by RJ Blain
“If only I didn’t,” he groused, snapping his fingers and pointing at one of the stools at his kitchen island. “Kitchen disasters sit there and don’t touch anything. I’ve replaced enough appliances this week. I still haven’t figured out how you killed my coffee maker twice.”
“It doesn’t count if I don’t remember it.” I slid onto the stool and scowled so I wouldn’t smile. A reputation as a kitchen destroyer was a step up from sleepwalking bed-invader. Malcolm would feed me to protect the rest of his appliances from destruction. “You could be saying that to try to get me to buy you new appliances.”
“You’ve seen through my dastardly plan. Do you eat anything other than bacon?”
“I’m sure I could, but why would I want to?”
“You have issues, Kanika.”
“I don’t see the problem. My issues lead to bacon.”
“I can’t argue with that. Would you care for an omelette in addition to your bacon?”
“Will this omelette you speak of include bacon?”
“I suppose it could.”
“Bacon sounds good.”
Malcolm sighed and headed to the fridge, a nice stainless-steel model, the expensive kind I’d buy for myself if I ever settled down instead of wandering. He pulled out enough ingredients to feed at least three or four and went to work.
“What’s this business you want to discuss?”
“Do you think shifting will restore your hair?”
“It’s worth a try.” While I wouldn’t tell him so, I’d rather avoid the devil’s practitioner, too. I’d already gotten in deep enough with the Lord of Lies, and he somehow kept involving himself in my affairs—or tricking me into involving myself. Add in my wager, of which I’d already squandered a week, the last thing I wanted was to owe Satin an actual debt. “If shifting doesn’t help, I can wear a wig. There’s no need to worry about my hair.”
“You liked it. That’s reason enough for me to worry.”
I regretted the day I’d done the devil a favor and agreed to Bubba Eugene’s job. Had I met Malcolm in any other fashion, I would’ve been able to toss my dying morals aside. His looks put him in a class all of his own, but if anyone realized he was more than a pretty face in a perfect body, women around the world would hunt him down for a chance to be his one and only.
Either the curse was far more potent than I thought or Caitlin was the dumbest woman alive. I’d seen so much of America, but I’d met precious few people who spoke so selflessly.
He’d offered his home to me, dealt with me breaking his appliances while under the influence of drugs, and tolerated my sleepwalking with remarkable restraint and dignity. The devil had truly played me.
Ten little words had turned the wager into something far more serious. I owed Malcolm for his help, and that had factored into my decision to work with him. His generosity and good nature chipped away at me until I wanted to win the wager because he deserved happiness and the family I believed he wanted.
Damn it, I was doing it again. I’d end up draining the devil’s bank account dry if it meant repaying my debt to Malcolm—a debt I never intended to let him know he was owed.
When I remained silent, he went back to cooking, frying bacon, cracking eggs, and doing all the things my aunt had done when I was a child, before I’d gotten old enough to realize the truth. My aunt had done it out of familial obligation.
Malcolm did it because he wanted to.
“One way or another, I’ll take care of my hair,” I promised.
“That leads me to the actual business, which is also part of the reason I’m worried about you and your hair. I need a favor.”
Uh oh. Favors equaled unpaid work, which for a rare change I didn’t mind at all. However, favors often meant personal business, business destined to lead me into even more trouble. “What sort of favor?”
“Well, it’s one part favor, one part job. I’ll pay you what you’re worth and then some, but it’s business of a personal nature.”
“Just tell me.”
“Bubba Eugene has been running his mouth to the rest of my family that you’re staying with me. As a result, we’ve been invited to a charity event. Unfortunately, because no one actually believes I might be involved with an actual woman, they neglected to inform me of this until yesterday evening. The event is in New York tomorrow night.”
The Stewarts hated Malcolm. Springing a charity event on someone with such little notice should’ve counted as a crime, and the ruthlessness of their tactic astounded me. There wasn’t enough time to prepare.
A wealthy man might be able to pull it off, especially if he already owned a lot of suits. Me? All of the saris in the world wouldn’t fit a charity event in an expensive city like New York.
“Your family hates you, don’t they?” I groaned at my rudeness the instant the words left my mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s true. Don’t worry about it. It’s not that they hate me. They really don’t believe there’s any chance of a woman in my life, so they don’t believe I’ll be inconvenienced. In fact, I don’t think they expected me to accept the invitation for two at all. Therein lies the problem. It’s a costume party for the rather wealthy at the American Museum of Natural History in New York, and all proceeds go to the museum. The favor is to please forgive me for accepting without conferring with you first.”
“I definitely don’t have suitable clothes. What’s the theme?”
“I can take care of the clothes. Honestly, I’m hoping it’ll give you a chance to get a feel for my family and gain their trust. If we’re really lucky, we’ll be able to figure out what they’re up to. I wouldn’t put this past them to use this event as a test to see what you’re made of. The type of women they prefer wouldn’t be caught dead without hair, and I have no doubt my cousin told them about the accident.”
Despite my annoyance and misgivings about the situation, I laughed. “I’m not exactly thrilled about having my hair burned off. If needed, I’ll wear a wig.”
