Chapter 3
three
RECLINER
Six months later
Blossom opens her garage door, and I can feel the sun’s rays on my leather. After being packed up for months, it feels great to have the cool breeze blowing over me again.
She moves around the garage, using magic to transport the items from our confinement.
I wonder if some lamps and tables and coat racks are shifters too. Too bad I can’t communicate with them to ask.
As part of the curse Blossom put on me, I can only see or smell in this form, not speak.
I’m privy to the world but can’t provide any input on what goes on.
I’m sure it has to do with how persuasive I am.
Decades ago, when I was first cursed, I would have found the first smoking hot man I could, convinced him he was my mate, and he’d have taken me home where I could shift and get the fuck out of my predicament.
Unfortunately, Blossom is a smart witch and thought of everything.
Also, I’ve learned that even though I hate it, I deserve to be where I am.
If I were able to talk my way out of my punishment, I’d have done something else stupid that would have landed me in worse trouble than being trapped in my shifted form.
“Alright, your turn,” Blossom says to me, wiggling her fingers. A lightness fills me as she uses her magic to move me to the end of the driveway. “The first yard sale of the season. Do you feel lucky?”
Nope, not at all. After over forty years in this form, I’m sure I’ll end up dying a recliner. Hopefully, someone sits on me before I perish.
Or I get thrown in the incinerator when I’m too old to be of value to anyone.
Even though it’s early in the morning, many people come out to the yard sale, checking out Blossom’s items. I’ll admit, she has a lot of beautiful things, which is probably why I stand out so starkly.
On one table, she has a bunch of lamps that look as if they were made from thousands of crystals: the jewels reflecting off the sun.
At the end of the driveway are nice, high-back chairs that look like they belong in some kind of museum.
On racks near the mailbox are clothes fit for a runway model.
Then there’s me, a fucking bright-ass, mustard yellow recliner that looks as if it’s barely holding on, cracks everywhere and dust embedded deeply in my leather. Blossom only wipes me down when it’s time for a sale and let’s say that doesn’t happen as often as I’d like.
As soon as I’m a human again, I’m going to take a nice long shower, cleaning every nook and fucking cranny.
The day drones on and people give me looks of disgust or pretend I’m not even there, edging around me without letting any parts of their body brush against my form.
They probably think I’ll leave dirt behind if they get too close.
I project my pheromones, hoping to attract my mate, but no one gives me more than a quick glance.
I’m hopeful when two women amble over, appraising me. While I’m more partial to men, I’ll never turn down a good-looking woman.
“Does she expect to sell this?” one woman asks her companion as she kicks my foot rest with her heavy boot. If I had a voice, I’d cry out in pain. That shit hurts! Who thinks it's okay to go around and kick furniture?! She probably kicks puppies too.
“It’s hideous,” her friend agrees. “And practically falling apart. Is that a piece of tape holding the leather together?” She lifts the tape, which is only covering a large crack that Blossom didn’t know how to fix.
While it would be a superficial scratch in my human form—healing completely in less than an hour—it’s a big ass fucking eyesore while I’m in this form.
I can do nothing about it but sit here and… be.
She continues her tirade. “God, why would she put this out? It’s ghastly!”
I mean, yeah, a mustard yellow recliner that has seen better days isn’t the most ideal piece of furniture, but I still have feelings and pain receptors. They don’t have to be so mean and violent.
Melancholy tugs at me, and I stop pushing out my pheromones, wanting to go back inside the garage and lick my wounds.
No one, not even the most desperate person will want someone like me. My recliner form is outdated, modeled after the recliners of the seventies. We’re in a different era, one where bright colors and hardy furniture are passed over for shit that barely looks comfortable.
I’ll be stuck here forever.
Blossom appears almost as if she materialized from thin air and glares at the women that are giggling about my appearance.
Her hands on her hips—though I can feel magic radiating off her—Blossom says, “Please don’t damage my merchandise.”
“Damage?” The first woman laughs shrilly and pokes at my arm rest, her pointy nail stinging as it pushes through one of the more prominent cracks. “Nothing I do can cause any more damage.”
“Be that as it may,” Blossom says, stepping closer to the woman. She towers over her, her willowy frame almost growing in her anger. I know this anger. It got me trapped in this situation. Well, after I fucked up, but still. “Don’t damage my merchandise.”
The woman gulps audibly and looks at her friend, who is pretending as if she doesn’t see the interaction. “Whatever,” she says shakily.
“Apologize,” Blossom demands, crossing her arms over her chest. I can almost see her eyes flashing. One thing Blossom doesn’t tolerate is disrespect.
The woman sighs in irritation, but fear rolls off her. Blossom might be unassuming most of the time, but when she gets pissed, she’s a different person, one with power.
“I’m sorry for kicking your stupid chair, okay?” the woman huffs, throwing her arms in the air.
“No, apologize to him.” Blossom points to me.
Huh? To me? Plenty of people have talked about how ugly I am and wonder why I’m here amongst her beautiful items and she hasn’t said a thing. I guess she draws the line at physical abuse. Thanks, Blossom.
Well…now that I think about it, it’s been decades since she’s allowed someone to talk shit to me. The last time, she glared at the woman until she scurried away. So maybe she’s getting sick of how I’m treated too.
“What?!” the woman shouts, incredulous. “It’s a chair. I didn’t hurt it.”
“Ma’am,” Blossom murmurs in a dangerous tone. “Either apologize or piss me off. You don’t want to see what happens if you piss me off.”
“Fine!” she turns to me, terror apparent on her face. “I’m sorry. Come on, Becca.” She storms away, dragging her friend with her.
Before they get too far, Blossom whistles quietly and a gust of wind crops up, blowing both women off their feet. They shriek as they fall and roll, leaves and dirt swirling around them.
I wish I could laugh because that’s a funny sight. Serves them right.
Other people watch them struggle to their feet, but they don’t help. It’s a clear, cloudless day with not even a slight breeze and suddenly a mini tornado appears? Yeah, they don’t want to go anywhere near that.
It takes them a few seconds, but the women finally get to their feet and hurry away. Only then does Blossom call the wind off.
Once they’re out of sight, Blossom turns to me. “Just because you’re in this form doesn’t mean you’re not a person. You shouldn’t be physically attacked.”
She’s surprisingly empathetic for such a badass witch.
Almost as if she’s throwing me a bone, she sits down and kicks up my foot rest. Happiness blooms through me, glad I can give her comfort. It might not be much, and she’s the reason I’m here, but I’ll take whatever happiness I can get in this life.
“I’ll sit for a minute, then I have to mingle. You okay?” she asks.
I try to push my thoughts out, to let her know I’m pretty fucking pleased, even though that kick hurt.
I’d feel even better if I weren’t in this situation. I might never find my mate and if I do, it won’t be anytime soon. While I’m here in this form, I have to make the best of it, or mentally, I’ll waste away, being no good for my mate if I ever find them.
After a few minutes, Blossom puts my foot rest down, gives me a comforting pat, and goes to talk to the people that are shopping.
I mentally sigh, curling in on myself. I need to find my mate. I’m not getting enough attention.