Chapter 28
Iblink awake to the gentle hum of the magical bus, a cocoon of warmth and safety. The air is tinged with the scent of incense and engine grease—a strangely comforting blend now that I’m used to it. I stretch, my muscles grateful for the movement after hours of stillness.
I still can’t believe I’ve gotten used to sleeping in a pile of men and like it.
Padding to the living area, I rub my eyes when I see my basilisk and vampire already up and moving.
“Morning, witchling,” Dezi greets me with his usual smug smile, already up and rifling through our stockpile of ancient lore. Khol sprawls across a nearby seat, his eyes not yet focusing on the waking world.
“You are the oddest vampire I’ve ever met,” I murmur back, voice husky from sleep. “Most of them don’t rise before dusk and you’re moving with the sun most days.”
“I’m old enough that I require very little rest to function, and as long as I keep my intake at optimum levels, I don’t experience any of the annoying side effects of my kind.” He winks at me as he sips his mug of blood and grins a bit. “Other vampires pale in comparison, spellcaster.”
Well, okay then.
Revelin strides past us, guitar case in hand, exuding the pre-performance buzz he gets before melting into the music with his bandmates. “Catch you all later,” he tosses over his shoulder, a promise rather than a farewell.
Once Revelin’s departure leaves a palpable void, Tiernan’s security detail—a formidable troop of various bulky, serious looking cat shifters with eyes like polished gemstones—exit next.
They move with purpose, their confidence reassuring, their tails swishing behind them like synchronized pendulums. Their departure eases an anxious knot in my chest.
With them scouting ahead, we’re in good paws.
I snort at my own mental pun, and Khol arches a brow at me. Waving my hand at him, I walk over to grab one of my energy tonics and plop into a chair at the table with a grunt.
“Alright, let’s dive back into this,” Dezi suggests, tapping the leather-bound tome open on his lap. We gather around the worn pages filled with cryptic text and diagrams cradling secrets of old.
Khol perks up, shaking off the remnants of slumber as his analytical mind kicks into gear. “This symbol here,” he points to a serpentine design, “it’s come up in three different chapters.”
“Could be a clue to the artifact’s location,” I speculate, tracing the curves of the symbol. We huddle closer, piecing together fragments of myth and history, seeking the thread that will lead us forward.
Dezi nods, then moves on to the next item on the list, working his way through every question he has. I don’t know the answer to much of it—I’m quickly finding out the goddamn witch school also lacked in teaching magical history, symbology, and languages pre-Plymouth Rock landing by humans.
Those motherfuckers crippled us to keep us under the High Mage’s thumb and I’m going to get my revenge for it someday.
Hours slip by unnoticed until Dezi stands, stretching out the tension from being hunched over for too long. “Time for a break, children. We should eat lunch, so we have the energy to continue late into the evening.”
I laugh softly, tilting my head. “Mmm. A tati statement if I’ve ever heard one, old man. You only require sustenance through a straw, so that’s all about Khol and I.”
“There’s only so much ancient wisdom one can absorb on an empty stomach, witchling.
” Dezi moves to the compact kitchen area, deftness in his movements as he assembles a light meal.
Huge sandwiches appear—they’re meaty monstrosities adorned with crisp lettuce and juicy slices of tomato, and he adds piles of fresh fruit on the side.
“Thanks, mosquito,” Khol says, accepting a plate. “I didn’t realize you were so domestic.”
The vampire shoots him a dirty look, much like the one he gave me after my snarky comment, and sits down with his new mug of blood. “True Renaissance men can do a myriad of things for themselves, but it doesn’t mean we have to, snakelet.”
“Still say you’re in tati mode,” I sing-song before taking a huge bite and groaning happily. “And that is not a complaint because these are awesome.”
“Keep it up and you don’t get your cupcake, witchling,” he grumbles as he flips through the book again.
“Where do you think we should look next?” Khol asks between bites, his gaze fixed on the map unfurled amongst our scattered notes.
Good job changing the subject before I earn an ass warming—not that I’d allow that, of course.
“Here, here, and here.” I point to three towns skirting the edge of Harvest Court. “They’ve got historical significance, and could hide what we’re after.”
“But?” Dezi prompts, sensing the hesitation in my voice.
“But it feels too easy. Like we’re missing something big,” I admit, frowning.
Dezi nods thoughtfully. “The ultimate goal will probably be close to the capital city in Harvest Court. Power centers attract power seekers, after all.”
