Page 59 of Real

It’s a low insult. I know that. But the way Dorian seethes with anger makes stooping to his level worth it for a moment.

“They’ll send you to jail if you kill him,” Anne says, now swallowed by Timothy’s shirt. It’s a dress on her. “Let the fucker live in that old body he’s stuck with now. He gave twenty-five years of his life for the spell that created you, right? Magic will come for him soon. Let Her do the dirty work.”

A bright flash of light dances around us. Is that the Lights protesting? They wanted me to come here. They led me every step of the way. Am I supposed to back down because some dragon shifter thinks this is a bad idea?

But the light isn’t flashing in a direction like it was when I was driving. I don’t even think it’s a light. It’s a reflection.

Two women emerge from the front door of Dorian’s house. One is a gangly alpha in what appears to be a bishop’s robe and a tall, blue, pointed hat covered in reflective silver stars. The other is a round omega with a clipboard and a pen that has a huge feather on the end. They’re both watching me intently.

“Oh, don’t mind us,” the omega says. “Carry on. I liked the bit where you pulled the knife out of your chest. Very dramatic.”

The alpha nods in agreement. “Top-notch revenge scenario. Bravo.”

Dorian glares at them. “This is the doll I was telling you about. Hurry up and perform the spell.”

These are Dorian’s warlocks? They look more like guests at a Halloween costume party than sorcerers powerful enough to reverse a spell.

“Oh, we know. He’s plastic. Very distinctive. Could definitely pick him out of a crowd,” the alpha says.

“Then why don’t you do something?” Dorian hisses. His voice is barely audible. He begins coughing again. The hacking is so deep it almost forces my knife into his chin.

Anne is right. I think Dorian is dying.

The omega winces. “Well, there was that disagreement we had about the price. So we’re not feeling very motivated right now.”

“I’ll pay whatever you want. Just…” Dorian dissolves into coughs again.

“Who the hell are you?” Anne asks.

The alpha takes a few leisurely steps across the porch. “Spellbusters. Kind of like the Ghostbusters, but for bad spells. We reverse spells people regret. For a price, of course.” The female alpha takes off the pointed hat and scratches underneath her chin. “The damn elastic on this thing on itches terribly.”

Underneath the hat, the alpha has furry, floppy ears. Almost like a donkey.

“Well, then don’t wear it. You’re a warlock. You don’t need to wear a warlock costume,” the omega says.

“It’s part of the branding!” the alpha insists.

Anne narrows her eyes. “I’ve never heard of you before, so your branding must not be working. I know most of the warlocks around here. Who did you study magic with?”

The alpha smiles nervously. “I was working with Dresden for a bit.” She reaches up and touches her donkey ears. “But there were a few accidents.”

Oh God. Did she give herself those donkey ears through a bad spell?

I think back to just a few hours ago when I wished I had a fairy godmother. Maybe it’s best I never got one.

“Dresden is a hack,” Anne says. “She relies on a whale shifter to shield her clients from her reckless spell work.”

The omega raises her hand. “That would be me, actually. The whale shifter, not Dresden. I’m definitely not a warlock.”

Dorian begins coughing again. This time he slides down the pillar until he’s sitting on the porch.

I lower my knife with him, but it seems a little pointless. His face is deathly pale and his whole body shakes on the way down.

It finally hits me that he’s just flesh and blood. For the longest time, I thought being flesh and blood would be this wonderful, perfect thing. But Dorian’s flesh doesn’t seem healthy anymore.

I look down at the plastic hands I’ve hated my whole life. Unlike Dorian’s hands, they won’t ever age unless I choose to take my human form.

I could live forever like this if I wanted to.

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