“So what were you thinking when you said magic?”
“I think the spell with the highest likelihood of success would be to try and spell Ben to leave you.”
“What? You want to make him believe he wants to leave me?” I question.
“Exactly, but it would be extremely difficult, maybe even impossible. I don’t know how receptive he’d be to that type of suggestion.”
I don’t like the sound of this option at all. No one should have a decision like that shoved into their consciousness. “No Hal, that’s not an option worth considering,” I finally say.
“That’s my girl. I would have refused if you’d have asked, but I can’t speak for my brothers.” He’s right: if I had desperately wanted to pursue this plan I can think of several Wanderers off the top my head that I could probably convince to cast the spell for me.
“So option three is death, huh?” Why does everything always seem to boil down to three choices? One choice you would never consider in a million years and two that never end ideally for anyone. Just once in a while I’d love an everybody-wins scenario. Life is funny like that though. “I assume you mean faking my death.”
“Precisely.” He smiles, finding my implication that he might have been talking about actually killing me funny. Death has been the furthest thing from my mind since I found out I was going to live forever. Okay, maybe that’s not entirely true since I have worried about having to watch Ben grow old and die.
“And what are your feelings towards that option?” I probe Hal, curious.
“After the resealing it’s the choice I would have made for you. It would have been a clean break from your humanity, so to speak.”
Whoa. That statement was not what I was expecting to hear at all. “When Kade brought me home I thought everything, all of this was over.” I wave my arms about attempting to reference the whole Sylph-Wanderer world. “It will be another 500 years before you need the help of a Nephilim again, and I’d be dead. My part in the adventure was over, and there was Ben to consider. I thought I was making a clean break, but from your world not mine.” At that time, I’d been resolved to bury my feelings for Kade and return to the way things were, trusting time to take care of everything.
"I know," Hal says softly. From anyone else the “I know” response would seem hollow and meaningless, but Hal really does understand.
"Is death still an option, you think?" It would be a clean break, but from everyone. It would not just be from Ben. There would be no more parents, no more Melanie, no more anyone. Am I ready for that? It would end up causing more heartache, but from loss not rejection.
"That's up to you," he answers.
Looking at Hal, I wonder how the Wanderers do it. They have to make the hard decisions for the protection of humanity, and it can't be easy, especially when you know some may still suffer and potentially die so that others can live. "I just don't know."
"All the more reason to get started on your glamour. You're going to need it regardless of what you decide."
I don't love the idea of giving myself wrinkles, but he's right, for now it's a necessary evil. "Fine." I throw up my hands and say, "Mold me."
Clapping his hands together, Hal drags his desk chair into the middle of the kitchen. "Sit," he commands. I jump up and scoot over to the chair, take my seat, and wait.
"I know you understand the concept of glamouring. Today I'm going to apply it to you." Flashing his pearly whites in a devious smile, he sets a stool down in front of me and gets started.
"You’re so used to seeing through glamours that when we finish I'm going to have to teach you how to do the opposite."
"Oh darn, you mean I have to see this," I joke. Rolling his eyes Hal continues, layering a spell over me which will distort my true appearance to the human eye, making me look closer to my own age. I hold my tongue until his third grimace, and then I can't take it anymore.
"Problems?" I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
"Hey, this isn't as easy as it sounds, and I've never worked with a medium like you before. Your innate characteristics are proving to be a challenge.”
"Sorry," I say, trying to make my apology sound convincing.
"No you're not, you’re enjoying this. Be good or I’ll whip you up a hideous mole."
"I'll be good!" I yell, wanting to walk away from this Frankenstein experiment unscathed. Impatient, I try to keep my mouth shut so I’m not a distraction.
"There," Hal finally announces, stepping back to take in his work. I look down, stretching out my arms and gazing at my body. I don't feel any differently, and I don’t notice anything out of the ordinary.
"Stop that, come with me." Grabbing my hand, Hal leads me into the bathroom. "Okay, look at your reflection but relax your senses. Instead of reaching for your powers try pushing them back."
Stepping in front of the vanity I take a deep breath to steady myself. Following Hal's instructions, I try to disengage from my powers while watching myself in the mirror. For almost a minute nothing happens, then slowly I see it: like a veil that has been hung over my face, Hal's constructed image rests over me. Somewhat disconcerting, the duality begins to give me a headache and I have to look away.
"That's trippy."
"Yes, there's only one problem."
"Really, what's that?" I ask, turning the restroom light off and returning to the kitchen.
"Your hair.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Worried, I run my fingers through the long strands but don’t find anything amiss.
“By forty you can expect to have a few gray hairs. Nothing astronomical,” he tacks on when he sees me beginning to freak out. I love my hair and am not overly fond of the idea of turning it gray. “For whatever reason, your hair is resisting the glamour. I can’t layer any color over it, which poses a dilemma.” No it doesn’t I think, I’m pretty sure it means my hair is kick ass.
“Great, next I suppose you’ll want me to color it.”
“Well...”
“No, no, no! Pretending to add gray to it was one thing but if you actually think I’m going to color it gray, think again.”
“I don’t expect you to dye the whole thing, just a few strands here and there. Consider them highlights.”
