by Eve Langlais
He didn’t appear as perturbed as she did. He began nosing his watch. Who knew reptiles could tell time?
She had no idea what he was up to until he grabbed hold of a pen in his mouth and wrote—not very well, she might add. His block letters were kind of lopsided.
Need antidote.
“Of course. There must be something around here.” She rummaged on the shelves, noting the different bottles. Most of them looked empty. Including the one with her name. She shuffled it to the back so Simon couldn’t see it.
“None of these say ‘drink me to become a man.’” And the one that said Bone-Warp really worried her. What had her father been doing down here?
She looked through the stuff on the desk. Papers for the most part, some with scribbled notes. The laptop proved a dead end as well, given it required a passcode, and the word Petunia didn’t work.
“Maybe it will wear off?” she said hopefully when all her searching revealed no antidote. “How long did the guy stay a pig?”
Simon sat on his haunches and lifted his clawed hands. I don’t know.
“Can’t we wait and see?”
He stared at her without blinking.
“It wouldn’t be so bad. We could hang out here and…um…” Do what? Get into a staring contest.
She paced. Time to start thinking.
“I’ll bet the antidote is in that cookbook,” Petunia muttered, thinking aloud. “But it’s not in my dad’s lab.” She’d searched every inch of it, and there was nowhere to hide that thick tome.
Simon crossed his lizard arms, his gaze intent, even when he licked his own eyeball.
Fascinating.
“Where should I look next? I wonder if I’d find something if I did an internet search?”
He stared some more.
Slowly, she said, “I guess I could contact my great-grandmother and see if she has a copy of the book or can help.” She didn’t mention the fact she’d never actually met the woman. The rift with her mother’s side of the family started before she was born. Something about them not approving of her father.
Simon gave a vigorous shake of his head.
“Then what do you want me to do?” Because staying in this hidey hole until someone else figured it out was beginning to sound mighty appealing.
He held out the arm—leg? whatever—with the watch. Too small for the man, it appeared large on Simon now.
“What is it? Do you need me to tell you the time?” she crooned, much as she would to a child.
He leaned forward and flicked his tongue, narrowly missing the tip of her nose.
She leaped back and shrieked. The damned thing looked smug.
He held out his watch again, and she peeked at the screen. It held a flight number and time.
“You want me to fly somewhere?”
He grabbed hold of the pen. Us.
“You want us to fly together?”
Which turned out to be less strange than expected. The TSA agent barely blinked when she told him the chameleon in the cage was her support animal.
The problem occurred when she boarded the plane. The steward stopped her.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that cage is too large to ride on your lap.”
She looked at the cat carrier she’d borrowed from her dad’s neighbor. They had a big Maine coon. “But he has to come with me.” The very idea of being alone in a strange city made her hyperventilate.
“He’ll have to ride in the cargo hold.”
Given she feared further arguing would get her dragged off and bloodied—this was, after all, that airline—she let Simon go with a shrug and a wave, cooing, “See you in San Francisco.”
It was a terrible flight.
For Simon.
She spent it being wined and dined in first class. Had a lovely nap. Watched a movie. Then napped again.
When they landed, she was refreshed and ready to go. She just needed to grab her luggage—AKA the support lizard in his cage.
Rather than bring Simon out to her, she was told to wait at the carousel.
Standing there, typing up a lovely review about escaping unscathed and relaxed, she was startled by a deep voice.
“You must be Miss Erwin.”
She whirled to see a handsome fellow with slicked-back hair, tanned features, and an athletic body. With chest fur peeking from the vee of his shirt! Oh, my.
“Hi. Um, do I know you?” she asked.
“Not yet, but I do hope we’ll become closely acquainted.” The man took her hand and kissed it. “My name is Ricardo. Perhaps Simon spoke of me? We work in the same office.”
“You’re a spy, too?” she exclaimed, loud enough that he winced.
“My current cover is visiting playboy meeting a lady friend who has flown out for the weekend.”
“Oh. I guess you need to get going, then.”
He gave her a strange look. She suspected a sigh wasn’t far behind. She had that effect on people.
“You,” he stressed. “You’re the lady friend.”
The very idea. As if she were the glamorous type who flew to see men in strange cities. But then again, who said she wasn’t. Petunia hadn’t exactly been herself since meeting Simon. This Petunia left the house, wore designer clothes, and was met by a dark, handsome man who kissed her hand.
“But what of Simon?” she asked.
“What of him?”
“There he is.” She suddenly noticed him on the carousel, going round and round, looking none too impressed.
But Ricardo didn’t scoop up the cage. Instead, he slid an arm around her waist. “First, we must make it look good if anyone is watching.”
Before she could figure out his intent, he came in for an embrace. She barely managed to turn her head in time so the kiss landed on her cheek.
“Ricardo.” She shoved to make some space. “That is most inappropriate.” Not to mention, what would Simon think? She rushed to his cage where he refused to look at her. He turned his back.
“Don’t be like that. Ricardo was just ensuring our cover was in place. You’re the only one I want touching my mouth.”
He looked at her over his green shoulder, the gaze saying clearly, “prove it.”
