My new body barely warms. Before, a single shot like that would’ve immediately made me lightheaded at the very least. I’ve never been good at holding my liquor.
A shudder wracks through me and I stand up, the table sliding forward into Merlin and Nicholas’ laps with a loud scrape. I pay no attention to the breeze flowing around my sure-to-be-exposed nether region, and just drag Puck up beside me. “There’s no way in hell I’m passing up this opportunity. Let’s go fuckers.”
Merlin and Nicholas scramble to their feet.
“Fine by me,” Nicholas says. He glances once at Merlin, and then at Puck before pointing down at my crotch. “But first we’re going to have to do something about that.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I never thought that becoming a six-foot-seven hulk of a man would make me invisible . . . but it has.
Puck’s old clothes are too-tight and too-short, but it’s a world better than having my dick hanging out for all to see. Or, at least, that’s what the boys say. Personally, I’d prefer the skirt to the way I have to keep doing this weird side-step shuffle to get everything back into place.
I have to make everyone stop for what feels like the hundredth time down the short stretch of street outside the bar.
“Come on,” Merlin says, his foot tapping impatiently on the pavement. It doesn’t seem to matter to him that none of us is even faintly recognizable anymore, he still keeps shifting like a nervous lizard.
“Just give me a second,” I say, grunting as I use one hand to try to move things around a bit. It’s no easy task. Finally, after another moment of publicly groping myself, I plant both my feet back on the ground and give myself a little shake. That’ll do, for now.
Puck meanwhile is struggling with the opposite problem. He stands close by my side, holding his jacket tightly around him while subtly flashing the middle finger at any man who dares so much as glance his way.
As soon as we start up again, I fall back in line with him. He’s moving at a snail’s pace thanks to the tiny heels he borrowed from me. They’re nothing like Veronica’s stilettos, but still, he walks with each step planted firmly and flatly after the last with great effort.
I, meanwhile, couldn’t fit my new feet into Puck’s shoes. So far no one’s seemed to notice I’m barefoot, at least, not with this awkward wombat of a woman teetering along beside me.
“You know,” I say, ducking my head as we walk beneath another battered sign, “I always thought this’d be the sort of thing you’d enjoy.”
He huffs. “So did I. In theory. But everything about this is just . . . wrong. How do you ever sneak around anywhere with so many people watching you?”
I hold out my arm and he reluctantly takes it to help get him over a particularly rough patch of sidewalk. “Well, I’m sure it doesn’t help that you look like you’ve never walked before.”
“Or that your ass is literally, and I mean literally, hanging out of your skirt,” Nicholas says. He’s stopped several feet behind us to take a good look at Puck’s pert posterior. He makes the “okay” symbol with his hands before narrowly dodging the shoe Puck throws at him.
“Unless the three of you would rather spend the rest of the evening arguing out here in the street, I suggest we get inside,” Merlin says again. His voice carries over to us from where he’s stepped up to another door further up the street. A small crowd is gathered outside, slowly filtering into the building as other patrons leave. He doesn’t share the same fascination with Puck and my mixup, but rather just looks cold and more than a little annoyed.
Much to Puck’s protest, I swoop down and throw him over my shoulder. He squeals and tries to beat his fists against my back, but it does nothing. Merlin just rolls his eyes, but Nicholas is nearly choking from laughter by the time we’re all in front of the next door.
I finally set Puck back down, and he starts trying to straighten everything out while a creepy old gap-toothed man leans out of the line ahead of us and tries to get a better look at him.
I just puff out my chest and level him with my gaze and he looks hastily away. I nearly ruin the moment by turning to Merlin and Nicholas to grab them by the shoulders excitedly.
“Did you see that?” I hiss, glancing back at the man now shifting impatiently to get inside. “I could get used to that.”
“Well don’t,” Puck says. He still looks cross. “The magic on the masks will only last a couple hours. Thank god.”
