by Cecy Robson
Poor Alice. She doesn’t belong in our world, no matter how much I wish she could. Savana did a real number on her, and on everyone else who’s been sent to hunt her.
I push my sweat-soaked hair away from my brow and reach for the potholders to lift our Crock Pot. Our potion has been slow cooking since we added the Acacia. For the last two hours we’ve been circling the pot and (you guessed it) chanting with our hands clasped.
The temperature in the room spiked from our combined power. So we’re now standing in our panties and bras. It’s not something any of us are keen on, but for some reason “more flesh means more power” according to Paula. Right now, we’re two tugs away from being naked and afraid.
Merri wipes her sweaty feet with a towel. “How’s it look?”
I lower the pot on the desk and onto our sacred stone, aka a random piece of granite we pass between us to dice herbs. “Like boiling mud?” I admit, gagging.
“I think that’s a good thing,” Paula says. “Do you have the picture?” At my nod she adds. “Then dip it into the potion and do your chant. We’ll wait by the bed.”
I try not to look in their direction. I’m all for a good time in bed, but the red satin sheets beneath, plus the shackles anchored to each corner, make it resemble something out of a bad BDSM dream.
Dom Fiona takes position at the foot of the bed, seeing she’s the strongest and may have to lay across my legs if they can’t restrain me in time.
I wasn’t afraid of the pain before, but I’m plenty terrified now that the time has come. I lift the picture I ripped out of a lingerie magazine. I picked this model because she seemed almost the direct opposite of me.
Mirror is named for your inability to recognize your reflection once the change successfully occurs. Where I’m petite and curvy, she’s tall, rail thin and small breasted. And while my long dark wavy hair falls past my shoulders, her tight thin curls in alternating tones of auburn and gold, barely reach her jaw line. Her eyes are the color of warm honey, but it’s her beautiful mocha skin I envy. There’s no hint of that the porcelain white skin of my arm or blue veins.
I stroke my arm as I continue to study the photo. It’s something I do a lot now, especially since the test involving the crocodiles. It was the first time my magic and that of my arm seemed to work together to save me. It was far from perfect control. But I felt the cohesiveness between them, however brief.
“You ready, Taran?” Fiona asks.
I take another look at the model’s inviting smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
I drop the picture into the bat of thick liquid. “Mirror, Mirror,” I say. “Show me what I need to see.” The edges curl as if burning, but then the potion pools around it, drowning the image and changing the liquid from thick muck to crystal clear. I can see the bottom, but the picture is completely gone.
“Mirror, mirror,” I repeat, adding more force to my words. “Gift me the power of change.”
Light flashes outside, blue like my lighting.
“Keep going, Taran,” Paula urges. “I think it’s working.”
“Mirror, Mirror,” I repeat, feeling that familiar surge of power expand from my core and along my limbs. “Change me now to the creature I seek.”
My hands dive into the water. The steam rising from the liquid suggests that it’s hot enough to burn. Yet be it the power I conjure, or the magic rising from the potion, I feel nothing, taking large gulps from my cupped palms.
The taste should be awful, making me want to hurl. And after all the belladonna and nightshade we added, it should very well kill me. But all I taste is tepid water. I swallow about half of it down, allowing some of it to drip onto my face and body, like the instructions say. But when almost half is gone, I start splashing what remains against my body, drenching myself and chanting loudly.
“Mirror, mirror, grant my change.”
“Mirror, mirror, shield my skin.”
“Mirror, mirror, blind those from who I am.”
“Mirror, mirror, make it be.”
I put all my focus into every word. But when the picture from the magazine appears at the bottom, and all the building power abruptly cuts off like the flick of a switch, I think something went wrong.
Silence isn’t always golden. And right now, it sucks rhino balls. I turn to where Paula, Fiona, and Merri are exchanging glances. I sigh. “It didn’t work,” I begin.
As if on cue, their eyes widen and their hands fly out like they’re trying to stop a large rock from bowling them over them.
“What?” I ask. They rush to me as the first wave of pain hits me like the strike of a mullet across my arm.
