“Why, as anything that won’t catch the Magistrate’s eye, girly. For if he notices old Whistler sneakin’ in a Curvy Queen, all Hell will break loose—and not in a good way, like at the Carnal Bazaar.” He grins. “Hell’s kind of fun over there. But not here—here we must be safe and secret and silent.”
He sweeps open one side of his long coat, revealing pockets upon pockets, bulging with strange things. Poking out of the various pockets I glimpse a shriveled bird’s claw…a vial of black sand…a string of teeth…and a knife made of blue glass. In another pocket, a clockwork mouse ticks and whirs in place on a spring. I also see a jar of something pulsing faintly red. The smell of mildew, incense, and burnt hair wafts out in a sickly mix.
Whistler digs through the pockets, muttering to himself, until he pulls out… a plain paper envelope.
“Ah-ha!”
“What’s tha—” I start, but my words cut off in a shriek as he suddenly yanks my towel away.
“Hey!” I cry, clutching myself, outrage and shame burning my cheeks. “Give that back you pervert!”
He ignores me completely, tipping the envelope into his palm. Glitter—silver and gold—spills out in a sparkling heap.
Whistler puffs out his cheeks and blows.
The glitter whirls toward me in a shimmering cloud. I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to get it in my eyes. For a moment I feel nothing—then a million icy pinpricks scatter across my skin…sinking in…melting into my bare flesh all at once.
“There now,” Whistler says smugly. “That’s better. Nobody will guess you’re a Curvy Queen with that glamour on you. In fact, nobody will even guess you’re human. Well then—open your eyes, girly.”
I blink, look down at myself—and scream!
8
Jules
I’m blue. Blue!
Not just cold-blue, shivering-in-a-towel blue. My skin is blue. My hands shimmer in the torchlight, the same shade as the night sky just before it goes black.
“What have you done to me?” My voice comes out a high, shaky whisper.
“Why, made you look like an elf maiden, that’s all, my queen.” Whistler grins, gold teeth flashing. “Would you like to see?”
Before I can answer, he digs around in the folds of his leather duster again.
His coat rattles and jingles with whatever strange junk he’s carrying—chains, bones, a tiny brass bell that tinkles eerily. Finally, with a triumphant grunt, he pulls out what looks like a scroll of parchment.
Only when he unrolls it with a snap of his wrist, it’s not parchment at all.
It’s a mirror—a full-length mirror that shouldn’t possibly be able to fit inside a pocket.
The glass glimmers, rippling like water…and staring back at me… is a stranger.
I’m tall. Too tall. My once-brown hair now hangs in a sheet of silver-white, long enough to brush my hips. My body has been ironed flat, robbed of its softness. I have no breasts…no hips—just straight lines where my curves used to be. My stomach is as flat as a plank of wood and my waist is pulled tight by the bodice of a gown so white it nearly blinds me. The fabric clings to me like frost, but I know it isn’t real. It can’t be.
My throat tightens as I lift my hands to my head. The girl in the mirror does the same.
My fingers brush long, pointed ears, the tips poking out from my silver hair.
Oh God. It really is me.
“What… what the hell…” My words trail off. My voice sounds wrong in this body—too delicate, too thin.
The gown—this gown that would never fit on my real body, not with my wide hips and big butt and round belly—hugs me like it was sewn onto me. But it’s not me. Not my real body—not really.
Wait. My real body? What am I thinking? What kind of weird shit is this?
I stare at the skinny elf maiden in the mirror. All my life I’ve wanted this—to be thin—to be light. To slip into dresses without worrying about tearing seams or looking like a sausage in a casing. But staring at the reflection, all I feel is… hollow.
