken?”

  Chase sighed, his parents snickered, and Gavin laughed. “No, you’re not. Also, it�
�s a case of equivalent exchange. I hope he’s worth it.”

  It annoyed me he considered my adoration of chicken to be on par with my crush on Chase. “I’m not that petty!”

  “No, you just love that chicken that much. Equivalent exchange. You’re a smart woman. You’ll figure it out. Eventually. Maybe. Honestly, I’m not so sure anymore. This is your beloved chicken we’re talking about here.”

  “Why would you ban jamming to heavy metal in a church, anyway? I’ve never jammed to heavy metal in a church.”

  “I want to see a karma chameleon rock it out in a church. We’ll be there. Anything else you need?”

  I thought about it and had to admit it seemed more like a benefit than a disadvantage to me. “Are the new curse conditions permanent?”

  “That depends on you. Anyway, I need to fetch Caleb from school.”

  As my son would always come first, even when I fixated on a potential father figure for him, I took the hint with grace. “Okay. Thanks, Gavin.”

  “I think you’ll find I’ve only minorly inconvenienced you for the rest of your life.”

  I scowled. Minorly? Minorly? My love of chicken was not minor. “Our son better be the happiest child on Earth this Christmas, or I’ll majorly inconvenience you for the rest of my life. I’ll also talk Caleb into majorly inconveniencing you for the rest of his life. I’ll make your misery a family tradition.”

  “Simmer down there, Miriah. I think everything will work out to your satisfaction.”

  Gavin hung up on me, and I returned Chase’s phone. “Thank you.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Want to go to Midnight Mass with me? I’m going to do my best to earn a coal mine for Christmas this year.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  As Chase wanted to draw fire to himself, he kicked me off investigating the reporting issues, had the active contracts for all advertising firms brought into his office, and put me to work going through them. I sat on his floor in my pajamas and navigated through a sea of paperwork.

  The puppy, still requiring a name, slept with her head on my foot. Goliath owned my lap, and he refused to stop purring.

  At least one of us was happy with the current situation. Gavin had his moments of utter assholery, but to make me choose between Chase and chicken?

  I’d miss getting chicken whenever I wanted.

  Chase chuckled, leaned over, and arched a brow. “Would it help if I promised to pick up chicken for dinner on our way home tonight?”

  Chicken always helped. Chicken was the miracle cure over all miracle cures. I nodded, and because I wasn’t quite on par with the devil himself for earning my way onto Santa’s naughty list, I opted to ignore Chase’s cackling parents. “I bet Goliath likes chicken, too.”

  “And how about the pupper? Think she’ll like chicken, too? Have you picked a name for her yet?”

  “We could just call her Pupper. That’s cute. Just like her.”

  “No. I’m vetoing that. We aren’t calling the puppy Pupper. Pick a proper name.”

  I scoffed at the idea Pupper wasn’t a good name for a puppy. “Pupperina. It’s like ballerina but cuter.”

  Chase’s brows hiked towards his hairline. “You want to name her Pupperina?’

  “Want is a strong word.” I patted the closest stack of contracts. “I’ve used up all of my words reading these. Pupperina is a leftover word not yet stolen by these papers.”

  Chase peeked into the chicken bucket on his desk, which I’d learned, after one brief foray as a chameleon, was devoid of chicken. “I better get two buckets. Are you two gluttons following us home tonight?”

  “Yes,” his parents chorused.

  Joy. We had adult supervision, and we were adultier adults than the adults attempting to supervise us.

  “Why?” Chase’s expression turned suspicious. I assumed this was due to his status as an excellent man with many functioning brain cells.

  Chase’s father raised his hand. “I can freeze time around your house and catch anyone trying something stupid.”

  His mother smiled. “I can relocate the interior of your house at my leisure.”

  According to Chase’s pained sigh, he regretted being an adultier adult than the adults attempting to supervise us. “No. Well, you can do the time-freeze trap, Dad. Mom, you can’t move the interior of my house.”

  “You’re being rude,” his mother grumbled.

  “I better get three buckets. Would you like anything for dessert, Miriah?”

  “Tiramisu?” I whispered with wide eyes.

  “Mother, I’ll reconsider your request to relocate the interior of my home in case of emergency if you go forth and tiramisu.”

  “Tiramisu is not a verb.”

  “It is now. You can even stay the night in my guest bedroom should you go forth and tiramisu.”

  “And where is—” his mother blinked. “Oh. Right. I’m going to go forth and tiramisu now. I’ll meet you at your place in around two hours.”

  “Thank you, Mom.”

