I don’t apologize, though. She should be aware of the danger. She should be careful. Even though last I checked, Mokosz still believed Jaga to be buried, that can change any moment. All she needs to do is visit the grave.
“Will you change or are you fine with people seeing your nipples through the holes?” I ask cooly as she pushes back from the table, tense and angry.
For a moment, she seems confused, looking down at herself like she sees the dress for the first time. She raises her hands next, staring at the filthy, long nails, some of them broken.
“Oh.”
I bite back a mocking retort. For someone who has so much wit when it comes to riling me up, Jaga is so unobservant about other things. But that’s a symptom, too.
I have such a long list of symptoms at this point, and no conclusions. It makes me feel utterly helpless.
“There are many dresses in the wardrobe…” I begin but break off when she closes her eyes and scrunches up her face in effort.
Energy swirls in the room, currents of magic gathering in a whirlwind under the high ceiling. I clamp my mouth shut and watch, trying to understand how Jaga, so previously limited, can call on such an enormous amount of magic all at once.
The whirlwind descends, charged air crackling around her. Splashes of red and black swirl in spirals, more and more color pouring in until Jaga is obscured. A few seconds later, it ends as abruptly as it began.
She stands exactly where she stood, completely changed. I stare at her fiery hair, now clean and healthy, as it falls in attractive waves down to her waist. She’s wearing tight trousers, so tight as to be indecent, made of black leather. Her breasts are bound by a black corset that plumps them up into an attractive display.
Her red leather boots reach almost up to the knee, and she stands taller, at least four inches of height added by the heels.
On her shoulders hangs a dark red coat made of leather like the rest of her clothing. The hem reaches the middle of her thigh, and the buttons are made of the same polished obsidian that decorates the ceiling in my Hall of Fires.
She doesn’t look mortal anymore. I see no trace of the terrified, sobbing woman I went after yesterday.
If anything, she looks like a goddess.
When she glances up, her eyes are almost black, dark and swirling with something empty and devouring, something that makes my skin crawl. A feeling of profound wrongness washes over me. Something bad just happened, something evil and horrible, and she was at the center.
She blinks, and her eyes are normal again. I find my tongue.
“Or get your own clothes, I suppose. Shall we? Where would you like to go today?”
I offer her my arm the same way Chors did yesterday. Jaga ignores it but brushes my shoulder as she passes on her way to the door. I am startled to discover we are of equal height now.
“Open,” she commands the door, pressing her palm to it.
When it obeys, she strides out, and I follow, staring at her with apprehension far exceeding everything she made me feel until now.
I love her power, and I would never begrudge her that, but there is something sinister about the way she uses magic. That face she makes, for one. Reaching for one’s natural power is never hard. Magic is like an obedient pet, going where we command. If one has to forcefully drag it out…
I need to do something, fast.It’s time to up the game, so I can finally learn what happened to her. Before it’s too late.
Jaga huffs from effort as she ascends the stairs, her physical fitness not yet rebuilt. When we enter the Hall of Fires, she looks around with an air of boredom. Finally, she turns to me.
“Take me to Wiosna.”
My body reacts with instant awareness. I can’t help it—powerful, arrogant Jaga demanding things from me in that haughty voice is a turn-on. Especially in those clothes. Wherever did she see a style like this before? I brush that thought aside and focus, making my pants ice over before things grow visible.
“Of course, dear,” I say with a courteous bow. “But before we go, I’d like you to tell me the exact steps you took to remake your clothes. It was an interesting technique.”
Jaga narrows her eyes with a cool smile and turns away. “I’ll find her myself.”
“By all means.”
I grin at her retreating back, following easily. Her steps are small, a bit uncertain in her new boots, and I remember how it felt when I turned into Woland for the first time. It was hard to walk at first. Hard to do anything.
“You should know walking from one end of the Hall of Fires to the other takes about fifteen minutes on average,” I say in a polite voice, pretending to be helpful. “If you’d like, I could use my shadows to transport you anywhere you want.”
