by A M Boone
“You look amazing,” she cooed. “Go and pick out some accessories. He’s gonna love it.”
So across the street I went.
* * *
This shop, unlike Marie’s, was cluttered and slightly dusty, with rows upon rows of accessories and shoes lining the walls and snaking through the entire shop. The owner looked normal, about an inch or two shorter than me, with bright blond hair and blue eyes. Like Tony. I swallowed. But with everything I’d gone through the past twenty-four hours, I could never be quite sure.
He nodded to me, then pointed to a white board on the wall. He paid in advance. Pick whatever you like.
“You’re mute?”
He scrawled on the board, If I were to speak, I’d kill you instantly.
Oh. Oh. For fuck’s sake.
“How much can I get?”
He gave me a no-limit credit card. Don’t hesitate to ask my opinion.
No point in not running up his credit card bill. I went through all the shelves. Where did I even start?
Shoes? Yeah, shoes. Jeez, there were a ton here. Heels, flats, tennis shoes, sneakers, boots… I could get as many of these as I wanted?
Anyone else would have creamed themselves at the selection, but according to Momma and Esme, I was too much of a tomboy for my own good. Heels were only worn at funerals and weddings, and even then, I stumbled around in them and if I was super unlucky, my knees would lock up. Flats or boots at parties, and any other time, unless it was raining, sneakers.
But he’d probably want pretty shoes. Half of the reason why he made the deal was because of my body anyway.
The shopkeeper tapped the white board with his marker, and I glanced at him.
Why didn’t you pick the red heels?
Seriously?
He likes red. He shrugged.
I sighed and tossed the red heels into the small pile I’d built. Vincent would just mock me when I was sprawled out on the concrete.
By the time I was done, I had several bags of jewelry, shoes, and other miscellaneous accessories. How was I going to lug all this crap around anyway?
Right before I left, he tapped my shoulder and stuffed a note into my hand.
If you go past Mrs. Anne-Maria’s shop, there’s a place where you can get your makeup done. You can leave the bags for now. But don’t go past the makeup shop. An Ina runs that place, and you might never leave.
Makeup. Ugh. When it came to that, I looked like a fifteen-year-old who had gotten into their mother’s makeup kit at best, and a blind three-year-old at worst. I’d pass. If he couldn’t deal with the fact that I had a few acne scars and the closest thing I wore to makeup was some colored lip gloss, he’d have to anyway. I was a free woman—well, a “free” woman—now, and I was going to act like it.
* * *
Instead, I went back to Marie’s shop. She was folding up piles upon piles of clothing. She got that much done in less than four hours? Oh, right. Magic. I needed to remember that everything I knew about the world had changed now.
“Oh! Eliana, dearie. I’m more or less done. How about you try some on?”
“You’re getting slow, Marie,” someone said, and we both sighed.
Vincent. He was leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed. That was quick.
“You can’t rush perfection,” she said, tutting. “You picked a good one. She’s adorable.”
He shed his suit jacket and plopped down in a chair near the exit. “I suppose so.”
“But so soon?” she asked, a small, concerned look on her face. “It’s only been six months, and—”
“A drop in the bucket to us. She’s here, the contract’s been made, it’s over. I don’t pay you to be my therapist.”
Oh, yeah. His assistant was dead. The strain in his voice made that blatantly obvious.
“I worry about you,” she said softly, then took my hand. “Well, come with me…”
I followed her into the back room, and she stuffed an outfit into my hands. A suit and matching underwear. Ugh. I was going to be a little clone of him.
But I pulled on the clothes, sighing. On the bright side, the fabric was soft and smooth, and didn’t have seams at all, almost like it was made of silk. But it was made by magic, so they should be… right?
Wait. Spider demon. Silk. Uh…
It’d probably be for the best if I didn’t think too hard about what these were made of.
She smoothed down my clothes. “Perfect. I think he’ll like it.”
I glanced at myself in the mirror, then did a double take. Wow. For the first time in a long, long while, I looked… good. Not like an awkward chick stuffed into interview clothes.
“This is what it’s like when you have your own personal tailor.” She patted me on the back with her lower arm. “There’s three-and-a-half billion women on Earth, and clothes are only made for the seven who model them. Isn’t it nice to have clothes specifically made for you?”
“Yeah.” I gave her a small smile.
“The fabric they’re made out of will stretch to fit you if you gain or lose weight, so don’t worry about having to get them re-tailored.” She led me back into the front of the shop.
Vincent smiled at me. His teeth were straight and white, and weren’t like fangs at all. Weird.
“Excellent,” he said, tenting his fingers. “I know to expect only the best from you. How much?”
“I made thirty expedited outfits. Three pantsuits, two normal suits, two sun dresses, four casual outfits, two human-style ball gowns, three cocktail dresses, one jogging suit, five pieces of lingerie—”
“Lingerie?” I echoed. When the hell was I going to need that?
She nodded. “Five pajama sets, one corset and two crossdressing outfits. Along with matching bra and panty sets, and a binder and packer for when she’ll have to crossdress. All in all…” She slipped him a piece of paper.
