Page 61 of Victorious

The redhead came unstuck, gathering the nearest bills before starting toward the door. “And Grace?” said June. The girl froze, frightened eyes flicking back. But June only smiled. “Get home safe.”

She meant it. But she also meant, Do not pass go. Do not call the cops. Do not make me regret this.

To her credit, Grace had the nerve to look offended. She nodded, and ran.

June rapped the gun against her thigh.

“Now that it’s just us…” she said, turning her attention back to the Man at the Window, who was now, of course, the Man on the Floor.

“Psychotic bitch,” he snarled.

June shook her head, blond hair tickling her cheek. It never failed to amaze her. When she wore a man’s body, they begged. When she wore a woman’s, it was all invective. Psycho this. Bitch that.

“You know,” she said, letting her own melodic accent slip through, “it’s generally bad form to insult the person with the gun.” She raised the weapon as she said it.

The man shuffled backward, leaving bloody streaks on the marble as he did, unaware that he was running out of room until his back met the glass.

He gasped, eyes searching wildly for an escape.

June was more than happy to oblige.

She fired three rounds into the floor-to-ceiling window at his back.

The glass splintered, and gave way, and for a second, he wheeled his arms, fighting for balance.

But it was only a second.

And then his body fell backward, over the edge, and out of sight.

June crossed to the record player and killed the music. She turned, surveying the damage. The body lying face down on the shattered table, blood dripping onto what looked like an expensive rug. The other, on the floor, face a rictus of shock, a second smile at his throat. The third, presumably painting the street below.

She’d been hired for all kinds of jobs, ones that required discretion and ones that wanted flare. She knew how to make a body disappear without a trace. But she had to admit, it was more fun to cause a scene.

She crossed the room, stepping around the blood and bullet casings, the cash Grace hadn’t grabbed blowing in drifts before being sucked out into the night.

June reached the bar cart and paused, surveying her options, then opted for the nicest whisky, and poured herself a tumbler, neat. There was a mirror on the wall behind the cart, and as she lifted the glass to her lips, she changed.

The blond girl melted away, wiped like steam from a shower pane, replaced by auburn hair, fair skin, and a heart-shaped face.

June met her eyes—her eyes, green as the surf on a stormy day—and sipped, tasting the spirit for the first time in years. She let it sit on her tongue, smoky and sweet, let it slide through her when she swallowed, warming in its wake.

She knew better than to linger in her body, afraid that if she stayed long enough for her senses to settle, long enough to catch the scent that clung to her own curls, to remember what it felt like, to be at home in her skin, she might not have the strength to give it up again.

But for a moment, just a moment, she stood there, sipping her drink.

God, she missed it.

Not just the taste of liquor. But the feel of the cold air on her skin. The scent of perfume and smoke. Other bodies meant other senses, which she couldn’t really access. The distance shielded her from pain, but at the cost of pleasure, the result, a spectrum running the short length from dull to numb.

The only way she could really smell or taste or feel something was as herself.

But that was also the only time she could be hurt, or killed. Self for safety, that was the price she’d chosen to pay, and it was worth it. But every now and then, she just needed to know that underneath it all, she was still there.

Wind whistled through the broken window, along with the far-off sound of sirens, a sure sign it was time to go.

June downed the rest of the whisky in a single, fiery gulp, letting it burn through her. She might have poured herself a second glass, but the night wasn’t over.

She’d given Victor her word, about looking into EON. And June was good at keeping exactly two things: grudges, and promises.