Wu said with a triumphant sneer at Scarlett.
Bernadette picked up Morgan’s phone, scrolling down the messages. “Who’s this Gabby?”
Scarlett walked over. “Her best friend. Her only friend. Poor Morgan. Poor little witch girl,” she taunted.
“I don’t think you’re funny. She says here that she’s on her way.” Bernadette tossed the phone to Wu, who caught it deftly. “Think you can bring her back?” she asked snidely.
“I may have to shapeshift.”
Bernadette nodded, her face closed. “Don’t screw it up this time.” With a wave, she dismissed her, then turned her gimlet eye on Scarlett. “You’re still here?” She looked Jasmine, considering her. “She has such pretty skin. Do something that will keep her occupied so she won’t be thinking about what happened tonight.”
Scarlett nodded as she walked toward the exit. “Lovely skin, gone on a whim, and in its place, a pus -filled crater face.” She added as she left the room, “When you wake, we’ll commiserate, and in the end, you’ll see me as your only friend.”
Bernadette smiled. She could trust Scarlett. She always followed orders.
She held out a paper for Vincenza. “Go to public relations. I want a story of a photo shoot gone awry. Hire a bird and a cat.”
Vincenza growled, earning her a tight -lipped look from her boss. “Stop it already. It may be fun for you, but the cleanup is a bitch. I don’t want to keep having these issues.”
Vincenza slipped soundlessly from the room. Bernadette sat down, drained. Picking up the middle stone, she laid it on her chest, feeling the heat radiate into her cold heart.
With a heavy sigh, she pulled out the ancient book from her bottom drawer. It had a metal clasp that fell open with a touch of her finger. Wetting her pointer finger, she fluttered the fragile parchment. Her lips moved rapidly, and she made a sound of disapproval. Holding her finger in that spot, she turned a few more pages, smiling with satisfaction. Her whispered words were fast and in a language not many could comprehend. Satisfied, she picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and punched in a number. “There’s been a problem,” she told the person on the other end softly. Her gray eyes never left the book.
* * *
Scarlett walked out of the office. Jasmine floated after her, her smooth, caramel skin breaking out in ulcerated pockmarks. Jasmine slept on, unaware of her changing appearance. Scarlett watched the two other women enter the outer elevators to search for Morgan. Twirling her blond locks, she whispered, “Make Morgan disappear, I don’t care, so that I’m the one and only —Bernadette’s heir.” Snickering, she snapped her fingers, bringing Jasmine back to herself.
“Whew.” Jasmine smiled. “That was close. Thanks for saving my job.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I said, come on,” Alastair urged the younger man.
“I want to go to a hospital.” They stood in the smelly hallway, Wes’s bloody foot leaving a trail of red footprints.
Alastair shook his head. “What are you afraid of? Witches are synonymous with healers. Baby Fat’s practically a surgeon.”
“What do you mean, practically?” Wes roared. “I’m not going in.” He limped after Alastair, who stood firm.
“Shapeshifting witches sometimes release slow -acting hormones that can enter the bloodstream and wreak havoc on a person’s nervous system. It starts with an elevated temperature.”
Wes felt sweat drip from his temple down his warm neck. His body shook with a tremor.
“You’re looking a little flushed there.” Alastair reached up to press his cool hand against Wes’s overheated cheek. He tsked. Wes pulled away. “Listen, conventional medicine doesn’t have a clue…”
“All right, already,” Wes said, giving in. He felt lightheaded. “I don’t know if I trust her.”
“Do you trust me?” Alastair asked, his eyes boring into Wes’s. The younger man looked away.
He was still protesting after Baby Fat had
Bernadette picked up Morgan’s phone, scrolling down the messages. “Who’s this Gabby?”
Scarlett walked over. “Her best friend. Her only friend. Poor Morgan. Poor little witch girl,” she taunted.
“I don’t think you’re funny. She says here that she’s on her way.” Bernadette tossed the phone to Wu, who caught it deftly. “Think you can bring her back?” she asked snidely.
“I may have to shapeshift.”
Bernadette nodded, her face closed. “Don’t screw it up this time.” With a wave, she dismissed her, then turned her gimlet eye on Scarlett. “You’re still here?” She looked Jasmine, considering her. “She has such pretty skin. Do something that will keep her occupied so she won’t be thinking about what happened tonight.”
Scarlett nodded as she walked toward the exit. “Lovely skin, gone on a whim, and in its place, a pus -filled crater face.” She added as she left the room, “When you wake, we’ll commiserate, and in the end, you’ll see me as your only friend.”
Bernadette smiled. She could trust Scarlett. She always followed orders.
She held out a paper for Vincenza. “Go to public relations. I want a story of a photo shoot gone awry. Hire a bird and a cat.”
Vincenza growled, earning her a tight -lipped look from her boss. “Stop it already. It may be fun for you, but the cleanup is a bitch. I don’t want to keep having these issues.”
Vincenza slipped soundlessly from the room. Bernadette sat down, drained. Picking up the middle stone, she laid it on her chest, feeling the heat radiate into her cold heart.
With a heavy sigh, she pulled out the ancient book from her bottom drawer. It had a metal clasp that fell open with a touch of her finger. Wetting her pointer finger, she fluttered the fragile parchment. Her lips moved rapidly, and she made a sound of disapproval. Holding her finger in that spot, she turned a few more pages, smiling with satisfaction. Her whispered words were fast and in a language not many could comprehend. Satisfied, she picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and punched in a number. “There’s been a problem,” she told the person on the other end softly. Her gray eyes never left the book.
* * *
Scarlett walked out of the office. Jasmine floated after her, her smooth, caramel skin breaking out in ulcerated pockmarks. Jasmine slept on, unaware of her changing appearance. Scarlett watched the two other women enter the outer elevators to search for Morgan. Twirling her blond locks, she whispered, “Make Morgan disappear, I don’t care, so that I’m the one and only —Bernadette’s heir.” Snickering, she snapped her fingers, bringing Jasmine back to herself.
“Whew.” Jasmine smiled. “That was close. Thanks for saving my job.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I said, come on,” Alastair urged the younger man.
“I want to go to a hospital.” They stood in the smelly hallway, Wes’s bloody foot leaving a trail of red footprints.
Alastair shook his head. “What are you afraid of? Witches are synonymous with healers. Baby Fat’s practically a surgeon.”
“What do you mean, practically?” Wes roared. “I’m not going in.” He limped after Alastair, who stood firm.
“Shapeshifting witches sometimes release slow -acting hormones that can enter the bloodstream and wreak havoc on a person’s nervous system. It starts with an elevated temperature.”
Wes felt sweat drip from his temple down his warm neck. His body shook with a tremor.
“You’re looking a little flushed there.” Alastair reached up to press his cool hand against Wes’s overheated cheek. He tsked. Wes pulled away. “Listen, conventional medicine doesn’t have a clue…”
“All right, already,” Wes said, giving in. He felt lightheaded. “I don’t know if I trust her.”
“Do you trust me?” Alastair asked, his eyes boring into Wes’s. The younger man looked away.
He was still protesting after Baby Fat had
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