“This is the worst day ever!” I blurt out, grabbing my purse and keys and storming from the room. “Take care of business while I’m gone,” I snap while flipping the “yes we’re open” sign over the front door when I exit.
“Wait!” Hal yells, but I strategically ignore him.
Upset, I rev the engine of the Mini Coop and slam her into reverse, almost colliding with a parked car in my childishness. I growl and put the car in drive, then try to exit the parking lot like a sane person. Hal is not asking me to do anything extraordinary; in fact, this is probably one of the easiest things I’ve had to do thus far. “Bleh,” I mutter, annoyed with my own shallowness. Turning left, I head for the nearest drugstore. Breathing deeply in an effort to calm myself works, and I arrive in possession of a more objective frame of mind regarding the whole adventure.
I move with purpose, navigating past the flashy displays designed to distract customers and head straight for the hair care aisle. My sanity takes another serious hit as I comb the shelves looking for the best graying product. Never having colored my hair before, I’m overwhelmed by the number of products to choose from. The smiling women on the colorful boxes seem to mock me from where they sit on the shelf. There isn’t a shade of gray to be found anywhere. I see at least twelve boxes of dye designed to cover up gray but not a single dye to turn one’s hair gray. What the hell! Taking a step back, I eavesdrop on the conversations of the women around me and observe what they are doing while I stroll down the aisle. I pay particularly close attention to the woman with salt and pepper roots to my left. She does what any normal brunette with graying hair would do - she reaches for a sultry brown stain. Facepalm! I am such an idiot. We don’t need to turn my hair gray. I can just pretend I color my hair t
o hide the nonexistent gray, like every other woman in America does. Snatching an eye catching ginger box off the shelf, I head to the register.
“Umm, I don’t think you need this Miss,” the cute checker in his late tweens tells me. “You’re a good looking redhead already.”
“Great, I’ll take it anyway,” I say and smile sweetly, not having the patience to try and explain it to him.
* * *
The bakery is packed when I return. How long was I gone? I question myself. Pushing open the doors I see the crowd consists of about thirty kids and a contingent of chaperoning adults. Crap! I completely forgot we were hosting Mrs. Gentry’s third grade class today. They’re here to see how a bakery operates and to eat cupcakes. Mrs. Gentry had dropped in months ago, soliciting us to participate in career week, or business week, I can’t remember what she’d called it now. Feeling like a total jerk for dumping this on Hal, I run into the kitchen and quickly grab my apron so I can help out.
I restock the display while the kiddos sit happily munching away on their cupcakes. I notice Hal engaged in lively conversation by the register with one of the chaperones, a pretty blonde to be specific. Tucking the picture away so I can tease him later, I return the baking sheet I’m holding to the kitchen and begin cleaning up. Somehow during my impromptu demonstration on cake decorating, the frosting had gotten away from me resulting in a sizeable mess. The shuffling of tiny feet alerts me to the impending departure of the class and I pop my head out of the kitchen to say goodbye. Flipping the “closed” sign over the door once they’ve gone, Hal joins me in the kitchen.
“I’m sorry about that, I completely forgot what day it was,” I tell him.
“It’s alright, you weren’t in your right mind when you left earlier.” Remembering that he’d sent me out of here on a wild goose chase I grab the sack containing my purchase off the desk and throw the box of hair dye at him.
“Nobody colors their hair gray; in fact, they don’t even make that type of dye. Why can’t I just pretend to color over my nonexistent gray? It’s what everybody else does.”
“I know, that was going to be my suggestion when you stormed out of here earlier.”
“But you said gray highlights. I heard you.”
“What you didn’t hear, or what you chose to ignore,” he says with a sly smile on his lips, “was me asking you to wait.” Mouth open, I just stare. I have nothing to say: he’s right, I ignored him. “After thinking about it, I came to the same conclusion you did. Which is why I got you this,” he says, handing me a business card from his pocket.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“The name and number of the best hairdresser in town, or so Jenny tells me.”
“Who’s Jenny?”
“The middle aged blonde chaperoning the third graders. Come on, you were just introduced.” Ah! The woman Hal was talking with at the counter must be Jenny.
“So that’s what you two were discussing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, picking up on my not-so-subtle tone.
“I thought you were flirting with her.”
“Psssh.”
“Come on, you don’t have a thing for leggy blondes?” I tease.
“Certainly not, but her hair looked great, and since we are in need of professional services of that nature, I inquired about her stylist.”
“Come again? I just finished telling you we could pretend to color my hair.”
“And what have I told always you about lying?”
“Make it as believable as possible,” I chant childishly. Staring at the number on the card, I let the idea sink in as my imagination begins to run wild with the possibilities. This might not be so bad.
“You can color it any color you want, and who knows, you might actually enjoy a salon day.”
Chapter 16
I thumb through a magazine as I sit under the hairdryer at the salon. Hal was right; so far the experience has been incredible. When he’d handed me the business card last week I’ll admit that I’d had my doubts. Even after calling to book an appointment I wasn’t convinced it wouldn’t be a total fiasco. An hour into the process, I’m relaxed and honestly enjoying myself. It’s been a while since I’ve pampered myself and done something really girlie. Andrea, my stylist, is a gem. Pegging me as a color newbie right out of the gate, she totally took charge and when the red color swatches made my head spin, she navigated me to a combo that would mimic my natural color but add a feisty kick. The hard part over, I was free to completely disengage (other than some vital chit chat) and let the master do her thing.
