CHAPTER FOURTEEN

There is something delicious about taking a long, scalding hot shower after having been denied something as rudimentary as a perfunctory rinse for nearly two days straight. Viola stood beneath the water until it began to cool, either from overuse or from the fact that her body had gotten use to the increase in temperature. The bathroom boasted a clawfoot tub and a waterfall faucet that hung directly overhead, and for a while, Viola sat in the cradle of ceramic, and allowed her mind to become a blank.

When she finally stepped out onto the padded bathmat, and wrapped herself in plush green terry cloth, she felt rejuvenated, prepared to face the facts as Graham would lay them out before her, prepared to ask all of the questions that needed asking.

She twisted her wet hair into a towel turban on her head and approached the medicine cabinet that hung over the sink and rifled through it until she located Graham’s deodorant. She opened it and indulged in the arguably bizarre behavior of inhaling deeply of his scent: a tangy sort of musk, clean and sharp. Then, lacking other options, she applied it under her arms and plucked a scentless body lotion from the cabinet thereafter, spreading it liberally over her extremities. She felt clean, safe, comfortable, at least for the time being. She hadn’t allowed herself to ask the question of what happens next.

Stepping back out into the bedroom, she padded lightly across the hardwood floor and availed herself to the clothes that Graham had gathered on her behalf. She chose her favorite tee shirt: grey and ratty, with the words “World Cup ‘93” scrawled across the front in faded blue lettering. Then, plain black cotton panties, and an old pair of Umbro shorts to round out her stylish ensemble.

She was drying her hair with the towel when Graham came back into the room, carrying a bottle of whiskey. He smiled faintly at her and crossed directly to the double doors, stepping into the den to give her some privacy to finish up her routine. She used his comb to get the tangles out of her hair and folded the towels over the racks in the bathroom before she moved into the den to join him. She noted as she went that the only thing that felt off about this place was its total lack of windows. She couldn’t sense what time of day it was, though she figured, by the way her stomach was rumbling, that it was near to high noon.

And her host had thought ahead: there on the coffee table was a spread of fresh fruits and vegetables, meat, cheeses, and crackers, as well as coffee and tea service and, of course, the bottle of whiskey. All of this was laid out in front of a warm and crackling fire; a radio hummed some innocuous classical music from the corner of the room.

Graham looked up when she entered and offered a broad smile that showed off a set of perfectly white teeth. “I figured you would be hungry,” he said, a genial sort of gaze sweeping over her as he gestured to the spread.

“You figured right,” she said, and brushed past him to take a seat on the sofa. It was plush, with corduroy cushions on a wooden base. She sank into it. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he said, and joined her on the couch. Viola reached out for a small plate, and piled it high with cheese and crackers, nuts and sliced melon, and leaned back into the couch as she ate.

“Nonsense,” she said, her mouth full of brie and sliced apple. “I didn’t do anything but make a great mess of everything.”

“But you tried,” he said, “and what more can I ask than that?” Graham plucked a few grapes from the plate of fruit and popped them into his mouth. “What exactly did happen?”

“When I returned to the Felidae Headquarters, they took me to see the council,” she said, skipping the part where she’d gone to bed with her best friend and then slept like the dead in his arms for thirteen hours. “I told them that I’d spoken to you, that you wanted to broker a peace, and they took that for treason.”

“Ah,” he said, casting has gaze to the hardwood beneath their feet. “I’m sorry. I should have prepared you for such an eventuality. I had just held out hope that they would have been as interested in keeping this bloodless as I was.”

“Some of them were,” she said, setting her plate aside and uncoiling to her full height. “Most of the council seemed desperate not to go to war. Most of them want peace just as much as we do.”

“That’s encouraging,” he said, “so, then, I take it Alec is the problem?”

“Mmhm.” She made her way to a small corner table where he’d set up the coffee and tea service and helped herself to a steaming mug of dark black roast. She took a sip and felt immediately more awake. “He was the one who had me imprisoned.”

“I see. And Rowan…?”

Viola heaved a sigh and gave a slow shake of her head, returning to the sofa with her mug. She sat down, cradling it in both hands and stared blankly into the fire. She thought of Rowan, how his smile, his ease, had been the thing that had kept her happy and sane all those years. How he had trained her, taught her everything she knew, and had never wanted anything more than to keep her safe. Or, rather, as safe as possible in her line of work. But then he had confessed his love for her, and betrayed her, all in one fell swoop. He’d loved her, abandoned her, imprisoned her, and set her free, all in the span of a single day. She didn’t know what to make of him.