“You’re willing to give this a shot?”
I could have refused him, but I’d look like a petty coward—and confirm his family’s beliefs about Malcolm. No, I needed to play the game. If shifting failed to restore my hair to its former glory, I’d borrow a few tricks from my ancestors. “I am. The event’s at the American Museum of Natural History?”
“Yes. It’s one part exhibit viewing, one part social gathering, one part charity auction.”
I hated New York so, so much. The people I hated most lived there, and I did my best to forget about them and the reasons I’d left my aunt’s home in the first place. Sighing, I nodded. “All right.”
Malcolm echoed my sigh. “This is just another one of my cousin’s stupid games. He probably had the extra tickets for months and decided to give them to me just to piss me off at the encouragement of Uncle Edwin. They do petty shit like this all the time.”
“Let’s exceed his expectations. What’s the theme?”
“Historic figures.” Malcolm plucked the bacon from the pan, set it on a paper towel, and grabbed the eggs. “It’s a masquerade gala, and we’ll be expected to pretend we’re the figures we’ve chosen.”
I hoped I wouldn’t be eating egg shells in a few minutes, as pride and an ingrained dislike of wasting food demanded I pretend they weren’t in the omelette. Wait. Historic figures? Masquerade gala?
I got to play pretend on someone else’s dime? Hallelujah. “Most call that a costume party.”
“Unfortunately.”
Finally, finally, finally something had gone right in my life. Of all the jobs in the world, there was none I could do better. If Malcolm needed a historic figure, I could provide, and I’d be able to provide with ease. For the first time in my life, I could play the part of Bastet or Cleopatra without anyone judging me. I’d make Malcolm shine, and all I had to do was be myself and embrace the proud tradition of my Egyptian heritage.
I could also dance through th
e night as a Ruska Roma if I chose.
And, in a true miracle, I could even go as a sphinx. In any shape, I would be able to help Malcolm.
That left me with one serious problem: Malcolm. “Who are you going as?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
Yep, we had a problem. Solving it would fall to me, I feared. But where to begin? I favored Bastet as my choice, for while I enjoyed the prospect of going as Cleopatra, I liked the idea of attending equipped with natural weapons. Add in Bastet’s aloof, cat-like personality, and I’d be in the best position possible to mingle with sophisticates. “I think I’ll go as Bastet.”
“Interesting choice.”
“As long as my fur has grown back, I won’t need hair; I’ll wear a headpiece, usekh, armbands, and a traditional attire. It won’t take me long to put it together.”
“I think you underestimate how long it takes to get Egyptian anything, Kanika.”
“Just trust me. Anyway, if I go as Bastet, my hair isn’t an issue at all.”
“That’s fair, and a good point. That just leaves my costume.”
“If you’re such a black sheep of the family, why not go as a Scottish lord or something along that line? Snub them through your costume choice.”
“How exactly is doing that snubbing them?”
I laughed. “It’s subtle, but you’d be waltzing in claiming you could be the white sheep just like they want but that you choose to be different. That, plus it’ll make them ask questions. When they’re the ones asking questions, you have the advantage and better control of the situation.”
“I could also go planning to insult them all. If you’re blurring the lines between fact and fiction, I can, too.”
“Who would you go as for that?”
“King Arthur.” Turning away from the stove to face me, he smirked. “I know just the person who can help me put together a costume today, too. I like it. Not only will I get to taunt my family, they won’t be able to chastise me over it because I’ll be playing to the theme and taking it seriously—at least on the surface.”
Something about his playful smirk and the spring in his step as he went back to his breakfast-making duties promised the next two days would be a disaster in the making. “This is going to blow up in our faces, isn’t it?”
“I certainly hope so, or I’ll be bored out of my mind. I hate these events. I always feel like I’m the one up for auction.”
“Maybe you should go as someone rather ugly; perhaps the Hunchback of Notre Dame?”
“I doubt that would work. I don’t know a makeup artist who would be willing to turn my face into a disaster, and I don’t think I have enough time to find one.”
“True. It would take a lot of work to make you ugly.”
“King Arthur should work. My family will hate it, the other attendees will love it, and that makes it a victory in my book.”
“We’re going to be a mismatched pair.”
“Even better.”
Had Malcolm lost his mind? Maybe my sleepwalking bed-invasion had broken something in his head. “I don’t follow.”
“It’s symbolism. We’re portraying independent, powerful figures—forces to be reckoned with when alone. Together? We’d count as a true threat. I think it’s perfect.”
So many regrets and worries, so little time. What could go wrong?
Ah, right. Everything. I was willing to bet what could go wrong would go wrong, it was only a matter of when. At least I’d be able to claim I wasn’t a coward. “Then it’s decided.”
“You’re not going to regret this.”
Was he a mind reader? He startled a laugh out of me. “You’re joking, right? I already do.”
Chapter Thirteen
What could go wrong did go wrong the instant I attempted a shift. I managed to shift, but I became a sphinx. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve been thrilled with my transformation, especially since my hair, feathers, and fur were all intact. Exhaustion smothered me, which I blamed on the drugs still working their way out of my system.
Getting stuck, however, hadn’t been part of my plan.
