Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
Bart sat on an armchair by the enormous window in my new drawing room, holding a cocktail glass and wearing an expression of unbearable smugness.
He looked like Winnie-the-Pooh had just won the lottery.
“For the record,” he said. “Can I just emphasize the fact that I had no idea you were the One of Every Blood?”
It was hard to hear him properly under all the layers of pink tulle that Cecil was trying to force over my head. “So you said. A million times.”
“To me, you were just Susan, my lovely, but completely batshit crazy ex-convict friend.”
I spat out a mouthful of tulle. “Again. Thanks, Bart. And again, technically I am not a convict.”
“We are in your debt.” Donovan’s intense, deep voice echoed from where he stood by the window, surveilling the cityscape outside.
Eryk and Nate were out there somewhere. While I’d been arguing with a bitchy mermaid, choking on seawater, and cozily negotiating with a terrifying, woman-eating sea monster, they’d been scouting the city for traces of Connor the Devourer.
They’d found a handful of portals to the other realms in the Middle World, and apparently found evidence of Connor’s servants—creatures they referred to as banwyns—around Professor Owen’s manor house, which was apparently a terrible thing, worthy of several minutes of incomprehensible discussion in very serious voices.
When we got back to my apartment, Eryk and Nate took Cress with them to show her what they’d found, while Cecil shoved a cocktail in my hand and started shoehorning me into evening gowns.
Donovan chose to stay with me. He would be accompanying me to Professor Owen’s manor tonight.
He was already dressed for dinner. Cecil, the bitchy miniature-pony duocorn, was apparently an in-house stylist as well as my interior designer.
He’d produced a perfectly tailored suit—midnight-blue pants and a sharp jacket with a crisp white shirt, no tie, and two buttons at Donovan's neck undone to reveal a hint of his collarbones and creamy tan skin.
Donovan in his battle leathers was like an erotic fantasy come to life. Donovan in a suit was just…
It was too much. I could barely even look at him.
The suit was tailored to perfection—hugging his broad chest, defining his muscular shoulders, giving only subtle hints of his huge biceps, showing off his flat stomach, and skimming his long, strong legs perfectly.
His long black hair was pulled up in a topknot, highlighting his perfect high cheekbones and chiseled jaw.
It wasn’t just the clothes, or his body, or his brutally handsome face.
The power he exuded was almost overwhelming.
It was just too obvious he wasn’t human—he moved like an apex predator, like a warrior prince.
When I caught a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye, I had to remind myself to breathe.
At least I wasn’t as bad as Bart. He was acting like a blushing schoolgirl in Donovan’s presence. “It was nothing, Your Highness,” he said demurely.
“It was everything, Bart,” I said. “I’ll never be able to repay you.”
Donovan turned away from the window to face him. “You protected the Chosen, gave her sanctuary and a means of employment when no other person would help her, without realizing her true nature or her destiny. Such a noble deed will not go unnoticed when this tale is written into history, Shifter.”
Bart let out a high-pitched giggle. “Thank you, Your Highness. Susan has always been a great source of comfort to me. I was just happy to help my friend in her time of need.”
“Your family will hear of it, and your entire ancestral line will be honored by your deeds.”
Through the tulle, I watched Bart snigger into his martini glass. “Ooh, I can’t wait. They’re going to hate this,” he whispered gleefully.
“So, what’s the deal there, Bart?’ I asked him. “You and your family are shifters from the shapeshifter realm, is that right? I mean, of course you are, because why wouldn’t my closest friend in the world secretly be a supernatural creature?” I added, a little testily.
“Well, to be honest, it’s not hard to keep secret. I haven’t shifted in years. Gone native,” Bart explained. “And, to be fair, Susan,” he said, a smirk pulling at his lips, “everyone knows I’m a bear.”
“I thought that was a gay stereotype!”
“It is. In my case, it just also happens to be literal.”
I huffed out an exasperated breath. “And I thought you were from Washington DC?”
“Our realm is called The Woods,” he explained, while Cecil tussled with the layers of tulle, trying to find my head somewhere amongst the explosion of pink fabric.
“Most of us are expats, though; almost all shifters live in the mortal world. We’ve evolved alongside normal humans, but our people took care to keep our realm as close to nature as possible.
The human realm is our home. The Woods is more like a cabin we all go to when we need to get back to the wild.
Some shifters live there full time.” He frowned. “They’re a bit crazy.”
Cecil yanked me sideways, and I wobbled on my knees. The bare floorboards were a bitch to kneel on. “Can I get a carpet or a rug or something, here, Violet?”