He does a little shimmy that I’ve come to know well. It must feel as weird to lose a penis as to gain one. At least his ding dong isn’t trying to compete for most obvious dick in line. Apparently, my new body really responds to power trips, because if I thought these pants were uncomfortable before . . .
The inside of the club is dark and cloistered, but not in the same way as the earlier dive bar. I get the sensation that we’re not the only one’s wearing masks, especially when I spot a couple very attractive women in skimpy lingerie serving drinks.
I take a drink off one of their trays and lean over to Puck. “Are those . . .”
“Like me? Yeah,” he says, shifting where he stands. He had to give up his coat at the door and now there’s no hiding that his clothes are as tight as mine. The mask he chose might have been shorter than me, but her curves are practically bursting out of my borrowed uniform. “God, can we move away from here please?”
“With pleasure,” Merlin says, taking his own drink and then leading us away from the main bar and into a lounge on the other side.
There’re dozens of witches here—but it doesn’t feel exactly crowded. They keep moving from room to room, sampling drinks and ordering food. The rooms themselves look like a puzzle where the doorways aren’t guaranteed to take you to the same place every time.
Somewhere further in, a band is playing. The drum thuds through the building like a heartbeat keeping time.
Merlin picks another booth and slides into it. Puck follows quickly to squeeze in beside him.
I fully expect Nicholas to try and fit on that side as well, but to my surprise, he takes my hand and pulls me into the other side of the booth alongside him. It takes a little creative contorting, but it eventually works.
Nicholas surprises me further by continuing to hold my hand under the table. He keeps shooting me furtive glances and then looking away quickly, his face slightly reddened.
“Stop eye-fucking Wren like that, it’s weird,” Puck snaps from across the table. He shrinks back at my glance and crosses his arms over his chest. “What, it’s true.”
“You’re being a baby,” I say. I say it again, deeper this time, and smile like a psycho to myself. Puck might choose to take it the wrong way, but I’m loving every second of this.
Sitting here with all three of them, it’s hard to imagine they weren’t talking to each other at the start of the year. It brings back a couple—choice—conversations between them, and I figure now’s as good a time as any to ask.
“So what’s all this about the showcase next year?” I ask. “Or am I still too likely to turn traitor?”
“That depends,” Merlin says, “how likely is too likely?”
Puck elbows him, but I don’t think Merlin notices.
“It’s a stupid thing,” Nicholas says, beside me. “Whatever school wins the showcase gains possession of certain ancient artifacts.”
I think back to my initiation rites. “Like the Elder Blade?”
“Only better,” Puck says. He still looks cross, but his legs kick out under the table excitedly. “There’s a totem we’ve had our eye on for a while. The Luck Totem.”
Merlin still looks uncomfortable talking about it. Nicholas, meanwhile, just rolls his eyes.
“These two think it’ll fix our little ‘girl’ problem. As if just moving the totem here from Highborne is suddenly going to make our witches give birth to more females.”
“Well unless you have any other ideas,” Merlin says, “I’d rather not have to settle for Puck over here. He might
look like a girl, but he’s still got a fucking dick under that mask.”
I’d like to hear more about this Luck Totem and what the boys’ll do with it if they win the showcase. I’m not sure it’d be enough to turn the tide on the Dark Witch extinction, but then again . . . what do I know?
I finally spot a server amongst the figures in the room and raise my hand to call him over, when I suddenly jerk it back down to half-shield my face.
“Don’t everyone look now, but we have company,” I say.
Of course, all three of them conspicuously swivel in their seats to see who it is. Though I’ve turned away, I can still make out the distinct face in the reflection of my glass. His slicked-back hair and pronounced cheekbones are unmistakable.
“What’s Abacus doing here?” I ask in a hushed whisper once I know they’ve spotted him too.
“Warlock Abacus,” Merlin makes sure to correct me, “is probably here on business. Or pleasure. He’s a Dark Witch too, remember?”
