Oh, and a fox, cat, and hedgehog with serious attitude.
My two powers were to shift into animals and to tell the truth behind people’s lies. Both were about masks. Although, I’m what dad had always called a pathological liar with his secret smile like he understood that it was the only way I could protect myself.
I wished that I’d known to lie when my magic had come in because lies are the only thing more powerful than magic.
My older sister, Hartley, had been begging mum for a kitten, but we didn’t have pets in our coven because everything had to be neat, beautiful, and perfect. As the pretty non-magical son, I’d been mum’s prize jewel. She’d already had marriage offers for me when I came of age that would further the power of our House.
Animals risked messing up our House’s image. Only, it turned out that my magic was natural like the way that I’d shifted into a white Birman kitten with sparkling blue eyes and a crooked tail (because that was how I rolled) to please my sister.
I’d always wanted to make my family happy as a kid. Ironic, right?
My magic had surged through me with a wild warmth and thrilling freedom. My mind had been liberated from lies and the falseness of polite words, leaving behind simply instinct.
The instinct in my kitten form for naps, mice, and feathery things to chase.
I’d snuggled on my back, purring and waiting for the strokes to begin. Instead, there’d been screaming, followed by nails digging into the scruff of my neck and hurling me into my room. After that…
Breathe, come on, breathe.
I forced my ragged breathing to steady, counting to a hundred backward in my head. I hated that these memories could still trigger panic but I hated even more that my first shift had stolen everything from me.
After that, I’d never been allowed to talk to anyone but my dad, cousin Aquilo, and the family werewolf again for thirteen years.
It turned out that shimages — or shitmages as I’d thought mum had meant until Aquilo had explained it, whilst giggling — who can transform into animals are both rare and the most hated within the witch world.
Wait, maybe I was right with the shitmage.
If dad hadn’t died, I’d still be trapped in the attic. It made me numb with guilt that his death had freed me, even if I’d been sent to the one place that I’d been raised to fear. But to a guy who’d spent his teenage years in an attic, a magical education even by witches on cursed grounds was appealing. I was desperate to be allowed to attend classes, meet the other students, and explore all this space.
Rebel Ghost had awoken my magic and breathed a life into me that’d been buried since the day I’d revealed my kitteny side. What was a guy to do when he spent his nights dreaming of being stroked and petted, but his days curled shut up alone?
Okay, he wanked…a lot.
“Hey,” I called into the darkness, “I know that I’m early and wasn’t meant to be here until the morning but…” …My mum didn’t want to hang around because she’s ashamed that her son’s a mage… “…I was so excited to shiver my ass off in your charming reception area that I flew by broomstick.” And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you work sarcasm. “I tell a lie: it was a magic carpet. No wait, this swirling portal opened and…”
There was only silence.
The full moon hung heavy and fat in the sky. I fiddled with my blue diamond cuff links, which matched my amulet.
“Do I need to summon the witches? Is this the Principal’s desk? Would it work with a spook?” I toyed with the bell on the altar, lining it up out of habit with the oak wreath and gagging on the garlic stench. “Hecate, how about helping me out?” The tiny statue of Hecate at the back narrowed her eyes, before flicking me off. I smothered my grin behind my hand. “Oh, you little rebel.”
She smirked, blowing a raspberry.
“The gloves are off, bitch.” I snatched the bell, ringing it above my head with a sudden buzz that I hadn’t experienced in years. At the same time, I sang “Ding, Dong, the Witch is Dead” loudly enough to make even me wince.
Tiny Hecate howled, dropping to her knees and pressing her hands over her ears.
Everyone’s a critic.
Then her eyes flashed with a surge of malicious magic that made me break off my enthusiastic song and shrink back, as she wagged her finger at me and pointed behind the altar.
I dropped the bell and crouched down, peering into the shadows at the cage that’d been built there.
Why on a kitten’s crooked tail did an academy (even a reformatory), need a cage? Unless that was one of the more creative punishments for low grades.
I shrugged; I’d been used to an attic. A cage wasn’t so much worse.
Then glowing amber eyes glared out at me, and a rumbling growl blew my hair back from my forehead.
This is your best suit…don’t wet your pants, don’t wet…
When a werewolf, whose white fur glittered under the moonlight, clacked on golden claws to the front of the cage, I clapped my hands. “Hey, gorgeous, why’d they lock you up here?”
The werewolves’ growl cut off in shock, and he blinked at me through eyes that had thicker eyelashes than I’d seen on a wolf. Glow would’ve been sassing up a storm about them. He was my best friend…okay, only friend…okay, werewolf slave…in the House of Jewels. I’d received more whippings for encouraging that beast’s sass than for my own backtalk.
If Hecate thought that a werewolf would scare me, then it just showed how little witches bothered to understand mages.
I smiled at the wolf. What did the shifter look like when it wasn’t the full moon? I’d bet that he was beautiful. I had the theory that was why witches had forced the Alphas to sacrifice so many of their Omegas into the witches’ not so loving care, after they’d defeated them in the Wolf Wars.
The wolf’s fur bristled. He bared his fangs and snarled.
Lie: I’m a big bad wolf; fear me.
Truth: I’m an Omega slave to the witches who use me as a guard dog for Hecate’s altar. I’m lonely. Do you want to play?
My gaze softened. “Have you ever tried the game Two Truths and One Lie?”
When I wriggled my arm through the bars of the cage, my heart thudded against my ribs. If the wolf tore off my fingers, then I took everything back: I was a shitmage.
Instead, the wolf nuzzled against my hand like he was as desperate for touch as me. I stroked his ears, and he whined, arching his back and dipping his head to peek up at me.
“One: I’m a pathological liar. Two: I believe that I must count backward from a hundred every day or I’ll never be allowed to shift. Three: my mum told me that my own dad died because of my wickedness.”
When had my cheeks become wet?
At the Omega’s howl — he’d picked number three — I shook my head.
“They were all true; that’s the trick. Come on, pathological liar here.” I gave a smirk but I knew that I hadn’t pulled it off by the soft lick of the Omega’s tongue across my palm. Wow, that reminded me of Glow. Wolves had a charming licking fetish. “I hope that my wolf’s okay,” I muttered. “He’d hate it if mum’s caged him again.”
Or if my sister, Hartley, had put him in a dog bed and pinned ribbons in his curly hair like he was her pet. Hartley had always been desperate to play with Glow when we were kids. My breath hitched, as I hit the Erase Button on that image.