“The last stop on this leg of the tour,” I murmur.
We all lock eyes, understanding that our journey’s crescendo awaits amongst its storied streets.
“Then that’s where we’ll focus after these three,” Khol concludes, determination sharpening his features.
At least we have an ultimate target now, even if it makes my gut churn with nervousness.
Dezi’s fingers dance through the velvet, silks, and brocades on his rack with a skeptic’s precision. “I can’t imagine what they’ve concocted for us this time,” he mutters, pulling out a garment that seems to be made entirely of feathers. I snort, watching him flick the hanger back into place.
That has to have been for Rev and put in the wrong place.
“Expecting something between court jester and peacock, then?” I tease, leaning against the wall, arms folded across my chest. Dezi shoots me a wry look, but before he can retort, the door swings open.
Gwennon’s voice booms first, full of mirth and mischief, “Prepare for transformation, my friends.”
Tanya, swathed in vibrant scarves, follows closely behind her arms laden with palettes of makeup and bags of hair styling accouterments. Orchid and Basil trail in after her, their laughter mingling with the clinking of their metal-studded belts.
“Let’s turn these scarecrows into stars,” Gwennon declares, and I can’t help but grin at their enthusiasm, even if thinking about what they’re going to do makes me want to die.
The bus becomes a whirlwind of activity as they dive into their work. Dezi stands patiently as Tanya drapes fabric over his shoulders, measuring and pinning with an artist’s eye. Orchid and Basil are a flurry of brushes and powders around Khol, who sits stoically, if not slightly bemused.
“Wait till you see yourself,” Tanya says to Dezi, stepping back to assess her canvas.
She nods, satisfied, and the next thing I know, Dezi is stepping out from behind the makeshift changing screen looking nothing short of regal.
The dark suit hugs his chiseled frame in all the right places, the vest accentuating his broad shoulders.
An aura of untouchable grace replaces his usual casual demeanor, and I catch my breath, struck by the transformation.
Holy motherfucking shit.
“Wow,” is all I manage, and Dezi’s lips quirk up in a smirk.
“Your turn will come, witchling,” he says, and though his tone is light, there’s a promise in his words that sends a thrill through me.
Khol rises to his feet next, and it’s like he’s been born anew.
Gone is the rough gang member, and in his place stands a cover model-like rebel carved from leather and steel.
His eyes gleam with a wild edge, the kind that hints at fast rides and faster living.
It suits him, this new persona, and I grin at his astonished expression as he takes in his reflection.
I could definitely climb him like a goddamn tree right now.
“Damn, they’re good,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.
“They’ve outdone themselves… without a single feather,” Dezi says wryly and I giggle.
The sound makes everyone look at me, and I growl until they stop. Khol coughs as he turns, and Dezi pretends to look at everything but me until I get my flushed face under control. Gwennon and the glitter minions, however, look pleased as shit, though, so I take a minute.
Fucking hot dudes make me stupid, I swear to fuck.
“Go to the bedroom, Fiadh, and we’ll bring your outfit along,” Basil says cheerily.
I nod, grateful to be out of everyone’s sight line for a few minutes.
When the twin arrives with a garment bag, I take it with a pout.
The zipper on the bag scrapes softly as I pull it down, the parting side of it whispering promises of transformation.
My fingers tremble as they trace over the delicate lace juxtaposed with the harsh metal embellishments adorning the skirt.
It’s a masterpiece of contrasts, a visual representation of the tumultuous journey that’s led me here.
For a moment, I’m lost in the vision of myself as someone fierce, someone not to be trifled with—a punk rock princess.
“Fiadh, are you ready for this?” Tanya’s voice is a lighthouse in a sea of tulle and leather. “We need you out here to finish up.”
“More than ever,” I reply, though a part of me still clings to the girl who’d rather wield a pair of brass knuckles than wear a pair of heels.
The gaggle of artists comes barreling in at my words, and I take a deep breath to center myself.
Their hands are everywhere, tugging the skirt into place, strapping the leggings tightly around my legs, ensuring each buckle on the combat boots clicks just right.
I should feel suffocated by the flurry of activity, the cloud of hairspray, the dizzying scent of makeup.
But as I catch my reflection, all I see is power staring back at me.
“How damn.” The word slips out and my lips curve up as I look at the reflection in the mirror above us. “I look like a total badass.”