Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Owen gives a low whistle of appreciation.
Yeah, the office is better than I imagined.
While the reception area came from the five minutes or so of dreaming while I was waiting to be checked in to the hotel, the office nestled behind and to the left of the reception took me years to lovingly construct in my head.
My office at the department store is tiny, stuffed in a corner within the main stock room with its puke green paint.
It’s only big enough for a desk and two chairs.
With one wall full of CCTV monitors and the other walls plastered with schedules and planners.
I do my best to avoid the cramped space and try to be anywhere else in the store.
So, it stands to reason I’ve dreamed of something a little fancier over the years.
It is the amalgamation of an office and a library.
An ultra-modern space with white walls and glass shelves.
Huge floor-to-ceiling bi-fold doors look out onto a patio area overlooking the lake.
Huh. Technically, the view of the lake shouldn’t be possible.
“With the position of this room within the building, these doors should have a partial view of the car park,” Owen says, pulling the words right out of my head.
He slides the door open and steps out. I lean against the glass and watch him prowl to the side of the building.
With each stride, he runs his hand against the wall, perhaps searching for illusions, or an obvious explanation.
I hope he can tell me. I take a moment to breathe in the sweet air of a perfect spring day. Which is strange in itself as… isn’t it supposed to be winter?
“We are in a pocket world and Tuesday can bend reality to her every whim,” Larry scoffs an explanation. “Of course she wants a pretty view from her office. Come now, stop messing about. My mistress needs to get settled in the conference room.”
I shudder. “Oh no, please don’t call me mistress.
” I follow him to a door that wasn’t in my original design.
Larry pushes the door open and the familiar smell of feet wafts into the air.
I wrinkle my nose. He smacks at the wall a few times and there is a click.
The pale glow of the ceiling’s single bare bulb highlights a sad and drab room.
The conference table has seen better days. No windows. The cream paint on the ceiling is coming off in strips and the corners have clumps of black mould. Debris from the peeling paint and plaster litters the table.
Owen, like a shadow, follows me inside. His boots crunch as he circles the table. “Nice.”
“I didn’t make this,” I mutter.
“I can tell,” he says as he flicks at a piece of blown plaster. It immediately breaks off and crumbles to the floor.
“The room only opens when a council session has been called. If you try, you should be able to fix it before the meeting.” Larry bounces from foot to foot and twists his hands. He wants me to do just that.
I shake my head, vetoing the idea of making the room pretty.
Until I can see for myself who is friend or foe, I will give them nothing.
I will not paint an irresistible, bright, shiny target on my head.
I don’t want them to realise my strength, and nothing brings out the worst in people than someone else’s weakness.
Not that I have any strength… I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
But I am going to go with my gut. As an obvious underdog, it will show their true colours faster.
These people are—if Larry can be believed—immortal, and immortals have all the time in the worlds.
A hundred years to them is probably a day to a witch.
I can’t be arsed playing a long game. Either they will help me or attack me.
I might as well get it out of the way sooner rather than later.
At least while I can hide behind the hellhound’s bulk.
Fun times.
“Will they know how much this world has changed overnight?” I ask Larry as I pull out a chair.
He shakes his head. “No, they won’t, and they’ll never come here. They can’t. Hosts don’t go to each other’s dimensions. It imbalances the realms and confuses the magic.”
So that means the possibility that they will send in spies, so my ruse will not last for long.
I might be wrong, and these people might be lovely and helpful. But I’ve learned over the years to expect the worst. Most creatures are selfish and predictable.
So, if I’m playing the role of the underdog, I need to dress the part. I glance down at the pretty butterfly top with its delicate colours and flowy sleeves. It’s not the ideal outfit… I need to show them what they expect.
A frightened mess.
A hair bobble appears in my hand. Thank you.
I scrape my hair into a sloppy ponytail.
Since I woke up this morning, my hair has been like silk, it’s so smooth and shiny and it seems longer, the length now hitting my waist. My skin is the same.
If I ignore the swirling magic for a second, I can feel the difference as it glows with health.
Even my nails are harder and appear as if I’ve had an expensive manicure.
The plastic gun clacks onto the table as I pull it out of my pocket.
The hellhound does this sexy enquiring thing with his eyebrow.
“Forrest,” I murmur in explanation. He grunts.
I haven’t got time to run upstairs and change, so I close my eyes and think of the clothes that I arrived in.
The fabric on my skin changes. It goes from the light, floaty fabric to the heaviness of cotton.
When I crack my eyes open, almost unwilling to look, I see a black oversized hoodie and jogging bottoms. I puff out my cheeks with relief.
Perfect. I silently thank the magic yet again.
The sleeves slide over my hands, and I pull the hood up, shadowing the glowing marks on my face, and I shove the gun back into my pocket.
As I sit in the chair, it creaks underneath my weight and lists slightly to the right. Whoops. I push a little bit more of my weight into my left bum cheek to keep the chair level. I hope this meeting doesn’t drag on.
Across the room, beautiful grey eyes watch me. The hellhound gives me a nod. He knows what I’m doing without me having to say. Smart wolf.
I place my phone on the table and raise an eyebrow.
“Larry?” He gazes back at me blankly. It takes everything in me not to headbutt the table with exasperation.
“What do I do now? Are we video conferencing?” I wave my hand to incorporate the entire room.
“There is no technology. Do I use the phone?” Larry opens and closes his mouth, while Owen growls.
This time, the growl is deeper and rumbles from his chest.
I shouldn’t find his growls and grunts so fascinating, but I do.
“What? Oh yes, sorry, the magic will bring them. It’ll beam them into the room. Well, um, not them exactly. But a magical version. So, you can, you know, speak.” He flashes his teeth in a too-white smile.
I sigh and close my eyes. I understood that completely. Not. This is beyond my comprehension, and for my sanity, I should run away as fast as I can and go home.
Owen mutters something under his breath as he prowls around the room and settles behind me.
Everything in me is hyperaware of him as he stands at my back.
His shifter power, along with the heat of his hellhound magic, makes shivers randomly zip up and down my spine.
Instead of frightening, his hellhound power is…
Nope. I yank on that thought. Hellhounds aren’t yummy.
The room buzzes and the little hairs on my arms rise as the sudden change in room pressure makes my ears pop. My guests shimmer into existence. Oh-uh, here we go. Showtime.