Tapping my claws on the bathroom tiles, I scowled at my reflection. A fortune in jewels and precious metals decorated my hair, weighing my head down. A silver usekh worthy of a goddess, bejeweled in rubies, lapis lazuli, and smoky stones, clung to my throat and draped over my shoulders.
My inability to shift again shouldn’t have surprised me; I’d been stuck as a burned human for over a week. I shouldn’t have expected a different result. There was a silver lining, however. With Malcolm’s help, I could pillage my jewelry for when I did manage to shift, hopefully before the gala.
I really hoped I did, or I’d have far too many problems for my liking. The rumor of a sphinx in New York might reach my family. My infrequent taunting of my aunt ensured that the woman knew I was alive somewhere, but if she learned what I was, I feared what she would do.
A sphinx would transform me into a desirable. If I never met any of my biological family ever again, I’d die a happy woman.
What the hell was I supposed to do now? I lashed my tail, rustled my wings and settled them over my back, and engaged in a staring contest with myself. Mirror-me won as usual, and I hissed my disgust over being trapped in my favorite body at the worst time.
Malcolm knocked on the bathroom door. “Everything okay?”
After over a week at his mercy and invading his bed due to sleepwalking episodes, what was one more embarrassment? I sighed. “I’m stuck.”
Malcolm yanked open the door, caught sight of me, and his eyes widened. “Holy shit.”
“It’s really not what you think.”
“You’re a sphinx?”
“Okay, maybe it is what you think.”
Malcolm straightened, opened his mouth, closed it again, and looked me over head to tail, spending the most time focusing on my wings. “Can you go to the charity gala like that? You’re splendid.”
Of all the things I expected, his admiration hadn’t been one of them. “But why?”
“You’re a mythos! I’ll be honest, if I come with a mythos they believe is my girlfriend, I’ll be the clear victor of this episode of our family feud. I won’t even have to lift a finger. It’s brilliant. No one wants to get into a fight with a mythos.”
“I’m a sphinx, not the Sphinx, Malcolm. Sorry.”
“You’re still a mythos. This is so much better than I hoped. What are your abilities? Your diet?” A gleam lit his eyes. “Do you do riddles?”
“Riddles are Greek. I’m Egyptian. Egyptian sphinxes are guardians. Greek sphinxes will eat your kidneys for breakfast because they’re in a bad mood. Egyptian sphinxes are good-natured. Greek? Not so much.”
“That’s fantastic. What is someone like you doing working as a mercenary?”
I considered biting him, but he’d fed me a great deal of bacon for breakfast, and I couldn’t risk losing my bacon supply. “Making a living. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you have the wrong idea. Sure, I look like a sphinx, but all I can do is shift and summon clothes when I do. I don’t have any other special abilities. I don’t do riddles, nor do I eat people when they get them wrong.”
“Some would say your ability to shift is special. Lycanthropes with three forms are prized. How many forms do you have? Four?”
“Five, and I have no control over which form I shift to. Until the car accident, I could shift reliably—by that, I mean I could always shift. It’s a problem right now.”
“If three for lycanthropes is considered spectacular, five forms are the definition of something special. Your papers say you’re human?”
At the rate I was going, I wouldn’t have any secrets left by lunch. I huffed, shook out my wings, and dropped to the floor to make myself as comfortable as I could on the tiles. “I’m typically categorized as a shapeshifter or a human.”
“Interesting. Can you fly?”
“I can.”
“Now that’s really
interesting. How long can you stay in that form?”
I almost didn’t answer him, but after consideration, I shrugged. “However long I want I guess. I like shifting, so I tend to do it often.”
Malcolm chuckled. “I would, too, if I were you. But this is excellent. I have an idea.”
Ideas worried me, as they tended to cause me trouble in some form or another. “What idea?”
“You’ll see soon enough, so don’t worry about a thing.”
Instead of trusting Malcolm like a stupid fool, I should’ve worried, made plans, and done anything other than catch a catnap by the pretty fish pond in his back yard. Maybe if I’d used my head instead of succumbing to the temptation of a pleasant puddle of sunlight, he wouldn’t have had a chance to put my own damned suppression bracelet on me.
I evaluated every mistake leading to the moment he turned the tables on me. Some of the blame went to the painkillers; I’d been sluggish through breakfast and could barely remember the dirty bit of business involving a costume party at a museum at some charity event I never would’ve attended without someone paying me to do it. The painkillers would take most of the blame, actually. They fogged my head and lowered my defenses almost as much as the luxury of Malcolm’s home, especially his bed when he was in it.
The man was too handsome and warm for my own good. My bed invasions alone justified part of his desire to get revenge. I’d started it, and I only had myself to blame for letting him steal pages from my book on kidnapping, coercion, and manipulation.
I deserved a little misery in the form of wearing my own suppression bracelet. There wouldn’t be a next time, however. Lesson learned.
Malcolm Stewart was not to be underestimated again.
Movement caught my attention, and I glowered at my new worst enemy. “This is taking turnabout is fair play too far.”
“Knowing what you are changes things.”
New intel often did change things, as I learned on far too many occasions. “How?”
