Page 27 of Spelling Disaster

Especially not when we stand in front of a massive building with a blue-and-white sign that looks like it’s about three acres of space.

“Welcome!” Blaire exclaims. “To the best big box store in town. Well, the only big box store in town. You’re going to love it.”

ChapterNine

Having never been to one of these “box stores” in my life, I have no damn clue what to expect. I take a minute to study the strange territory, mustering up my usual curiosity.

This isn’t a book, and although there might be a time limit, I’m finally getting a chance to explore someplace outside of my comfort zone and have an adventure.

Blaire must sense my nerves, too, because she reaches behind her to link our hands together and gives me a tug. “Follow my lead and it’s going to be fine!” She studies me. “You really have no clue about this. It’s cute, in a way. You’re adorable.”

“I don’t feel adorable,” I say as she sails through the sliding front doors and into the fluorescent lit wilderness of this concrete monstrosity. “I feel out of control.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being out of control.”

“Apparently there is, if it means I get a little spooked in places like this.” It’s wonderful and terrifying at the same time, so many people inside and more things to buy than seems decent.

Blaire barks out a laugh and replies with, “Any normal person with half a brain would get spooked by this. It’s madness on the best days.”

I squeeze her hand, grateful for something to hold on to, only to have her break away seconds later.

“You know, before I enrolled at the academy, I lived in the human world,” she says, grabbing a cart. “Went to places like this all the time.”

She flings her purse into the smaller part in the front and I do the same with my bag. Then, maneuvering through the rows of food, she takes off and leaves me no choice but to jog to catch up to her.

Mouth closed, I tell myself.

No need to look as awed as I am or to let anyone know this is abnormal to me.

“Straddling both worlds isn’t the easiest, mind you, but I made it work and did it with a lot of flair.”

“I bet you did,” I giggle.

“I even went to school there,” she’s saying grandly. “It was a trade school where I studied cosmetology. It was amazing! I loved listening to the women and helping them with their problems. I’m sure you’ve already guessed this about me, but I actually have a knack for makeovers. So much so that it caught the attention of the school.”

“Andora?” I clarified.

“Yeah. Apparently I’m a natural at transformation magic. Which isn’t really a thing anymore, not without a whole lot of preparation and ingredients, which is why they put me in X House.”

A natural at transformation magic… yes, it fits. Blaire has the air of someone who is absolutely skilled at owning their looks, their aesthetic, and changing it on a whim. I fight against the urge to tug on a lock of my very plain black hair. The same color it’s always been.

I’ve never even dyed it. I’ve never worn makeup or had my bushy eyebrows plucked or primped. What had Remi called my style?

She said it fit not only my clothes but my face, too.

And not for lack of desire, either. There have been plenty of times in the past I stared at myself in the mirror and wondered how I’d look with green hair. With bangs. With a fringe, or something wild and crazy, like rainbow ombre. How about eyeshadow or lipstick?

What would Blaire do if she got her hands on me? Maybe one day, if we stay close, I’ll ask her to work her magic on me.

“How did it feel?” I ask her. “To live and work in the human world? Was it weird?”

She turns to smile over her shoulder at me. “It was pretty cool, I admit. Even when I felt a little like an outsider because of what I am, seeing those women leave happy after sitting with me, I made a difference. You know? But once the school reached out to me, they offered a scholarship to come and learn and hone my craft and I had to accept. It seemed like one of those opportunities you’d be pretty stupid to pass up.”

“For sure. You’ve got to go for it,” I agree. “It’s an opportunity.”

“An adventure,” she corrects, echoing my earlier thought, “and I’m all for adventure. And I agreed to accept the scholarship as long as I could continue with my signature style and not be tied down by the dress code rules.” Blaire stops pushing the cart, holding her arms out at her side and turning in a slow circle for me. “We had to compromise. It took me a few weeks to convince the board who runs the place to let me do what I do.”

I wonder why the academy decided to work with Blaire rather than enforcing their rules.

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