  His mother left in a hurry, pausing long enough to snatch her purse and give Chase’s father a kiss.

  His father waited until she was gone to snicker. “She forgot you have two guest bedrooms.”

  “That seems to be the case,” Chase agreed. “Miriah can pick where she wants to sleep.”

  In his bed would be nice. “Maybe we should name the puppy Tiramisu.”

  “That’s almost as bad as Pupperina.”

  “Coffee would be a little mean—and weird,” I confessed.

  “How about something dignified? How about Angel?”

  “While she’s the dog equivalent of an angel, she’s part husky. They’re naughty.”

  “True. She’s going to grow to be rather energetic. And trouble. She’s definitely going to cause a great deal of trouble.”

  I grinned. “How about Mrs. Pawsworth?”

  “You know what? Pupperina is a perfect name. Let’s go with that.”

  Laughing, I went to work stacking contracts in organized piles so we could leave sometime tonight. “I should be sorry, but I’m really not.”

  “I’m so glad dogs can’t speak English. She’d kill us in our sleep for daring to name her Pupperina.”

  “No kidding.”

  The newly dubbed Pupperina slept on.

  Chase called in an order for three buckets of chicken while I sorted through the contracts and finished setting aside the ones I’d deemed weird. With his blessing, I packed them into a box to go over in the evening. I’d use Chase and his parents to help determine if any obscuring magic had been used on the documents.

  What seemed weird to me might appear normal to them thanks to the manipulative magic wreaking havoc in Chase’s company.

  It would make me a target again, but I’d cope. I hoped Chase wouldn’t realize I’d lined myself up for more trouble. Then again, he likely knew but believed he could keep unwanted attention off of me through his actions.

  We left the office with Chase’s father, and to keep Chase happy, I stayed in the SUV with the animals while he retrieved our dinner.

  “He’s going to make a fool out of himself,” Chase’s father announced as soon as his son entered the restaurant.

  “I have no issues with him joining my club. I invited a non-Christian deity to celebrate Christmas Eve with a bunch of devout Catholics.”

  “But he’s the father of your son.”

  “That really didn’t go over well with my very, very devout Catholic parents. I figure I’ll help that general train wreck along. My parents remain blissfully unaware I was cursed by a divine outside of the scope of their religion.”

  “And you’re planning on jamming to heavy metal during their Christmas Eve celebrations so you become a chameleon.”

  “Chase is welcome to join my special club of fools. It’s exclusive.”

  “Well, he’s definitely joined your fried chicken cult.”

  As I’d sacrificed most of m
y dignity already, I pretended I still had some left, lifting my chin and faking a delicate sniff. “It’s good chicken.”

  “It really is. I can easily understand your reaction to the changed curse conditions. I’d be upset, too.”

  “I’ll survive.”

  Maybe.

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “It’ll be a challenge.” I foresaw many incidents of becoming a chameleon, and I worried my grocery shopping would become complicated.

  Chase’s father chuckled. “I recommend you add a chicken clause to any relationship you enter.”

  I wish. “I’d get cursed trying. Trust me on this one. Gavin can be ruthless.”

  “He seemed nice enough.”

  Damned Gavin and his ability to charm people. “If he wasn’t at least somewhat nice, I wouldn’t let him run off with Caleb whenever he’s in town.”

  “That’s understandable, and that’s a good point. I can’t see you being okay with him taking your son without fuss if he wasn’t nice. And ruthless isn’t necessarily a disadvantage when it comes to protecting your boy, is it?”

  “It’s not,” I confirmed.

  “Beyond chicken and tiramisu, what do you like?”

  I didn’t get a chance to answer, as Chase emerged from the restaurant burdened with three buckets of glorious chicken, and he was a sight almost as delicious as my dinner. With a smirk, he deposited the entire load onto my lap for the trip to his house. The smell made me drool, which I swallowed so I wouldn’t humiliate myself further.

  “For the record, son, you better count yourself as lucky. Your mother never made it easy to figure out what she really wanted.”

  “That’s because you don’t know how to listen. When a woman tries to take my finger off because I withheld her chicken, it’s obvious she really likes chicken. Through the art of careful observation, I’ve deduced she puts her boy first, which is why she’s trying really hard to hide that she adores my cat while valiantly attempting to adore my dog to the same esteemed level.”

  “I see fostering has resulted in adoption.”

  “If I have the cat and the dog, Miriah has reasons to visit and stay with me often.”

  I raised a brow at that. I needed another reason other than a hopeless crush and his continued acceptance of my presence? If he wanted to encourage me, I wasn’t going to argue.