Page 54 of Strange Familiars
The same.
Exactly the same. “Oh.”
Percy pipes up from where he’s sat.Is that the best that man can do?he scoffs.Because if so, it’s not very good.
“Hang on.” Harrisford is looking flustered, his cheeks a little pink. “I didn’t do it right. Let me try again.”
This time, the glamour takes, and when I look into the mirror it’s almost as though a different Gwendolynne is peering back. My skin is glowing; my eyebrows are sculpted, my lips a deep plum color that perfectly matches my dress. The glamour has smoothed my hair into glossy Hollywood waves that hang over my smooth, bare shoulder.
“Better?” Harrisford says.
“Yes,” I say, pulling on my coat, my gaze still lingering on my reflection.
He goes to the door and opens it with a jerk. Is it just me, or are his shoulders looking a wee bit stiff?
“After you,” he says, gesturing out the door with one hand. And as I sweep past him with a rustle of shiny plum silk, he does not look at me again.
23
Harrisford
I can’t even look at Gwendolynne as we ride to the gala in the back of my father’s car. And it’s not just because my body instantly reacts each time I so much as glance her way…it’s also because I’m absolutely mortified for fucking up the glamour. If only she knewwhy, she’d probably think me a total loser. Though, to be fair, she already does.
It’s not that I don’t know how to cast glamours. I do. In fact, I’m rather good at them. Danny Wong and I used to mess around with them all the time when we were teens. On certain occasions, when we were bored, we’d enchant each other’s faces for a laugh. It was a waste of magic, sure, but we’d always had enough surplus for that not to be an issue.
What I’d forgotten about glamour charms is that the final effect lies with the person casting it—notthe person receiving the spell. If it were listed in a textbook, the section under glamours would read:This spell alters the recipient’s appearance, allowing their features to change in such a way that is most desirable to the caster.That is, it can be someone else you find attractive, or the most pleasing version of oneself. This is why most of the time people cast glamours on themselves.
Danny and I, on the other hand, used to turn each other into girls and guys we fancied, and then give each other total shit for it. Until the last time I’d cast a glamour back in fifth year…It had gone badly, and I’d sworn off them for good.
But tonight, so desperate to put Gwendolynne out of her apparent misery, I’d put a glamour on her, not stopping to think about what the end result would be. And when she opened her eyes and saw her unaltered reflection…
Well.
Sure, I’d tried to cover up my mistake by immediately pivoting to a hair and makeup spell, and even though it had been clumsy spellwork she’d seemed happy enough with the result.
But I was shaken. I’m still shaken. It was the sudden, horrible realization that what I desire most is Gwendolynne—exactly as she is. Loose hair, ugly cardigans, beat-up trainers, jeans. And that if she knew anything at all about glamours, then she would know exactly what I had done.
It was even a revelation for me, though it shouldn’t have been, considering the elaborate fantasies I’ve been having about her of late. In fact, when she’d mentioned taking off the dress, it took all of my willpower not to grab her and growl,There’s only one person that’s allowed to take that thing off, Chan…and that’s me.
Somehow, I’d managed to restrain myself. To stop myself from blurting out those foolish, foolish words. I know she doesn’t think about me that way—she’s both told me and shown me on a number of occasions how hateful she thinks I am. And to be honest, she’s right. I’m not a good person. I’m cocky, I’m short-tempered, I’m extremely judgmental. I’m the son of a harsh, murderous tyrant, and I’m quite sure my genes are just as rotten as his. I’m so fucked up that I can’t even bring myself to feel bad about the fact that my father is in a coma.
I’m so fucked up that not even my own mother considered me worthy enough to stay.
And even if Gwendolynne didn’t detest me—even if by some miracle she got past her deep-seated hatred—then Istillwouldn’t want her falling for me. After what happened with Isla, I can’t guarantee that I wouldn’t break Gwendolynne’s heart. I had lost interest in Isla after less than a year, until even looking at her sickened me. What if that happened again? I simply cannot risk it.
No. I’m just going to have to appreciate that Gwendolynne is an extremely attractive woman without ever letting her know how I feel.
“Can you pass some water?” Gwendolynne says, jolting me out of my thoughts. I push one of the chilled bottles into her waiting hand, and for the briefest of moments our fingers brush. Hers are so warm, her skin so smooth. Uncomfortable, I shift in my seat, then go back to staring out the window and jiggling my leg.
I’m nervous. It feels as though a lot is riding on tonight. Plus, after what happened at the museum last time I’d begrudgingly left Pudding back at Heywood Hall.
“Hey.” Gwendolynne leans over and puts a hand on my knee, stilling it. “Don’t stress. It’s just one night—Pudding will be fine.” It’s as if she can read my fucking mind.
It’s lucky she can’t, though, because if she could, she’d know that there appears to be a direct connection from my left knee to my groin. She’d see that my brain is thoroughly preoccupied with images of me grabbing her face and kissing her. Pushing her back against the leather seats, her legs wrapped around my waist. Sinking to my knees, lifting her dress, worshipping her with nothing but my lips and hands and tongue…
I blink, forcing myself to look away. I’m both glad and not gladthat I ordered that dress; she looks fucking good in it, but it is really not helping my composure.
“I’m not stressed,” I say curtly, tugging on my collar and studying the scenery outside.