He looked it over and matched her nod. “You have my credit card number. Where’s the bags?”
I peered at the paper. Holy—
That was more than I made in a decade! That was more than my parents made in a decade! All that for just some outfits from a mom and pop in the middle of nowhere!? Granted, they were magical outfits, but…
“In the back. A pleasure doing business with you. Send your mother my regards.”
He rolled his eyes. “Wait. Put her in one of the crossdressing outfits. I want to see how well she passes.”
“All right.” She grabbed my arm with two of her hands. “Let’s humor him.”
“Okay.”
She took me back to the rear of the shop and handed me another outfit. I slipped into it.
First there was a sports bra type thing that tightened around me as soon as I pulled it over my chest—
What the?! It was like I never developed at all, and I was pretty damn busty to begin with. I poked and prodded at my chest. Nothing. No jiggle… I was completely flat. Wow.
“This isn’t permanent, right?”
“Take it off.”
I pulled it up, and my breasts popped out. Wow. They should sell this at Target. Then the men’s underwear and packer. Oh…
I poked at the bulge. It seemed… oversized compared to the rest of me.
“Dearie, if you couldn’t…”
“R-right. Sorry.”
Ugh. I tugged on the pants and shirt.
“Hmm… Your face gives you away, I think.”
I glanced in the mirror again. Yep. She was right. Everywhere except for my face, I looked like a normal, chubby man. But my lips were too full, my face too round…
She walked me out, and the smile slipped off his face.
“I see,” he said quietly. “Are you wearing makeup?”
“No.”
“Smile for me.”
I forced a smile.
“All right.” He rubbed his temples. “When you’re dressed like this, keep your mouth shut, for the memories’ sake. You just barely pass, if you don’t.”
&nbs
p; “Am I ever going to have to crossdress?”
He sighed, and with a shimmer of light, turned into a woman. “Yes.”
Oh. Uh… wow. As a woman, he looked pretty much the same, except with longer hair and over-exaggerated tits and ass. Even his voice was feminine. Husky, but still feminine.
“In certain circles, cubi have to stay female bodied. And if I brought a non-cubi woman in there, you’d be ripped to shreds. Literally.”
I swallowed.
And with another shimmer, he turned back to normal. Well, “normal.” Was being male even his true form?
He gave me an expectant look. Ugh. Mind reading.
“Maybe I’ll hire a vocal trainer.”
I’d gotten in way over my head.
“All right. Put on your old clothes, and I’m going to drop you off at your house. Apartment? Dorm? Where do you live?”
It probably wasn’t in my best interests to tell him that.
“I’m not going to eat you in the middle of the night. Please tell me your address.”
I gave it to him. Anthony and I lived together in a tiny, one bedroom apartment in Rose Creek near the university. It was falling apart, and when it rained, we got roaches, but it was home.
Well, it was home.
“Right. Get your bags from Marie, and I’ll get yours from… him.”
“Him?”
“The accessory boy.”
Wow, rude.
Marie handed me bags. How were they all going to fit in his car—by now I should know better. Magic. Everything was magic.
Vincent rolled his eyes, then left. I turned to Marie.
“Why doesn’t he like him?”
“Well, dearie, as you know, Vincent’s a demon. The man who runs that shop is an angel, and so…” She shrugged.
“So… he got smote by god?”
She burst into high, musical laughter. “No, no, of course not. But you could cut the tension in the room with a knife…”
“Wait. So if demons and angels exist…” I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “I need to start going to church.”
I’d always seen myself as a rationalist, and teetered on the edge of atheism, but now…
“No one ever said they had anything to do with Christianity. Don’t think about it too hard.”
Yeah. It’d be in my best interests not to.
A loud boom echoed outside, and Marie put her lower hands on her hips.
“Sometimes I wonder if he goes in there just to antagonize him on purpose…” She sighed. “Well, I’ll let you go. Don’t be a stranger, and… stay safe.” She smiled at me, but there was a hint of sadness to it that made me sweat a bit. Something happened to his past assistant, and whatever did could happen to me.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as Grandma would say…
I went outside, and Vincent came out as well. His hair was smoldering, but he was still smug.
“Bastard,” he snarled.
“Your hair’s on fire.”
He tossed the bags in the trunk of his car, then patted out his hair. “Let’s go.”
I hopped into his car. “Where do you live?”
“About seventy miles from Rose Creek, in San Francisco. You’re in luck. My previous assistant lived on the other side of the country when we first met.”
“Oh.”
* * *
The rest of the car ride went on in silence.
He parked in front of my apartment complex, then glanced at me. “You live here?”
Only three words had come out of his mouth, and I wanted to shrivel up and die.
“It was all me and… Anthony could afford.”
“No. I’m not going to let my personal assistant live in squalor. Start packing tonight.”
“All right.”
He stretched out. “Soon, you’ll be meeting with a magic trainer. She was busy today.”
I nodded.
“And for the love of god, keep your cellphone on.”
“Right.”
Technically, this was doing the Walk of Shame. Great. Everyone in my apartment was going to judge me into the ground.
“It’s not a walk of shame if it was with me. Own it.” He squeezed my hand lightly, and my breath came a little easier.
