Touch of Evil - Cecy Robson Page 0,37

Mirror.”

They regard me as if slapped by one of Farrah’s missing fins. “How do you know about Mirror?” Merche asks.

Farrah seems disturbed. Never mind, I think that’s just how the poor thing looks. Mirror isn’t a spell I’m supposed to be familiar with. Even Lesser witches are banned from knowing about it.

They don’t understand that there’s a great deal I’ve learned about magic and a lot more I don’t care to know. Each class of supernatural are bound by loyalty to protect their secrets. As a non-witch, and someone who doesn’t belong to a coven, I’m not bound to these rules and explain the extent of my familiarity with their spells.

“Mirror is one of the three High Tasks of Witchcraft. Casting one successfully is your final exam and what permits you to graduate.”

“That’s right,” Farrah says, her large bulgy eyes watching me closely.

“If performed correctly, the spell-wielder turns into someone or something else.”

“Who told you about Mirror?” Merche asks.

“That’s not important,” I say. I examine them closely. Their forms are only portions of what they should be. They also seem comfortable in their bodies, as if they’ve occupied them for a while now.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I say.

“We’re not lying, miss,” Farrah assures me.

“What I mean is, Mirror is an espionage spell. One meant to last only a few hours, a day on rare occasions. You’ve been like this for some time now, haven’t you?”

Merche nods.

I groan and put some space between us when I realize what’s happening. “You didn’t perform mirror. You couldn’t have.” You were too weak. “They, your so-called leaders, performed it on you.”

Farrah looks down, mumbling as if merely speaking aloud and doing her best to justify her actions. “We had to try other ways. We had to experiment. It was the only way we were ever going to make something of ourselves.”

“That’s not true,” I say. “It’s what your leaders told you to get what they wanted from you. They were terrible, selfish people.”

“They weren’t all bad,” Merche insists, crying faster. “Some were good and wanted better for us. Except the others killed them until they were the only ones left.”

“They?” I ask. “You said only Una was left.”

Merche is crying so hard she can barely speak. “They’re all Una. They combined and became one.”

I’m supposed to face my enemies with a poker face. If they don’t know what I’m thinking, they can’t anticipate my moves. I stay safe. I maintain control.

Maybe, in another few decades or so, I’ll master that ability instead of allowing every emotion I’m feeling to play across my face like a symphony.

Horror, disgust, and fear drain the warmth from my skin. I’m clutching my heart and bouncing back and forth. In my defense, I don’t run around in circles screaming like I very much want to.

“Okay,” I say. “How do I fit in? Why am I here?”

“You don’t want to know,” Merche says over Farrah’s, “We never wanted to hurt you.”

I lose what remains of my patience and freeze in place. “I want to know, and regardless of what you say, you very much hurt me.”

“Una told me to follow you,” Merche says, quickly, her nose twitching. “She found you tonight at the wolf’s house.”

“First date,” I interrupt. I hold up my hand. “Very much not my boyfriend.”

“Oh, we know,” Merche says.

I don’t question how they know, but it still strikes me as strange.

Merche blows out a breath. “Just so you’re aware, Una ripped him to pieces.”

“I know,” I say. “We found the body. But why?”

An odd look overtakes Merche’s vermin appearance. “Una can be very beautiful when she wants to be. She enjoys sex. We all do.” She clears her throat. “Your lover seemed to as well.”

“She lured him to the beach to have sex with him and then kill him?” I ask.

They both nod as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “It’s how we feed Una and make our money. We bring lovers back here with the promise of sex for a price.”

“Do you keep those promises?” Gerald asks, a little too enthusiastically.

“Yes,” Merche says. She shrugs. “It’s the only way we’re allowed to get close to anyone and the only way Una receives satisfaction and nourishment.”

“And men willingly come here?” I ask. “With you?” I grimace. “Um. Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

“Yes, you did,” Gerald says.

Yes, I did.

Merche smiles sadly. “We know what we look like, and we know what we’ve become. The men came with us before