“Can’t I show you later?” she hissed.
He turned away, and she sighed. “Fine. Come here.” She opened the cage, and he scampered out, wrapping himself across her nape. She held in a shudder at the strange sensation of reptile skin touching her.
Ricardo looked less than impressed. “Shall we?”
He brought them to a hotel, a top-level suite with two bedrooms. More fascinating than the incredible view was the dress hanging in the living room.
“Who is that for?” She pointed.
“You. There is a gala tonight at Gardenia Manor. And I’ve managed to finagle us an invitation.”
Ricardo twirled the card with the gold-embossed lettering.
“You mean, go there? Tonight? In person?”
Funny how the entire flight over, she’d not once thought of what would happen once they arrived.
She’d been caught in her thoughts of Simon, and what Simon made her feel. When she got too flushed thinking of him, she reminded herself of her father’s plight. Her poor missing Daddy.
“It’s a masquerade.” Ricardo presented her with a box.
Opening it, she found a mask, an elegant thing constructed of glitter with a feather sticking out of the top.
A disguise would make it easier, especially since she didn’t know what she’d say if her great-grandmother recognized her. Hi. Thanks for ditching me and my mom. You suck.
It probably wouldn’t get her warm, homemade cookies or a big, maternal hug.
“Get cleaned up. We leave for the party in three hours.”
Three hours.
Too long. Too little.
She took a bath and did her best not to panic. But it was hard. What if…what if she were spotted?
Or she found her dad? Could her own family be the ones ho
lding him prisoner?
Then again, could she really call them family? The only time she’d seen them was at her mom’s funeral. They barely talked to her. Mostly sniffing and staring each time she got close.
Snobs. With sinus problems.
She hated them. Even as she yearned to understand why she never got a chance.
Why had her father stolen the book? Because he must have taken it. She couldn’t see them just loaning it out.
And how did it come to have a potion in it that turned a man into an animal? Were her ancestors witches?
It made her wonder if perhaps she had relatives who died in the Salem witch trials. It might explain her affinity for Halloween, which she’d always attributed to her love of chocolate.
Perhaps there was a deeper meaning to it.
I am someone special.
The only person who could save Simon and her dad.
The very idea sent Petunia blowing bubbles underwater in a panic.
Eleven
Simon was ready to panic. He couldn’t change. Not even a little finger. He’d practically burst a blood vessel trying. While proud of his lizard—who wouldn’t be, given his excellent coloring, and fine lines?—he didn’t want to remain a reptile. Not after having gotten a taste of Petunia.
Sweet Petunia. How had he ever thought her plain?
She was perfection itself, and Ricardo was sniffing at her. Everyone knew you could never trust a sloth with a woman. Bloody slow-moving Casanovas with touchy hands and fat tongues. Simon hissed at that thought. Ricardo and his sloth tongue could stay the hell away from his Petunia.
Why N thought they needed to borrow the suave bastard from another department, Simon didn’t know. The man was an irritating tick that knew how to burrow under his skin.
When Petunia went for a bath, Simon went to hunt down the slick bastard.
He found the other agent in his room, tapping away at a laptop, pretending he didn’t notice Simon. Wanker.
Clambering up the desk, Simon sat on his haunches and presented a middle digit. Which was harder than it sounded given three of them were fused together.
“If it isn’t agent Nobottom. I see you’re still your little dick self.”
The dig on his reptile bits stung. Sure, they weren’t impressive in this shape, but that didn’t make him inadequate in the bedroom. More than one lady had commented on the size of his trouser-lizard.
As a retort, Simon glanced down at Riccardo’s lap. A reminder that the one-balled shouldn’t cast stones.
The jibe worked. The other man shifted in his seat. “I’m surprised to see you. I would have thought you’d be swimming in the tub with the lovely piece.”
It tempted him for sure. However, he wasn’t sure how Petunia would react if he were to give her a good ol’ lizard lick.
Best wait until he could do it in person. Literally.
Since Riccardo wasn’t multilingual—apparently, sloths and their thick tongues had trouble forming the hissing and flicking words that a reptile could—Simon leaned over the computer and began typing. Full sentences, he might add. His pecking of the keys much faster than any hen.
Did that kid in the video turn back into himself yet?
Ricardo shook his head. “Nope. Still oinking away in custody. Whatever that shit was he chugged, it’s potent. You might be stuck as a lizard forever.”
Not exactly an exciting prospect.
There could be trouble at the ball. Simon paused and then typed some more. Petunia is human, but that doesn’t mean her family is.
At that, Riccardo snorted. “If they’re not human, then I need my nose checked. I asked around about them. They run in regular circles. No ties to any of the packs, sleuths, or flocks around. Not a single rumor about a crazy uncle howling at the moon, or a cougar aunt.”
Then explain the recipe book.
“Stolen from someone. Super-ancient family heirloom. Complete coincidence that it works.” Riccardo ticked off his fingers.
Ricardo also had no imagination. How the hell had he managed to wind up a secret agent?
Simon began to type. We need to find out if there are copies of that book.
“First, we need to find the damned thing. Then, we’ll worry about who else knows about it. Maybe I’ll get lucky tonight.” The leer held a double entendre.