I scream as my left arm snaps in half, dangling to the side. “No!” I yell as they lurch me forward. “No!”
My legs give out, crushing to shards of broken bone. I’m fighting them off with all I have. I don’t want them to touch me, or move me, or—
My head falls forward when my neck snaps.
I don’t remember blacking out. I blink my eyes open, grimacing when I catch a whiff of Merri’s feet.
Paula is shaking my shoulder. “Taran, Taran, can you hear me?” I’m sprawled on the floor that much I know. “We weren’t able to get you to the bed,” she explains. “You were thrashing too hard.
She seems ill at ease, as if expecting me to be injured. But I feel great, bordering on fantastic. I bounce to my feet in one easy move, energized and feeling like I can take on the world. I pause as I glance down, shocked by how much shorter she is . . . and the dark skin covering my body. I lift my fingers to touch my face. I don’t need the mirror Fiona brings to know I’m different, but I take it anyway.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, gaping at the woman from the magazine staring back at me. My hand passes along my throat when I realize how much higher my voice is, despite that I did little more than mumble.
“You did it,” Paula says, jumping in place. “And you’ve been out an hour. That means your form will keep for several hours more.”
Merri hands me a short coral dress. “That doesn’t mean you have time to waste,” she urges. “If you’re going to fool your sister, we need to find her, and find her fast.” She smiles hopefully. “You’ve got this Taran. This is your chance to make it right.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Merri stomps her hairy feet on the gas. She’s wearing flip-flops which ordinarily in her condition I’d caution against. But apparently, she can’t wear her regular shoes and no one will lend her a larger pair.
“No way is Cecilia going to know who you are,” she says.
I smile. “Celia,” I correct.
My smile stays put, thinking she might be right. I chose Celia because she knows me best. And for me to get that “A” in Mirror, I needed to fool that one person I’m not supposed to be able to.
I lift my iPhone to my extra full lips to send a voice to text message, something the Superiors permit to complete my task. Hey, Shayna. How are you?
Dude, she texts back. I miss you. Koda, Emme, and I just finished dinner. Are you okay?
Fine, I respond, trying to keep it short and sweet. Where’s Celia?
Shooting pool at Moon Song.
Perfect. And here I thought I’d have to lure her out of the house.
Moon Song is a popular were hangout located at a lodge that overlooks Lake Tahoe. It’s good for a few pitchers of Witch’s Brew, the supernatural beer equivalent that can knock a weregorilla on his ass, along with pool and live music.
Ordinarily, this isn’t a place where Aric would take Celia. She can’t drink, and she doesn’t know how to play pool. But she’s likely going stir crazy at home, and seeing how she’s carrying the mystical world’s version of the Second Coming, this is one of the safest places she can be. With so many weres under Aric’s charge, nothing would dare attack her there.
Thanks, I text back. I’ll call later.
Wait. Is your extra credit project done? she writes back.
Almost, I respond.
&nbs
p; Did you pass? she presses.
I flip the visor back up after another good look at my new face in the mirror. I still can’t get over these startling eyes. Not yet, I reply. But I should. I have to go, but should be home tomorrow.
Cool, she responds, and I can almost picture her smiling.
I shove my phone back into the shiny purse Paula gave me. This model never ate anything more than lettuce and the occasional bite of a celery stick. I’m sure of it. My crew couldn’t find a bra that fit me so I went without. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but as the cool air rushes in through the windows and my nipples salute the night, I’m starting to think it’s a bad idea.
Thank God, I had an extra pair of witch-wear and a new thong in my supply closet. The panties I’d worn during my chanting kept falling to my thighs. As pretty as this woman is, I’ll admit, I prefer my own ass.
“They’re at Moon Song,” I say.
“Good, that’s even closer,” Merri says, cutting left at the light.
Paula and Fiona mutter in agreement from the back. They’re incognito. Well, at least they’re trying to be. They all have baseball caps and sunglasses. No, that doesn’t look odd considering it’s nighttime. The exception is Merri who’s wearing a Ronald McDonald clown wig which, let me tell you, clashes brutally with the hair on her feet.
