Larque on the Wing by Nancy Springer Page B

lightning streaks, then stood back, still supremely beautiful, still expressionless, when he was done.
    â€œThat concludes your Magic Makeover,” he told her. “Is there anything you want to change before you get out of the chair? Have you always wanted the ability to play the piano? Do you struggle with dandruff? Anything at all that you can think of?”
    She and Sky eyed each other. It seemed to Larque, facing the level gaze of the child, that all the important attributes were in place. But Sky said slowly, “Code of honor?”
    â€œYou mean like, convictions to have the courage of? I think we’ve got that.”
    â€œOkay … okay. You look okay to me,” said the child firmly.
    It felt good to see light in Sky’s eyes, to merit the child’s approval for a change. Larque nodded at the man in black, who cranked down the chair to let her off, then stood back, gesturing her toward a mirror. Full-length. She stood in front of it and looked.
    A handsome adolescent boy looked back.
    â€œ Caramba ,” Larque whispered, utterly startled at first, and then, in the same bone-deep way, delighted. The change felt both strange and ineffably right. Her hard young male muscles promised everything she had always wanted and never had, the confidence, the endurance, the entitlement to go and see and do. They buoyed her up, even just standing there in front of the mirror they seemed to carry her higher by the moment; she wanted to shout. She did shout. “I need a cock and balls!” she exclaimed.
    â€œYou can take care of that at the Penis Place,” Shadow said without looking up. Standing behind the counter, he was writing something—the sales slip, maybe.
    Without sitting down Larque was able to pull on her socks and boots again. She loved the new balance and sureness in her body—she would never have been able to do such a simple and satisfying thing before. Whatever the cost, it was worth it. “How much is this going to set me back?” she asked Shadow.
    â€œYou’ll find out over the course of time,” he said, and for the first time he smiled, the wry knowing smile of a truthteller. Then he looked at her, and his smile slipped. “Wait,” he said. “Get back in the chair. I forgot to do your soul and your heart.”
    But she shook her head, because now that she was standing on her own two feet, she no longer wanted him messing with her. There was magic in his beauty, but she was starting to see him truly, and she was no longer in a mood to submit to his manipulations. Her heart and soul were her own.
    â€œI’ll work on them myself,” she said. “Thanks. Send me the bill.” Then with Sky at her side she went out, for no reason leaping up to whack at the world’s ceiling.

SIX
    S HADOW STOOD AT HIS AWNING-SHADED FRONT WINDOW and watched her go.
    She yearned to fight for justice. Clung to a code of honor. Wore anachronistic work boots. Wanted to punch out the bad guys. Wanted to ride into the sunset.
    There was a reason why he had slipped up, forgetting to perform the most important steps of her transformation, failing to complete the job, and it was this: she was entirely too much like Argent. Touching her had shaken him silly, taking him back like riding a stormwind to that first night with Argent in that tawdry little room.
    Even remembering, now, he felt the sexiness and splendor and astonishment of it all shivering him like pouring hot oil on ice, like finding a snake in the cupboard with a jewel shining between its eyes. The power tingling in his long, strong hands—not yet knowing what it meant, half-thrilled and half-frightened, Shadow had fought it at first, holding it back. But when the clothes came off and Argent lay naked on the bed, there was no holding back. The knowledge of who Argent really was burned, burned in his fingers, and the lust for that person burned in his loins, and he touched—he touched