My house rumbled in a noise that I’d started to think of as acquiesce, and fuzzy beige wool pushed out of the vintage oak floorboards, sprouting like a thick carpet of tiny mushrooms. My knees sank into the soft fabric gratefully.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“That’s nice,” Bart said approvingly. “Scandinavian alpaca wool blend. I saw that at Evonne’s Atelier a few months ago, and it cost her a fortune. You really got the hang of this quickly, Sue.”
I swatted the fabric out of my face. “I think it’s because it’s absolutely ridiculous, Bart. I still haven’t decided if my sanity has completely deserted me or not. For all I know, I’m back in the padded room at Serenity Ward, talking to the walls.”
Donovan gave a low, rumbling grunt, deep within his chest. “Chosen. You are being asinine. You were never insane in the first place.”
I froze. No, that couldn’t be right. If I was never crazy in the first place, that meant all the hallucinations I had before were real. And if they were real…
A hoof stomped on the sole of my foot. “Ouch! Cecil!”
“Calm down, Chosen,” he said snippily, clomping around me and yanking the dress over my head.
“We have to do this as quickly as possible. I have twelve other gowns for you to try on, and we still have to do hair and makeup.” With one last tug, he pulled the pink jeweled bodice down, throwing his beautiful white mane back, and ran his eyes over me.
“Can I get off the floor now?”
“No,” he snorted, curling his lip. “You look stupid. We will have to try another one.” He clapped his hooves together. “Come on. Arms up.”
A low chime rang through the air, and I flinched. “What was that?”
“It’s your doorbell,” Cecil muttered, trying to lift the tulle skirt. “Someone’s trying to buzz you.”
I frowned, wriggling out of Cecil’s oddly dexterous hooves. “I’ve got a visitor?”
“So it seems.”
I scrambled to my feet, looking around my enormous drawing room—an almost-replica of the morning room at the Palace of Versailles.
The intercom phone by the door wasn’t there anymore.
Neither, in fact, was the door. From the hallway outside, it looked like a normal-sized beige door with a standard silver handle.
However from this side—the inside—my little apartment door was a huge cream oak double-door with gilt carvings all around it. “How do I check who it is?”
Cecil let out a huff. “I’m not putting that horrible plastic device back on the wall.”
I groaned. “Cecil. Please.”
“No. It’s an eyesore. An abomination!”
“How am I supposed to know who’s at my door, then?”
He sniffed. “They should have made a prior appointment with you, like a civilized person. Then you’d know exactly who it was.”
“Violet.” I hiked up the enormous skirt and started shuffling towards my front door. “Please put the intercom back where I can see it.”
My house obeyed me immediately, and my gray intercom phone popped out of the wall by the door. Cecil was right; it was as attractive as a giant zit on a model’s cheek.
“We don’t have time for this, Chosen,” Cecil said bitchily. “You’ve got twelve other gowns to try on. Ignore it.”
“I can’t.” I reached out and picked up the phone. “Yes?”
The phone line crackled. A young woman’s voice rang through like a bell; a soft, lilting Irish accent. “Hello, Susan.”
I frowned, recognizing the voice instantly. “Seraphina?”
“Yes. I need to speak to you.”
My heart started pounding. What the hell was she doing here? I licked my lips and hit the buzzer. “Come on up.” I waited until I heard the downstairs door click, then I hung up the phone and exhaled heavily.
“Who is it?” Bart asked.
It took me a moment. “It’s Seraphina.”
Bart gasped softly. “No.”
Donovan tensed, then marched towards the door, pulling two daggers out of thin air with a menacing zing. “Get behind me, Chosen. I will deal with her.”
I almost laughed. “You can’t stab her, Donovan.”
“You should stab her,” Bart muttered under his breath.
Donovan marched towards the door, brandishing his daggers, planting himself in front of me. “Who is this Seraphina? An assassin? A sorceress?”
“No,” I sighed. “She’s my husband’s fiancé.”
“Your husband?” Donovan glanced back at me, his face thunderous.
“Ex-husband.” My stomach churned. My bowels felt watery, like I desperately needed to poop all of a sudden. My old reality kept colliding with my new reality, and it was throwing me off. Just as I got used to one version of myself, I got flipped back to the old version.
“Tell her to fuck off.” Cecil lit a cigarette, took a puff, then blew it out slowly, eyes narrowed against the smoke. “We’ve got work to do.”
“Cecil,” I hissed. “You can’t smoke in here.”
“Of course I can. I’m doing it right now. See?” He inhaled again and blew out another plume of smoke.