“How do you know all this?” I break down and scream a little. “What, are you secretly some kind of magical creature, too?”
In answer, Alban smiles widely and levitates a cupcake onto the desk beside me. “Have a cupcake, and let me tell you all about my family. Ever heard of the Wymark Warlocks? Anglo-French warlocks dating back to the time of the Crusades?”
I bite savagely into the cupcake. “This might be a doughnut-worthy conversation, just saying.”
My boss pulls his phone from his pocket. “Let me tell Alain to stop by The Pine Loft on the way in. A dozen maple-glazed?”
“That should cover it.”
Chapter Nine
My Agatha bursts into the building like her skirt is on fire. “My boss is a warlock! A really powerful one! He flew a dozen doughnuts in a figure eight around my office this morning!” She runs into the room and places her palms on either side of the mirror, panting into my face. “I ran the whole way from the parking lot in these heels.” She gulps down air. “I told him all about you, and he says you don’t have to stay in that mirror—but you do have to stay bound to something or you’ll lose your—uh—existence. But you could be out! Free. Freeish.”
I smile at her rampant enthusiasm, at her trust in others—and at the fact that after centuries of circling the globe, I seem to have landed in the right place. “I need the mirror to live, my love. He’s right that I must be bound to something, and I’m not sure what would be better.”
“Well, think about it, okay? If we... If we’re going to be together, it would be nice if you had a less stressful place to live.”
I arch one snow-white brow. “Less stressful?”
“You always have to change shape at a second’s notice. That’s not hard?”
“I’m good at it by now. It has its uses.” I easily change to Agatha’s form, minus clothing, and watch her blush and gasp.
“Stop that!”
“Why?”
“I’m having a serious discussion.”
“I seriously admire your body,” I purr, running my hands down the soft curves I mimic.
Agatha stares. Licks her lips. “Do I really look like that? Sexy like that?”
I contain my laughter with an effort. “False modesty, empress?”
“No! I... When you have depression and anxiety, or you feel like the world is tilting and spinning out of balance from meds, you don’t feel sexy. You feel like someone’s old broccoli casserole. There were days when I considered it a huge accomplishment to brush my teeth, let alone change out of grubby pajamas.”
“But, my love. You’re so incredibly elegant. You don’t dress like the women on Jane’s television. You have style,” I praise, morphing into my favorite outfit of hers—the tight black vest and skirt with the fine white stripes that accent every curve with their contrasting narrowness.
“You think I’m elegant?”
“Incredibly.”
“And sexy?”