Personally, I didn’t think the disguises were necessary, seeing how they’ve been holed up at the compound, and especially since all other supernaturals would only be able to recognize them as witches. They don’t know my task, and hopefully won’t figure it out. But these girls are going out of their way for me, and I’m really touched by it.
“Thank you,” I say. “For everything.”
“We couldn’t let you do this by yourself,” Fiona says. “It would have been too difficult.”
“Yeah, you could have,” I tell them. “The others did.”
Merri smiles. “Nah. We’re in this together.”
Maybe we are.
It doesn’t take long to reach the lodge. I wave goodbye as they pull away, then walk carefully up the stone steps. Two men heading out for the night whistle as I pass them. They’re human. I can feel as much, but their responses do nothing for me. The attention I seek, isn’t from some random stranger. It’s from a wolf I can no longer have.
I cross the large lobby and head to where the sign for Moon Song lights up in white and red over the entrance. I’m feeling good, confident . . . until I reach the entrance and see Gemini sitting at the end of the bar.
He leans against the bar, taking a long pull from his bottle of brew, the motion bulging the muscles of his arms against the black T-shirt he’s wearing. His back is to Celia and Aric. She’s laughing as she bends over the pool table with a long stick in her hand. Aric curls his body around her, placing his hands over hers and guiding her hands forward.
She nods at something he says and pulls back her arm, ready to strike the ball. But Aric whispers something in her ear, causing her to miss entirely and almost scratch the surface. Although, I’m a good distance away, and the room is dim, I know her well enough to know she’s blushing.
“Can I help you?” a gravelly voice asks beside me.
I play with my hair. My magical instincts letting me know the big guy with the Mohawk beside me is all were. Weres can sniff a lie as easily as I breathe so I don’t even bother. “Could you tell me where the ladies room is?” I ask, my lighter tone overtly flirty without trying.
“I’d rather tell you where my room is,” he responds, eyeing me like he can already taste my skin.
Sure you would, buddy.
“Past the bar,” he says, when I don’t respond.
Of course it is. I’m not ready to walk by Gemini. Celia, yeah, but only because I’ve spent an entire car ride psyching myself up for this moment. But as I trail my fingertips down my super long and unfairly elegant throat, I’m reminded I’m no longer me. I’m supermodel me, and that’s a hell of a lot better than some cheap disguise.
I lift my chin and force myself toward the bar area, noticing for the first time how different my walk is. It’s a strut seething with confidence, similar to the way I used to enter a room, but different as the swing of my hips is more pronounced.
Eyes drift away from their drinks and their dates as I pass, all eyes but Gemini’s. I give him a passing glance to make sure, my motion subtle and only enough to see his response. Yet aside from lifting his beer to his lips, he doesn’t move, keeping that same slouchy position along the bar.
I stiffen slightly when Celia steps away from the pool table as I reach her. I’m sure she’ll recognize me until she reaches for Aric and laughs at something he says. I keep my gaze on the door to the ladies’ room, floored with how well this spell is working.
I don’t need to use the bathroom, but I do need a moment to collect myself and take another long look in the mirror. I smile, allowing every speck of me to become this woman before me. She’s hot, and she knows it. Seems to me it’s time to own this role.
When I step out, I throw the door open, and really get the feel of these long legs. In the short time I was away, more weres have arrived. Some are sweaty, the familiar scent of a hunt permeates the room. We don’t know what evil is rising, or when it will appear. But chances are it will appear very close to Celia and to the baby she’s carrying. We also don’t know where Savana is, something that’s put supernaturals across the country on edge. Aside from me and my family, everyone who’s found her, hasn’t lived to share the experience.
I return to the bar in time to catch Aric’s hand pass along Celia’s baby bump. She bends forward and attempts to take another shot. But this time, he doesn’t curl around her, locking eyes with the largest were who takes a seat at a nearby table. This were probably led the hunt, but the slight shake of his head demonstrates his team didn’t turn anything up.
