“It’s hard and limiting,” I explain bluntly to make sure she understands. “You won’t be able to use your magic unless I stop time, and you will have to keep all of yourself tucked away behind strong shields. Perun and others don’t rely on appearance, but on a person’s specific flavor of magic when they want someone found.”
She cocks her head to the side, studying me. The day is dull and cloudy, and her face is the brightest, most beautiful thing against the backdrop of leaden skies.
“So how come he doesn’t sense you in Woland?”
“Because my magic and essence change when I shift. Woland isn’t just a different body—he has different magic, a different mind, everything. But I’m not going as Woland. I want to try talking to people myself, maybe find out what Perun is scheming. We’ll both be disguised as mortals.”
I don’t tell her the third reason—that this is a new thing I haven’t tried with her before, and Nyja is right. My most important goal hasn’t changed.
Jaga claps her hands with a laugh. “Exciting! You should go as a venerable old man, wise and weary. Mortals always trust their elders.”
I smirk and shake my head. “No. This is my disguise.”
I let my magic shape and shift me, bulking up my limbs, dusting my skin with a golden tan. My hair grows short and blond, and Jaga gasps, outraged and breathy, when I stand in front of her as the man who won her poppy chaplet so long ago.
Just like then, I am naked, and I turn, preening for her perusal.
“And? Do you see any room for improvement?” I ask in a handsome, masculine voice that sounds lighter, more boyish than my own.
“Put on some clothes,” she bites out, fuming. Her gaze is turned firmly ahead, and she refuses to look at me. I laugh.
“Is this enough?”
I make for myself a pair of loose trousers that sit low on my hips, showing off the deeply cut muscles that point like an arrow toward my cock. I can’t help it. We’re going to do something fun and forbidden, something that might just work. Jaga is by my side. I need nothing else for this day to be perfect.
“Will you stop?” she asks, turning away after giving me barely a glance. “This is a serious matter!”
I shrug. “Do you know why I loved coming to your Kupala Night?” I ask, making myself a tight shirt that is decent enough not to be obscene, but only just. “Because I got to have fun and feel young again. Seducing you, chasing other boys in the river, dancing… It reminded me that life is worth living. I feel the same thrill today. Don’t take it away from me.”
She gives me a look that’s a bit grumpy, a bit miffed, like she pities me again. Then her gaze trails down my chest, where the buttons strain against my muscles underneath, and she rolls her eyes.
“What’s the point if I know you don’t really look like this?”
“The point is fun. Also, have you considered I can look like anyone and anything, in publicorin private? And you, too. You could be a man if you chose. Fuck like one.”
She blinks in surprise, and I chuckle under my breath. “Come on. Disguise yourself, and then I’ll show you how to keep your signature hidden. It should be easy for you.”
She nods and closes her eyes in concentration. Her hair loses its color, becoming a muted sort of dull brown. Her skin grows swarthier, losing the freckles, and she drops lower, the boots replaced by sturdy, practical shoes. She has on undyed linen clothes, a warm vest, and an ugly gray kerchief.
In front of me stands a washed-out woman, one whose appearance I can’t even describe, because she’s so unremarkable.
I stare, confused. Jaga watches me back with a pair of brownish-gray eyes.
“This is what you chose?” I ask, shaking my head in disbelief. “Jaga, you could beanyone.You can make yourself more beautiful than Mokosz, so why would you…”
“I stood out all my life and prefer to be forgettable for once,” she grumbles, and even her voice sounds dull.
“We make such an odd pair.” I shake my head, still unable to get used to her.
“What now?” she asks, folding her arms obstinately.
“All right. You know how you hide your soul, right? You have shields and barriers that stay on all the time, keeping you tucked into your body. I want you to sense for the subtler parts of you that you unknowingly project. Your magic, but also a certain aura of your being—an essence, if you will. I see it as a reddish halo. It smells like poppies and lovage, and it tastes sweet and burnt, like fire, honey, and other things.”
She nods and closes her eyes, frowning. It takes her just a moment to grasp it, and the halo and scent of her grow more potent. I step closer to breathe her in, because I can’t deny myself the pleasure.
Jaga lets out her tongue and tastes the air, recoiling slightly. “Lovage, honey tinctures, and wine,” she mutters. “And… something fruity but bitter. Rosehip? Oh, and gritty but sweet. Poppyseeds.”
“Good,” I murmur, my voice dropping lower, because it is shockingly arousing to see her taste her own essence. “I want you to pull it all closer now. Tuck it all deep in your body and wrap yourself in a protective cloak. Exactly like you do with your soul.”
