Brave the Tempest (Cassie Palme) - Karen Chance Page 0,31

still had enough indicators to get the broken end of the bath brush under what I guessed was a chin. And it must have been close enough. Because the invisible man suddenly decided to become visible again.

Leaving me looking into the bug-eyed, terrified face of—

“Augustine?” I’d strongly suspected it was him, but I was still pissed.

“Aughhh!”

“Augustine!”

“Aughhh!”

“Stop shrieking!”

“Well, stop . . . wheeze . . . threatening me . . . wheeze . . . you psycho!”

I stared at him. I was the psycho? “What are you doing in here?”

He looked cross-eyed at the loofah stick and seemed to be having trouble breathing. Probably because his solar plexis had taken a hit when he slammed into the tub. “I had . . . to talk . . . to you—”

“Right now?”

“Yes, now! Now! It’s important.” He grabbed his chest. “What did you . . . wheeze . . . do to me?”

“Nothing permanent, although you’re lucky I didn’t kill you! What the hell were you jumping at me for?”

“I was afraid . . . that you were about . . . to scream. I didn’t want . . . to have to deal . . . with that overgrown gorilla.” He looked around, I guess noticing the fact that we were alone. “Where is he, anyway?”

“If you mean Marco, probably in the common rooms somewhere. The consul had a silence spell woven around the bedroom.”

“Gods be praised!” Augustine tried getting up, only to slide back down onto his ass again.

I grabbed his arm, pulled him up, and slapped a towel onto his chest. “What did you do? And why didn’t they see you sneaking in here?”

He rolled his eyes and disappeared again. For a second, I thought that was partly due to my stinging, blurry eyesight, because some soap had dripped from my hair into my face and screwed with my vision. And because no glamourie was that good. I was at point-blank range, and I still couldn’t see him. But when I reached out a hand—

He was standing there, solid under my palm.

Son of a bitch.

“Move around,” I ordered, because one of the things camo spells had trouble with was movement.

Nothing.

“Are you moving?”

“Yes! And stop feeling me up!”

“Well, I can’t see you,” I pointed out.

“That’s the idea!” He slowly came back into view. First a shining blond head with a sharp, razor cut hairstyle that was now a dripping mess; then a lean, angular face with slightly crazed, pale blue eyes; and finally a shimmery jumpsuit that looked like a Buck Rogers costume from the eighties, with an opalescent white background that flashed prismatic colors whenever he moved.

“How are you doing that?” I asked, genuinely impressed.

He brushed it away. “It’s something . . . I’m working on . . . for the Circle. For the war, you know?”

“Yeah.” Augustine had been approached to help design some items for the invasion. It wasn’t as weird as it sounds. He was part fey, and his designs had showed a tendency for creativity in the past. And, frankly, we could use all the help we could get.

“We’re getting an invisible army?” My mood suddenly improved.

Augustine snorted. “They wish.”

“It looks like it works to me!”

“Oh, it does. For about ninety seconds. Best-case scenario, it’ll help some of our spies. But it takes too much power for general use.”

Figured.

“Now listen,” he said, toweling off. “What I need from you is—”

“What I need is a rinse off,” I told him, turning on the shower because I had soap in my hair, and everywhere else. “Go wait in the dressing room.”

“But I—”

“Out!” I said, massaging my stinging eyes. “Or I’ll call Marco, I swear.”

“Damn it, Cassie—”

“And I’ll mention that gorilla comment.”

He went.

I de-soaped, except for my eyes, which required some eye drops before I stopped looking tragic. I took my time, blowing out my hair and doing the mousse, curling iron, and round brush thing that made my tight little angry curls into big, soft bouncy ones that looked happy to be there. I even curled my eyelashes, because what the hell, and put on extra liner and mascara.

I thought about the fey woman’s vivid blue eye color and added some shadow. It didn’t really make mine much bluer, but it countered a bit of the lingering redness. So, score?

Finally, I traded my towel for a big terry cloth bathrobe and went into the dressing room. And immediately wished I’d arrived sooner. Because Augustine wasn’t sitting at my dressing table, ankles primly crossed, waiting for me. He