Aric nods, his shoulders relaxing, but only slightly. For now, there’s nothing that threatens his mate and their child, but that can change from one prowl to the next. I pretend to fumble with the contents of my purse as I observe the exchange, taking a second to shut off my phone.
I’m supposed to be human and therefore blind to what’s happening. So when I look up I’m smiling, like there’s nothing out there ready to kill my sister. My teasing grin earns me a wink and a motion forward from the were who led the hunt to join him.
I keep my smile and play with my hair, flirting just enough before I turn to where Gemini is sitting. “Hi,” I say, hoping my voice stays steady.
He doesn’t answer, pushing his empty bottle away with a tap of his fingertips.
“Is this seat taken?” I ask a little louder. I know he heard me, despite the growing clamor around the room. But I’m pretending to be human, so I have to pretend he can’t hear me over the noise.
He looks my way. He’s not frowning, but he isn’t exactly friendly either. Dark circles ring those heartbreaking eyes, his once neat goatee is scraggly, and his large muscles are threatening to split his shirt down his spine. But he doesn’t look sexy.
Nope.
Not even a little bit.
Who the hell am I kidding? The man is one giant erection wearing a cape. As it is, my nipples are poking through this thin fabric, demanding he pay them the attention they deserve.
Except he doesn’t even look. Well, at the girls, anyway. The way he’s eyeing me is more like someone who’s bored and unimpressed. I should be insulted, especially in this super suit. Instead, I see it as a challenge.
“Am I bothering you?” I give a one shoulder shrug. “If I am, I can find someplace else to sit.”
“You can do whatever you want,” he says, motioning to the stool. “The choice is yours.”
He turns his attention back to the bar. The bartender returns, his stare cutting my way as he speaks. “Ready for another one, Gemini?” he asks him.
The way this bartender is looking at me would have earned him one hell of growl from my wolf if we were still toget
her. But he doesn’t so much as blink, even when I lean into the bar and the bartender’s eyes travel the swells of my small breasts. “Sure, Steve. And whatever the lady is having.”
“Oh,” I say, my confidence building. I trail my nails along his bulky arm. “So chivalry isn’t dead, is it?”
He doesn’t respond to my words or my touch. But I lick my lips and pretend that he did. “I’ll have a glass of champagne.” Ordinarily, I’m a martini girl. But I’m not ordinary today.
“Champagne?” The bartender chuckles. “What are you celebrating, sweet thing?”
He doesn’t care that I’m overtly flirting with Gemini. But again, Gemini, doesn’t react. I lower my lashes, eyeing my former lover with all the naughty things I wish he could still do to me. “New friends, perhaps?” I suggest.
I make it plenty clear to Steve that he doesn’t stand a chance. His focus trails to Gemini. “That’s one hell of friend you’re making,” he mutters.
“Your name is Gemini,” I say, trying to keep up my non-lying.
He looks at me then. “Gemini is a nickname. My real name is Tomo.”
“I like that name,” I whisper, lust building in my tone. Tomo is the name I always used when we were in bed and he’d climb on top of me.
Steve returns with a bottle champagne and pours into a long stem glass, his attention bouncing between me and Gemini. I glance away from him, losing myself in Gem’s stare. With these borrowed eyes, I’m no longer afraid to look at him or fear what he may see. They won’t give away how much I miss him and how hurt I am that we didn’t work out. Yet they will permit me to reveal my need and desire to wake up beside him.
I’m safe to show him how much I want him, and I don’t hold back.
He watches me closely. “What’s your name?” he asks.
I lift my glass. “What do you want it to be?”
“Is this a joke?” he asks.
“No.” I take a sip. “The choice is yours.” I repeat his words, yet my tone suggests I’m offering a lot more.
“Who’s this?”
I’m so enthralled by Gemini, and everything I’m suggesting, I didn’t notice Celia or Aric approach. But I see her now and catch the sharpness to her tone. She’s not happy to find me here with Gemini.