Many Bloody Returns Part 29

Today, however, Sophie felt restless and ill at ease. She couldn't concentrate on her readings, had no interest in her spells. She ignored the weeds in her garden and cut short her correspondence on the Worldwide Witches Web, even though one of the messages was from her sister and marked "important."

When at last evening arrived, she allowed herself to look in the mirror. She saw no remarkable changes. Actually, she saw no changes at all. She stared at her reflection and frowned bitterly.

Then she grew angry with herself. She recognized why her day had been unproductive and knew very well what was at the root of her restlessness. She had been self-indulgent, selfish, something very out of character. She had gotten caught up in a foolish daydream. She knew there was nothing (short of becoming vampire) that could reverse the signs of age. What had possessed her to even consider it? Especially since her own formulas worked a kind of magic in themselves and didn't rely on immolated vampire dust to work.

No, better to proceed with her original formulas. They were pretty darned good when you thought about it. Look at her. She was eighty, for goodness sake, and no one ever believed it when she told them. Besides, even if the formula had worked, how did she think she'd get her hands on more vampire ash? More birthday candle accidents? How likely was that?

She hurried down to the bas.e.m.e.nt, determined to throw Mr. Deveraux right into the trash. She opened the drawer and pulled out the baggie, even had her foot on the pedal that levitated the lid of the trash can, when something stayed her hand.

The dream.

The dream she'd had last night. She closed her eyes and conjured the image. In the dream, she had been standing right in this very place, at this very counter, and when her eyes had risen to the mirror, the face and body reflected there were hers but younger, prettier. Her lashes were long and luxurious, her lips full, her body lush. She was perfect. She was beautiful. The cream had not only transformed her face but had altered her entirely.

For a woman who had always been considered "plain" (though not unattractive, she was quick to amend), it was a captivating and alluring dream. And one she was, in reality, loathe to abandon.

And so Sophie made the decision to give it one more try. This time, she would add all that was left of Mr. Deveraux's mortal remains to the cream in the bottom of her kettle. She did it quickly before she could change her mind. Then she scooped the mixture onto her fingers and smoothed it thickly onto her skin.

She didn't stand around this time and wait for something to happen. She went straight to bed. If when she awoke in the morning, there was still no change, she would give it not one more thought. No, she'd proceed with her original plan and contact a witch she knew in real estate to start looking for an industrial site where she could manufacture her night cream. Her night cream. No more thoughts of adding vampire dust to a perfectly good product.

Sophie first heard the voice at 2:30 a.m. At least she thought it was a voice. It-something-made her sit straight up in bed, heart pounding. She looked around, wild-eyed and gasping. She was so frightened she dove back under the covers and waved her hand to illuminate every light in the house. Only when the cottage was aglow did she again peek out, eyes darting into every corner.

She was alone.

Sophie crept out of bed. She tiptoed from one room to the other, finding nothing amiss, no one (or thing) lurking anywhere. Just to be certain, she looked in every closet and peeked under the bed and under every large piece of furniture. She went from being frightened to embarra.s.sed and then to feeling more than a little foolish.

What was wrong with her?

Sophie trudged into the bas.e.m.e.nt. She was wide-awake now. Might as well clean up the mess she'd left after her unsuccessful experiments with Mr. Deveraux. As she moved around, sending pots and utensils into the sink to be scoured, she thought how fortunate it was that none of her witch friends had been here to see that mortifying display of cowardice. She would have been drummed out of the Witches' Benevolent Society whose sole purpose was to come to the aid of fellow witches in times of peril. No one would have entrusted her safety to a witch that showed such a lack of courage, and because of what? An imagined whisper in a stupid dream.

Sophie looked around once the ch.o.r.es were done. She was keenly aware that deep inside her heart of hearts disappointment coiled like a serpent ready to pump its deadly poison into her psyche if she let it. Despite her best efforts to contain her optimism, she had wanted the cream to work. It would have elevated her in the human world, something from which Sophie had always felt separate and apart. It would have been her entree into a world of celebrity and acceptance. She would have been welcomed and sought after because she could offer what no one else had ever been able to-a veritable fountain of youth. It would- "My G.o.d, how long am I going to have to listen to this drivel?"

The voice was right at Sophie's ear. She started and yelped in surprise and shock. She whirled around, fists at the ready, a curse of protection on her lips.

She was alone.

How could that be?

Her heart seemed ready to burst from her chest. "Who's there?" she yelled, adrenaline making her voice fierce and harsh. "I am a powerful witch. If you don't show yourself, I'll send you to Hades in a million broken pieces."

There was a chuckle. Once again, right at her ear. "I'm afraid you've fixed it so I can't show myself. However, if you look in that mirror over there, we might be able to figure this out."

The voice was masculine, authoritative, with a hint of a British accent.

Sophie didn't move. She was afraid it might be a trick. There were, after all, lots of invisible beings in the spirit world and not all of them were friendly. In order to battle one, however, she had to know what she was dealing with.

