“Yeah,” she said. “You look like me, but you don’tfeellike me.”
She stood up and circled around him, studying the illusion. “You’re copying the outside, not the core. The core’s clearly harder to fake.”
He turned slightly to follow her movement. “And you think you can tell the difference.”
“I know I can,” she said, stopping behind him. “That’s the problem with deception, Michael, it always flickers somewhere, I can see your energy.”
“How do you do that?” he asked quietly.
Lucy smiled. “It’s my thing. Connection.”
He let the illusion fade, and for a moment he looked almost vulnerable.
Michael was still rubbing his temples from their little exercise when Lucy grinned across the table.
“Right,” she said. “My turn.”
He leaned back, laughing. “You won’t get it that fast, so don’t worry if you...” Before he could finish, the air shimmered around her. In the space of a heartbeat, Lucy was gone, replaced byhim.
Not a weak copy either. She’d matched his height, his clothes, his exact crooked grin, even the faint scar by his eyebrow. Her voice came out perfect too.
“don’t worry if you what?” she said, finishing his sentence inhisvoice.
Michael jumped up so fast the chair screeched backward. “What the fuck, how! I can’t do that!”
Lucy-as-Michael mimicked him perfectly, flailing her hands. “What the fuck how! I can’t do that!” “Stop it!” he barked.
“No,youstop it!” she shot back, matching his tone and expression.
The shouting drew quick footsteps in the corridor. Barnaby opened the door; he blinked at the two identical Michaels standing in front of him.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Lucy, which one are you?”
Both stayed silent.
Then one of them pointed dramatically at the other. “He’sLucy!”
The other Michael gasped and slapped his hands to his mouth. “You lying cow bag!”
Lucy broke first, bursting into laughter so hard she doubled over. “Cow bag?” she managed between giggles. “What’s a cow bag?”
Michael looked offended. “My British friend said it means you’re rude or unpleasant!”
Barnaby raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have any British friends, genius. You’re Lucy.”
Before he could blink, Lucy changed again, this time intoBarnaby. Exact clothes, hair, everything.
“Good thing you’re smart, little bro,” she said in Barnaby’s voice, smirking. “I wonder if I get your brain too.”
Barnaby crossed his arms. “I doubt it. That’s… impressive. I mean, wow, look at me. I'm gorgeous, I even have some muscles too now. Just wow””
Michael stared between them, still half in shock. “Why can you do that?” he asked. “I’ve never been able to change clothes, or… all of it. I must steal clothes to pull off a look.”
Lucy shimmered back into herself, still grinning. “No idea. I just tried.”
Barnaby’s eyes flicked to her. “It’s probably because you’re full Nephilim, and royalty on top of that. You’ve got more range than he does.”
The grin faded slightly from Michael’s face. He sank into the nearest chair, his voice quiet. “So, it’s true then. What Mandy and Mary said. You really are the daughter of the royal family.”