We lugged all the bags in, and he surveyed my apartment.
He clicked his tongue. “No. This won’t do. At all. He made you live like this? Half of me wants to just take you back to my apartment, but it’s Sunday. You probably have class tomorrow.”
I swallowed. Was it really that bad? Or had I just gotten used to the level of crappiness? I glanced around. Sure, the paint was peeling, there were cracks in the walls from the last earthquake, and a roach skittered past me on the way in, but still… It was my apartment.
“Anyway. Just as a refresher. If I call or text you, you need to drop what you’re doing, get dressed in the outfit I tell you to, and meet me at the place I tell you to within a half hour.”
“Right,” I said firmly.
“Have fun in college. You’re a new woman now.”
“Whatever you say… By the way, what’s an Ina?” I asked.
“Vampire. Never get involved with them. You could wind up a blood slave for the rest of your life. If we ever have work with them, I’ll do it myself. I don’t want to lose you.” He pressed me up against my living room wall. His breath was sweet. “Will you give me energy?”
“Sure—”
He bit and sucked at my mark. A quiet moan escaped my lips as black smoke seeped out of my body. Fuck me, just him touching that mark felt like he was eating me out. Electricity shot down my spine, and I shivered under his touch. He didn’t even have to do anything else to me.
But as soon as he started, he stepped away from me, leaving me nothing but a trembling wreck.
“A pick-me-up for the road. I’ll see you in the near future, Miss Delacroix.”
And with a shimmer of light, he vanished.
All I could do was slide down the wall, my knees weak.
Chapter Three
The hard part wasn’t putting up with Vincent. The hard part was covering up what Vincent did. At the least, it was the middle of winter, so covering up his mark with a scarf was perfectly acceptable.
The fact one of my eyes turned blood red, however… That was a different problem entirely.
Eventually, I just fell back into my old ways and put on a pair of sunglasses. If it worked for a black eye, it’d work for a red one.
As soon as I walked into lecture, Santi bounced up to me. He looked the same as he usually did, with light brown skin, wavy black hair, and sparkling hazel eyes… Between the two of us, he got the lion’s share of the looks.
“What’s with the sunglasses?” He cocked his head to the side.
Crap. Lying to my best friend, to the man who stayed by my side throughout all the bullshit Anthony did… It hurt. It hurt more than it should.
“Nothing,” I said, staring at my shoes. “Just overdid it studying and my eyes hurt.”
One of my old lies.
“If you say so.”
I settled into my seat in the back of the lecture hall, and pulled out my laptop. Maybe a good old-fashioned psych lecture would get my mind off everything.
“We’re still up for our meeting, right?” he whispered.
“Right.”
“You look like crap. What, did you get hit by a car?”
Maybe that would have been better—
Wait. My car! It was still sitting outside of Cube… all the way downtown.
“My car broke down, and I had to walk back to my apartment from downtown.”
“Downtown? Jeez, you’ve been having the worst luck lately. Was it Tony? Speaking of, where is he? Haven’t heard from him in a couple days.” He leaned over my desk.
I froze. “Don’t know, don’t care. He was why my car broke down. I was chasing after him. It’s over now. We’re getting a divorce soon.”
His eyes lit up. “I’m gla
d. He was no good for you.”
If only he knew.
He gave me a small, sheepish smile, then settled next to me and pulled out his laptop.
I tried my best to focus on the lecture, but my mind wandered, and I checked Facebook instead.
Oh, that was just great. Vincent sent me a friend request. How did he even find me? Demons used Facebook?
Then again, Eliana Delacroix was a fairly distinctive name.
I idly scrolled through his profile. Probably going to be dick pics galore, but it was mostly locked down. A few boring statuses about where he was going on vacation, how he loved his job… Some pictures of lavish hotel rooms and scantily clad men and women.
Though, the fact that his profile picture was a bathroom mirror selfie made me snort with laughter. Granted, it was in a bathroom that belonged to royalty, most likely, but a bathroom nonetheless.
Hmm. One of the pictures was of a man in his mid-forties, with the same mark as me on the inside of his left wrist. This must be the mysterious Daniel everyone was talking about. He was drop dead gorgeous, with long black hair, one hazel eye and one red eye, full lips… I had big shoes to fill.
Though, premature wrinkles crinkled around his eyes as he smiled for the camera. But he was happy. Happier than I had been for the past two years. It shone through the photo and I smiled with him.
I scrolled a bit further. Another selfie, this one of the two of them together. They were both beaming at the camera. I shivered. Vincent Aldana. Smiling like a schoolgirl.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
Santi peered at my screen. “Who’s the redhead?”
“No one,” I said, my face heating up. “Just a friend of a friend.”
“He looks like a shyster. Don’t date him.” He nudged me. “Dyeing his hair that color? Obviously hella fake.”
I wasn’t going to date him. The closest I’d get to that would be occasionally having his dick stuck in me.
It was probably his natural hair color, but who was I to judge? I shrugged.
“I mean he’s good looking, I guess…” He shivered. “Don’t date him.”
The demon in him was strong enough to radiate through my computer screen. That took skill.