I’m going to the gala tonight.
That brought a sneer to Ricardo’s face. “I doubt the garden will have much to offer in the way of clues.”
Inside. I’m going inside with Petunia.
“As what? Her date?” Ricardo asked. “You do realize it’s coat and tie tonight?”
Simon flicked a tongue. Good thing he’d had them send his alternative evening wear…
He couldn’t wait for Petunia to see him in it.
Twelve
“A bowtie?” Petunia blinked at him and then the intricately twisted fabric in her hand.
Simon sat, patiently waiting.
“This is nuts,” she mumbled under her breath as she leaned over and clipped it around his little scale-y neck. She had to admit, he appeared rather slick.
Almost as much as she did. The dress on the hanger fit perfectly, hugging her in places Simon had recently touched, and showing off a figure she usually kept hidden.
A veritable princess. But no frog for her. She had a super-secret agent lizard instead—who insisted on riding her shoulder.
They got more than a few looks when she exited the hotel along with Riccardo. Only when they got into the dark sedan did Simon scamper to the side. He held up his watch and nosed it. For a moment, she wondered why, but then the speakers in the car came to life. A voice, somewhat robotic, filled the air.
“When we get to the party, we’ll mingle for a bit. Mostly to get a feel for those attending. Then, I’ll sneak off and nose around.”
“Won’t people notice I’ve lost my lizard?”
“Yes, because you’ll make a fuss about it,” Simon continued, rolling an eye at her. “As people look for it in the ballroom, Riccardo will join me in searching outside of it.”
“This sounds wildly dangerous.” Petunia’s heart raced at the thought.
“It is.” Simon didn’t even pretend. “We have to find that recipe book.”
Or else…poor Simon might never be a man again. Which would be a shame. As cute as he was as a lizard, she kind of missed the man.
The car soon arrived at the well-lit mansion that belonged to her great-grandmother and her mother before her. It tended to get passed down to the women in the family, in direct contrast to most. Who would it go to now? Her mother had been disowned for marrying her father, so that broke the line.
Exiting the car, worried that she’d twist an ankle in her heels, conscious that she might be recognized—both wanting and yet fearing that at the same time—Petunia found some reassurance not in Riccardo’s hand on her elbow, but in Simon’s presence on her shoulder. He made an odd purring-type noise by her ear. Rather soothing.
The invitation Riccardo handed over at the door got scrutinized, as did they. It took willpower to keep her hands by her sides rather than fidgeting with her mask.
“Nice touch with the costume,” the employee remarked with a glance at Simon.
“And lucky for my darling, we just got it house-trained.” Riccardo smirked, and tiny claws dug into her skin.
Petunia fidgeted. “It’s chilly outside. Can’t let my lizard get cold.”
Ushered into the mansion, she exhaled with relief. They were inside. Which, as it turned out, proved to be more daunting than expected. Who had a foyer three stories tall the size of a ballroom? Her mother’s family, apparently. Immediately upon entering, the large open space intimidated not only with the rich gleam of the hardwood floors but also the sheer glamour in one place.
Men in tuxes and women in gowns usually seen on a red carpet mingled, champagne glasses in hand. Totally at ease as they chattered away to each other.
Petunia felt utterly out of place. I
t didn’t help when Riccardo immediately ditched her. “I’ll grab us a drink.”
More like he wanted to grab a look at the local lovelies that drew his attention, a group of them gathered near the bar.
Whatever. Let Ricardo flirt. Petunia didn’t need him. She inched closer to a potted tree.
Closer.
Only when she stood partially hidden by its trunk did she feel less exposed.
“There are too many people,” she muttered.
The lizard nudged her neck. Once, twice, then firmer on the third nudge when she didn’t move.
“I don’t want to go out there and socialize,” she retorted, guessing his intent. “They’ll know I’m a fraud the moment I open my mouth.”
The hissing reply had her shaking her head. She refused to be bullied by a damn lizard.
“I won’t fit in.” The fear and problem she’d had her whole life. The reason she didn’t often leave her house. Usually, she did her travel through the pages of a book or via the screen, be it a movie or the internet.
Real-person adventuring? That was scary stuff to do all alone.
Except…the rubbing of a reptilian cheek against her own reminded her that she didn’t do this alone. Simon was right by her side. On her right shoulder, as a matter of fact, where he’d stay if she didn’t get her act together and go looking for that cookbook.
But first, a little mingling. “Who should I talk to?”
She glanced around the room, her gaze not stopping on any one person until it crossed an intent stare.
Her glance flicked past and then returned to find a young woman in a tightly fitted red dress, who wouldn’t stop looking at Petunia.
She murmured, “I think I’ve been made. There’s a woman who won’t stop staring. I think we need to abort.”
The reply wasn’t anything so pleasant as a mental thought or actual words. She got the flick of a raspy tongue on her ear lobe.
Ewww…
As messages went, she couldn’t have said what it meant. But it did twist her expression just as the woman reached her side.
Focused on watching for any sudden moves, Petunia didn’t initially grasp the gushing torrent of words.