Page 22 of Changeling
Dominus scoops an armful of golden velvet curtains from a booth and nods to a second pile. “Grab those, will you? We’ll take them outside.”
I pick them up and bundle them so the ends won’t drag. We stroll to the exit. “How does this door work anyway? I’ve been meaning to ask. Is it magic?”
Dominus grunts an affirmative as it opens by itself. “It’s an enchantment. Reads intentions.”
“But don’t the humans ask questions?”
“No, they also see a doorman.”
Fascinating. I see no doorman, which only further confirms I’m not the human I’d always believed myself to be.
We pass through. If I concentrate, I can sense the magic. The tingling energy makes me shiver.
“Magic that can read intentions? How does that work?” I’ll admit to being stunned.
“Not incubus magic.” Dominus speaks casually as his body morphs from that of a sex demon to that of a man.
My mouth hangs open. His horns are gone, so is his tail. His gorgeous lavender-dappled skin has transformed into a more ordinary tan. And it all happened as if he wasn’t even trying.
“A wood nymph spelled the entry for us a long time ago.”
“Wow. That was…” I have no words.
He realizes what I’ve seen, so accustomed to magic in his daily life as to not pay it any attention. “Ah yes, well. We’re going outside, aren’t we?”
“Right.” Going out in public with purple skin would likely cause a stir.
My mind is silently exploding. Again. This happens to me regularly lately. Perhaps one day, it will all seem normal to me too, but it’s hard to imagine that happening now.
The guard post is unoccupied. With a fancy enchanted door, a guard wouldn’t be needed during off-hours, I suppose.
Dominus opens a cupboard and retrieves a wicker rug beater from within.
We climb the stairs and emerge into the alley. Sunlight hits my cheeks and brings a smile to my face. It’s warm out. Far too warm for the heavy scarf I’m wearing, but I don’t care. I love the gift and never want to take it off.
“This way.” Dominus leads me around the corner of the building. “So the dust doesn’t blow into any neighboring windows.”
That makes sense. He unwinds a thin rope from one building and strings it to a waiting hook on the adjacent building.
“All you need to do is hang the curtain.” He gestures to the line. "I’ll do the beating.”
I snicker—can’t help myself. It’s funny. I pull one curtain from the bunch, fling it open, and stretch it over the clothesline. “How did you know I’d prefer you to be the beater?”
He arches his brows, pretending to be unamused, but a little smirk of his lips gives him away. He readies the rug beater. “Just a gut feeling.”
“You’re not wrong.” I wink.
He shakes his head, the smirk spreading to an outright smile, and slams the beater against the fabric.
A cloud of dust bursts from the curtain and is carried off by the breeze, but not before making me sneeze four times in quick succession.
“You all right?” He’s staring.
“Yes, yes.” I scratch my nose and move upwind. “Carry on. I can handle a tougher beating than that.”
His answering chuckle only encourages me. I bite my lip.
“Is that so?” He whacks the curtain again.
