Lib Novel Page 11
“No, I’m just fucking with you. Your hair has been rejecting bleach and dye for around a year, right? Just getting worse and worse? No matter how much you try to tame it? I noticed that and knew it would only be a matter of time before you came to me to figure out what was going on.”
“Well?” I asked, crossing my arms. Too often, it felt like mages spoke in riddles, dancing around what I really wanted to hear. I hated dealing with them during our other missions.
“Obviously, you’re aware that the shifting ability comes from a specific gene,” she’d says, spinning a little in her office chair, before looking up at me.
“Yes,” I’d said, having heard Rosa and Maisie talk about it while I sat with them in the lab. Back when Rosa was looking for the antidote, and Bigby was busy with other things, I’d been her de facto guard dog, which meant I learned a lot about chemistry that I didn’t care about.
I also learned a lot about her and Bigby that I would rather not have known.
“Well,” Triste said, lacing her fingers together. “It’s not all science, as Rosa and the others would have you believe. There’s a little touch of magic in the transition—it’s how some shifters are able to master being clothed when they return to their human form.”
I’d reared back a little, shocked.
“That’s a thing?”
“Yes,” Triste had laughed, standing and wandering over to the refreshment table, grabbing a plastic cup, and pouring herself a glass of water. “It’s a thing. I’m surprised you lot haven’t learned to do it—to wield the minor amount of magic you possess as shifters. Surely, it would come in handy during your missions.”
“Yeah,” I admit, thinking back to all the times I decided not to shift because I’d be left without my clothes if I did. Or, having to strip all my clothes off before shifting, and trying to find a good place to hide them. “It would. But what does that have to do with my hair?”
“Oh,” she’d said, taking a bite of a cookie and smiling, “forgive me, I forgot what it was you came here for. As the pack mage, I thought I would be entertaining more questions and be more involved in your training, but I’ve mostly just been sitting in my office alone, when I’m not working with Veronica. This is a welcome conversation.”
“My hair?”
“Right,” she’d frowned, swallowing another bite of cookie. “Well, like I said, there is some magic in your body, and it’s disturbed by…something.”
She’d stopped, assessing me, and I’d stiffened, fairly certain I already knew what the disturbance was. I’d decided that if she started to mention Olivia, or bring up mating, I would just turn and walk out the door.
“Nobody will be able to identify the source of that disturbance except you, of course,” she’d said, finishing off the cookie and licking her fingers. “But once you right it, the magic will stop interfering with your hair choices.”
“That is so fucking weird,” I’d said, pinching my nose.
“If you ever want to learn more about the magic,” she’d said, clearing her throat and taking a sip of her water. “I’d be more than willing to chat with you about it—”
“Thanks, Triste,” I’d said, turning and stomping out.
Resolve the disturbance. What a vague quest to be on.
Now, on the screen, a man approaches Olivia, and I bristle at how he looks at her. Tapping at my keyboard, I quickly use facial recognition to get a read on him—the mayor. Just perfect.
I watch him as he watches her. Hungry eyes, a suave grin pointed in her direction. My fingers itch to interrupt this little moment, to turn off all the lights, start the fire alarm, or pull the plug on the sound system. Anything to cause a disturbance.
I could text his assistant and claim his wife or child is in trouble. Re-route a helicopter to land on the roof of the building. Hack into the security system and list his face as a most-wanted criminal, so every AI camera instantly identifies him and alerts the authorities.
But I won’t. Even if watching Olivia flirt with him makes my throat feel like a boulder in my neck. My rational brain argues with me, pointing out that I had my chance and threw it away.
You don’t own her.
Except that I do. We own one another. If ancient lore about the mating bond is to be believed, we’re two halves of the same soul, or some bullshit like that.
The mayor chatting with her leans forward, and I do, too, trying to read their lips, to hear what they’re saying. Is this part of the mission? Or is she just flirting with him for fun?
Moving to my other screen, I tap away, gaining access to the microphone on his phone so I can listen to their conversation. Looking back at the live feed, Olivia’s moved away from the bar and is leaving the room with the guy. When she gets to the doorway, she bumps into someone.
“Oh,” I hear her say, waving her hand loosely. “I’m so—”
“Numina divom—”
Recognizing that as the beginning of a curse, I rip my headphones off my head, breathing hard, watching in disbelief as Olivia sways, then crumples, the man she was talking to at the bar grabbing her effortlessly, hoisting her up into his arms.