“I just thought . . .” I trail off. I thought what? That he was working tirelessly to find my mother for all these months?
I watch his reflection move on to the next room in the glass. I’m so stupid. Of course, he’s just another bureaucrat. No one’s been looking for my mother but me.
Well joke’s on them, because tomorrow, that long search is going to pay off.
Merlin’s eyes stay trained on the doorway he passed through. “I mean, it’s a bit strange to find him here. This isn’t exactly the den of iniquity, but . . .”
“It’s pretty close,” Nicholas finishes, and Merlin nods.
“We don’t usually see much of his type here.”
Now both Puck and Nicholas nod, and I draw my hand back from Nicholas’. “Wait, do you guys come here all the time or something?”
Nicholas tries to grab my hand again, but I pull it quickly away. “Not all the time,” he says, quickly. “Just sometimes.”
I plant my hands on my hips, fully aware of how ridiculous it looks in my current state. “Wait, so all this time I’ve been stuck at school and you three have been going out and . . . what . . . partying together?”
“We’re not the ones on house arrest,” Puck mutters.
“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly my fault the Crusaders want to burn me at the stake,” I snap back.
The mention of the vigilante group draws glances from a nearby table, to which I offer them an intense stare that makes them look promptly away.
I shake my head and stand up. “I never should have made you three friends again.” Merlin looks like he’s about to object, but he too falls silent to my glare. Now that I’m towering over the three of them, I stick out my hand to Puck. “Well, are you going to take me dancing or what?”
His mouth gapes open, and he grabs a fistful of each boob. “You’re kidding, right? These things are gonna be flapping all over the place.”
“Well I’m not the one who picked them out,” I snap back, shoving my hand even closer to his face. “Tonight’s my night, remember? And tonight, I want to dance.”
“But—” Puck starts again, but both Merlin and Nicholas give him a death glare.
“Give the girl one goddamned dance,” Merlin snarls, once again drawing looks from the table nearby. “Or so help me god . . . I will find a way to make your life more miserable than it already is.”
He makes eye contact with one of the witches watching us again, plucks their drink from the table, and drinks it right in front of them. I like this new, sassy Merlin . . . and so does the snake in my trousers.
I take the opportunity to drag Puck from his seat and towards the swell of music. I don’t actually feel like dancing all that much, but it feels good being the one tugging Puck along for once. His temporary body is so small and fragile, I’m pretty sure I could throw him across the entire room with a single flick of my finger.
The two of us draw a few looks, but not enough to linger. There’s enough witches in female costumes to keep Puck from standing out, and no one’s going to look long enough at me to see the strange color of my aura. It wasn’t intentional, but it’s the best disguise Puck could’ve given us.
As the music grows louder, I try to keep an eye out for Abacus among the crowd. I’m easily head and shoulders above most of the witches here now, but it’s still dark enough that I can’t make out everyone’s faces.
I finally catch sight of him in the back room, right next to the band.
Perfect.
“Looks like we’re going to have that dance after all,” I say, sweeping Puck up into my arms as soon as we step into the next room. It’s not an elegant gesture. I have to bend over a lot just to put my hands around his waist, and Puck keeps moving his now bare feet right under mine and claiming I’m the one stepping on him.
Well, even if it is, it isn’t my fault my feet are roughly the size of cinderblocks.
What makes it even harder is that meanwhile, I’m trying to subtly steer us closer to where Abacus stands. He’s leaning against another drink counter, a glass in hand, seemingly lost in thought. Eventually, I just give up. I stop trying to actually dance, pick Puck up entirely, and just pretend we’re dancing instead.
He kicks me a few times in the shins, but it barely feels like a tickle.
The band plays like a four-piece jazz, but the instruments are slightly different. They’re shaped roughly the same, but each one—whether it be a kind of piano, saxophone, or just a microphone for the singer—has a stringed component as well. It’s hard to tell through the swirl of dancers, but I think the strings are playing themselves.