"I have no idea what I am now," the voice replied rather snippily, as if divining her thoughts. "You've fixed that, too. Now go over to the mirror. I'd like to know even if you don't."

Then, through no effort or will on Sophie's part, her feet moved toward the mirror. She tried to stop, digging in her heels, grasping at the counter with both hands. It did no good. Her feet trudged onward, and some invisible force broke her grip. She was being inexorably drawn to the mirror like a puppet responding to a master's tug on her strings. Her temper flared. Whatever this was might get her to the d.a.m.ned mirror but it couldn't make her look.

She squeezed her eyes shut, even pressed the palms of her hands against her eyelids, refusing to give in.

"Oh, for the love of everything evil and unnatural in this world and the next, will you stop behaving like a child? You're the one who did this. At least allow me to see what kind of h.e.l.l you've trapped me in."

Sophie began to panic. The voice was right. Whatever it was had taken up residence in her body. How is that possible? She

knew of possession. But whatever this was did not feel like a devil, exactly. And she wasn't levitating or spewing invective- "Not yet anyway," the voice said. "But if you don't open your eyes in ten seconds, you'll be spewing more than invective, I promise you."

Sophie swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Okay. Let's get this over with.

She opened one eye.

The other flew open all on its own.

Ye G.o.ds. What was she seeing?

She rubbed her eyes and raised them again to the mirror.

"What the-"

The voice managed to sound both amused and horrified at the same time.

Sophie's right hand reached up and grasped her chin. It turned her head to the left and right and back again.

"You're a girl." This time the voice held only horror.

A girl.

Sophie couldn't ignore the thrill that swept over her. The face in the mirror was hers. But not exactly. She looked twenty again,

but not the twenty that had been her reality. This young woman's perfect skin stretched smooth and unwrinkled over high cheekbones. Her lashes were long and luxurious, her lips full.

She stepped back a bit, to see the rest. A body that was lush, perfect. A body she had seen before. The body in her dream.

Sophie gasped. The cream had worked!

"Cream? What cream? What is going on?"

Sophie's excitement morphed into irritation. The voice's intrusion into her thoughts brought with it a wave of emotion different from her own. The voice had its own power over her feelings. She had two separate and distinct personalities inhabiting this one perfect body. And she knew who the second personality belonged to.

"Mr. Deveraux?" she whispered.

"You know who I am?"

She nodded at the mirror. "I think this is my fault."

"Think?" This time the voice thundered. "What did you do, witch?"

Sophie's shoulders slumped a little as she told him. She felt his anger and frustration and they flooded her with guilt. When she

finished explaining, though, a shift occurred. His fury dissipated to be replaced by cold amus.e.m.e.nt at the absurdity of his predicament.

"So this is the result of a science experiment gone wrong?"

Sophie bristled. "Not gone wrong. Gone right, actually."

"Oh? I am trapped inside the body of a girl witch. This is the way it was supposed to be?"

Sophie shrugged. "Well. Not entirely. You see, you were supposed to make me..." She pirouetted in front of the mirror. "Like this. But you weren't supposed to come back. I mean, the mental part of you."

Mr. Deveraux snorted. "How like a woman. Only wants a man for his body."

Sophie felt color creep into her cheeks. "That's not what I meant. I thought your ash-"

"Which is another thing you have to answer for," he interrupted with an impatient huff. "What did you think you were doing, letting

my wife handle such a dangerous thing as a blazing cake? What kind of caterer are you? Was this your first vampire affair?"

It was Sophie's turn to interrupt with an indignant huff of her own. "Now just a minute. I warned her about the danger. Even offered to bring the cake in myself. She wouldn't hear of it. In fact, she insisted it was her surprise and she wanted to present it."

As soon as the words were spoken, Sophie and Mr. Deveraux were hit by the same thought. While Sophie's reaction was shock,

Mr. Deveraux's was something quite different. Rage scorched through Sophie like an inferno.

"It was no accident."

They spoke the words as one, not aloud but like an echo that bounced from one consciousness to the other.

Sophie was half afraid to ask the next question but felt she owed it to herself as well as Mr. Deveraux to find the answer.

"Why would she do such a thing?"

Mr. Deveraux did not answer. Sophie could sense a tornado of emotion emanating from him and ripping through her. A deep

sadness gave way to disappointment and then surged again to fury before settling into an ominous sense of betrayal.

Through her memories of the night, Mr. Deveraux saw and interpreted his wife's actions, and through his, Sophie felt the cart being thrust deliberately and firmly into his back. Mrs. Deveraux had not tripped, and when her husband turned, his coat on fire

and fear stark on his face, she had smiled and turned away to stand in the shelter of the arms of a young man who had reached out to her.

Now another emotion, the desire for retribution, made bile rise in the back of Sophie's throat.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

That brought a chuckle that sent gooseflesh racing up Sophie's arms. "You mean what are we going to do, don't you?"