The repetitiveness eats up her day; before long, it is time to head home. While placing her laptop in her purse, a loud buzz sounds from the desk. The phone illuminates as she picks it up, showing a text from Lachlan.
Lachlan
Be nice to Daisy
Sloan
I’m always nice.
Pah!
I just choked on my water
That’s a shame.
Well, it’s a shame that you didn’t choke harder.
Sloan. I mean it.
We want this to work, and for that to happen, you two need to get along.
I have no issue working with Daisy.
She means it. She’s never been bothered by Daisy. She doesn’t generally think of Daisy. They don’t typically run in the same circles, so she’s an out-of-sight, out-of-mind thing. Sure, they have some history, but that was so long ago.
I hope you or Petra are having the same conversation with her.
She was the one who tried to trade me in.
Knowing you, I can’t say I blame her
Go suck a hex.
Not waiting for a response, she picks up her purse, locks her phone, drops it into the front pocket, and slings it onto her shoulder as she walks out of the office.
“Goodnight, Boris,” she says, passing him at his desk.
“Goodnight, madam,” he responds, his tone even. She hears a grumbled “Ungrateful witch” as she nears the door.
“I heard that,” she calls behind her.
“I meant you to,” he calls back.
The left side of her mouth quirks up as she exits the building, amused. Her relationship with Boris is tolerable at best. They aren’t overly friendly, and there’s a lot of sass passed back and forth between them, but Sloan still looks forward to seeing the goblin every morning.
She climbs into her car and drives in silence all the way home, allowing the quiet to calm her ever-racing mind.
After changing out of her work attire and into a comfy pair of bright orange sweats, she conjures a glass of red wine and flops onto the sofa. Her feet curl underneath her with a blanket over her lap, and she picks up her current read, picking up where the murderer last left off.
CHAPTER 4
Daisy
Daisy stares at her reflection in the mirror, working up the courage to do what her brain has convinced her is the only way to calm her inner self. Her thoughts haven’t stopped churning since the council meeting, and for some reason, she’s latched on to this idea that a big change in her appearance is what will help. That it will allow her to gain back control and be the piece that sets her life right.
With her magic still unresponsive, she has to do this the hard way. Her hands find the sink’s rim, and her eyes close as she tries to picture the final result, imagining it bright and present. She breathes in deeply, manifesting those feelings of bright energy, a focus on the now, and a renewed confidence to build internally as a result of what she’s about to do. Releasing her breath, she opens her eyes and stares back at herself. She nods, knowing deep down that she needs this. She needs this change to show herself that even without her literal power, she has influence over herself. Her life. Her path.
“Fuck it,” Daisy says before taking the bleach paste on the little plastic paintbrush in her hand and applying it to her hair. She sections off a small patch, starting an inch or so from her roots, paints down the length, flops it over the top, and picks up another section. She repeats this process around her entire head and then goes back through and applies the paste to her roots. Once sufficiently covered, she takes a shower cap and puts it over her head to keep in the heat and help with processing.