Finding nothing interesting to read, I flip the magazine closed and mindlessly people watch, noting the abundance of foot traffic outside the salon. My head starts to itch as the foils on my head heat up and I check my phone for distraction, hoping to find a message from Kade. Nothing. I frown with disappointment. He’s been gone two weeks and I haven’t had a word from him. Okay, so I haven’t texted him either but that’s just because I don’t want him asking about stuff here. When we said our goodbyes, I’d told him I had matters to address in San Diego and I really don’t want him fishing for a status report right now. That’s no reason for him to neglect to call me though. Or is it? Stepping back, allowing me space, is so like him.
“Alright I think you’re about done,” Andrea tells me as she turns off the dryer. “I’m just gonna let you cool down for a minute.”
“Okay,” I answer sighing. I sit back in my chair, sad that the temporary break from reality is almost over.
“Let’s get you rinsed,” she says after a few minutes. My eyes water when she removes the foils covering my hair, but soon enough the cool water rinses away the toxic chemicals and the smell of fruity shampoo replaces the offensive fumes. With a towel wrapped around my damp hair, I follow Andrea back to her work station.
“So what are we doing with your hair? Are we cutting it?” Scared to death of the scissors, I mentally shudder. “Let’s just trim the dead stuff off the ends and call it good,” she decides.
Watching my reflection, I get excited anticipating the end result, since with my hair still wet the color isn’t yet apparent. When Andrea begins to blow out my long strands the color comes to life. Mesmerized, I can’t stop staring. I look sensational; the same and yet different...better!
“I look amazing, you’re amazing!” I praise.
“You have to see it from the back.” Twirling my chair around, she gives me a hand mirror. “Look how the highlights pop in the sun. Gorgeous.” When she removes the styling drape from around my neck, I immediately jump up and hug her, surprising us both. I’m not touchy feely by nature so overt displays of affection are not my thing, except apparently right now they are. Trying not to overanalyze my odd behavior, I release my stylist and step back. After some parting wisdom on how to care for my new red and when I should return, Andrea walks me to the door.
With my spirits soaring on my way to the parking lot, I almost step on a homeless man who is half hidden by one of the stucco columns lining the salon’s façade. Thankful for not trampling the guy, and wanting to spread my good cheer, I stick some extra cash from my wallet into the plastic bucket he’s got marked for donations sitting next to him.
“You’re an angel,” he says, startling me because I thought he was asleep. The hoarse, raspy quality of his voice makes me worried he might be ill. The “you’re welcome” I’m about to drop dies on my lips when his hard eyes lift to meet mine. Stumbling back, the blood rushes from my face when I recognize him as the bum from the alley. Clutching my purse, I rush for my car, suddenly haunted by a forgotten memory. I’d first encountered this guy in the alley outside the Spotted Dog just after the resealing. I was trying to summon the courage to dive back into my old life and had hesitated in the shadows, praying to the heavens for help. What I hadn’t known at the time was that this guy had been lurking in the darkness. Drunk or high, he’d stumbled after me mumbling some nonsense about God.
I make it
to my car and check my locks twice as I start the Mini, scanning in my rearview mirror for any sign of the homeless guy. Heart pounding, I zip out of the strip mall, moving at an unhealthy speed. Something about that guy isn’t right. I’d felt it before and I feel it now. Unable to shake my unease, I head straight for the bakery instead of grabbing lunch like I’d originally planned.
As I enter Iced Hal lobs a coffee mug at me. This has recently become his habit - another of his many drills designed to improve my mental dexterity. I need to be able to assess a threat and react instantaneously. I’m not always the most adept pupil so I’ve learned to love bruises. Still worked up over the incident outside the salon, my anxiety level peaks with the addition of this new stressor and for once I manage to do what I’m supposed to do. I stop the incoming projectile midflight with my powers, but then I can’t seem to let it go. Normally I’d just float the cup back to its original spot on the shelf but today I can’t, and the cup hangs suspended in the middle of the room locked in my vice-like mental grip. I begin to shake and the mug mimics my condition, vibrating at a dangerous frequency. Without warning it explodes, raining shards of broken pottery down on the room.
“Whoa, how did you...what did you do?” Hal exclaims, leaping over the storefront counter. Dazed, I wrap my arms around my body to control the shaking and neglect to answer.
“Gwen! What’s wrong?” Leading me to a chair by the shoulders, Hal evaluates my current condition, concern overshadowing the awe on his face.
“I saw the guy.”
“What guy?”
“The guy from the alley,” I answer.
“What alley? Gwen, you aren’t making any sense, what happened?” Lost in my memories, searching for something to support my gut feeling and irrational fears, I don’t answer right away. Spinning one of the dinette chairs around, Hal sits down in front of me to wait. I gather my thoughts then confess my unease.
A Step Away (The Wanderer Book 2) Page 12