The next time the dance carries us closer to Abacus, I pass him off to an unsuspecting bystander with a hastily whispered apology. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as the duo fumbles awkwardly to pick up where Puck and I left off. I have to commend Puck for his part in this charade. I can’t imagine Merlin or Nicholas taking on the role so, if not gracefully, then at least adeptly.
Even though the body I’m currently occupying must have lungs the size of a small bear’s, I still find myself slightly out of breath under the hanging lights of the bar. I try to disguise this through a series of grunts that the bartender takes as an order, and by the time I’ve managed to turn to Abacus, I have a new drink in my hand. It’s a dark, honey-colored beverage that smells like cinnamon and cloves.
Abacus catches me sniffing at the drink suspiciously and raises his glass of liquid identical to mine.
“It’s not poison, I promise,” he says, his voice barely carrying over the din. He raises his own glass further, up to his lips, and grimaces as he takes a sip. “Even if it does taste like it.”
I grunt again and mirror his movement. One taste of the foul beverage is enough, however. The moment the drink touches my tongue, my whole body lights aflame. It’s not so much the taste as it’s the way a shock wave seems to ripple through my body, starting in my mouth and ripping outward through my veins. I have to keep from throwing the glass halfway across the room. As it is, my thick fingers crack the handle and send a spider web of cracks through the body.
I think Abacus notices from the way his eyes dart to my hand and then quickly away, but he says nothing. I just keep clutching the glass to keep from sending the tiny now-bloodstained shards of glass across the dancefloor.
“So . . . ” I start, my voice so low it just sounds like another drum at first, until I raise it higher. “What brings you here?”
Abacus darts me another odd look. “Business,” he says, flippantly, “though I should really be asking you that.”
He nods back at the dance floor where Puck has been shuffled off to another, far more handsy, partner. “His first night wearing a female mask?”
My stomach clenches. Can he tell I’m wearing a mask as well? Is it that obvious?
I open my mouth to answer, but he’s already gotten distracted by something else. Whereas before his eyes took on a far-off look, now they hone in on a dark figure in the doorway with the precision of a
hunter who’s found his target.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he mumbles, setting down his glass and slipping into the throng of dancers—myself and Puck immediately forgotten.
But I won’t let him slip away so easily. Tonight was supposed to be about getting out of the academy, but even more so, about finding out what being a Dark Witch really might mean. What better way to discover that than to follow the man heralded as a descendant of the First Dark Witch himself?
I catch Puck’s confused look as I shove my way through the outside of the crowd. I don’t have his same agility in this body—though I doubt I’d have it in my own either.
There’s one thing I can learn from Dark Witches, I think. I need to be slipperier like Puck, able to disappear with ease and reappear later without drawing suspicion. Though, as a member of the dying gender, disappearing so easily may never happen for me. It’s not easy to disappear when someone’s always watching.
For once, however, this notion actually works for me. While I’m not able to completely disappear thanks to my giant bear-man form, neither is Abacus. Every so often he might step behind a figure or out of sight through a doorway, but I’m always able to spot him—at least for a second—before he vanishes again.
I follow him into a room with long mirrors along every wall, and for a moment I think I’ve lost him. The mirrors reflect my own confused face back at me over the heads of the surrounding witches as I look back and forth over the crowd. But then I see him hunched in a doorway, no longer fleeing, while his lips whisper something into a stranger’s ear.
I try to keep close to the wall, using the half-shattered drink in my hand for an excuse to lean against the old antique furniture.
From where I stand I still can’t see the face of the man he speaks to, but whatever they’re discussing has made Abacus’ cool exterior melt into something frantic. His slicked-back hair is falling into his face, and I swear I can see a blood vessel fit to burst at his temple.
Dark Witch: A Paranormal Academy Romance (Academy of the Dark Arts Book 1) Page 26