“I think he’s torn,” she said at length. “I think he is fiercely loyal to his clan, and to his father. Furthermore, I think their rules are a little different than yours.”

Graham furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, do you have to tear the throat out of your sitting Alpha in order to take over the clan?” She asked.

Graham leaned back then, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No,” he finally muttered. “No, we don’t do things that way here.”

“Well, they do,” she said. “They make exceptions for illness, but otherwise…it’s bloody, their ascensions.”

“I see.”

“How do you do things here, then?” She asked, propping her elbow up on the back of the couch as she turned to fully face him. “I’d like to know.”

“Well, we don’t kill our Alphas, that’s for damned sure.” He hesitated, as though he weren’t entirely certain that he wanted to grant her full admittance into this world. And perhaps there was a part of her that wanted to believe she was only a visitor here. But they both knew that this clan, as much as Clan Felidae, was in her blood, and she had a right to know.

“Our Alphas are voted in,” he explained. “We have a band of elders who act as advisors to the sitting Alpha, and typically former Alphas serve in the band. But the Alpha is elected by the entirety of the clan, or at least by a quorum.”

“And your father…?”

“My father was an exception,” he said, giving a slow shake of his head. He leaned forward where he sat and rested his elbows on his knees, templing his fingers in front of him. “My father wasn’t willing to give up power. He wouldn’t call the matter to a vote, and when we challenged him, he became violent. He was power-hungry and had to be put down.” He turned and locked his eyes on her, then, and there was a fierceness to them she had never seen before. “I did it myself, and I swore to my people that I would never behave as he had. I intend to honor that promise. I want to bring them away from the fighting and into a lasting peace. That’s all I want, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“But you want to remain in power,” she said, challenging him. “Delivering on this promise keeps you in the seat you took from your father.”

“Yes.”

“So how are you any different from Alec?”

“I don’t want to kill people to remain in power, Viola,” he snapped. “Don’t you trust me yet?”

She examined him carefully, her eyes roving over his entire body, and she found that she did trust him. But her trust had recently backfired; whether or not he would live up to his promises remained to be seen. “For now,” she said. He sighed. “You still haven’t told me everything.”

“What else do you want to know?”

“How we’re the key to…anything. Verity and me.” She watched him carefully as he nodded his head and rose to his feet, snatching up the whiskey bottle he’d brought into the room and pouring himself three fingers worth into a tumbler glass. He held the bottle up to her in question, and she shook her head, demurring.

“Well, first, I need to tell you a bit more about how our clan operates,” he said, taking a sip of the drink. “I’m not sure what it’s like over in Cat Clan, but here, our den mothers are perhaps the most revered members of our society, claiming a status higher even than my own. A den mother is someone who has birthed a full-blooded Ursling, as we have taken to colloquially calling them. A baby bear, essentially. They maintain the title of ‘den mother’ until the child stops nursing, usually after the first year. Our women, our mothers, are of vital importance to us, and we are to protect them at all costs.”

“Ok…” Viola said, her eyes wide, her expression blank.

“A man’s status as Alpha of our clan isn’t official until after he takes a mate, and makes a den mother of her,” he went on. “As such, my official title is ‘acting alpha’, and will remain as such until I have taken a mate, and fathered cub with her. Then, we became the example which everyone else in the clan follows. It’s all…old and symbolic and dates back to an era when we actually lived in caves all of the time. But it’s how we do things.”

“So…you ‘vote’ your alphas in, but they aren’t really alphas until they take a mate and become a daddy?” She blinked owlishly. “That seems really bizarre to me.”

“Viola,” he said, finishing off the whiskey. “The entire purpose of these clans is to preserve our bloodlines. If members of my clan just…went off and married humans, our kind would die out in two, maybe three generations. We’d be wiped off the planet. We do things this way because we want to survive, the way any species does.”

“Fine, but what does all this have to do with me and Verity?” She had her eyes glued to him as he moved, desultory, from couch, to table, and back. Finally, he filled his glass with whiskey and sat down again.

“My theory is that…” He eyed her, dubious, and cleared his throat before continuing. “Your sister…her body is at odds with itself. All the swelling from her limbs to her brain, her cells are at war with one another. The two bloodlines didn’t exactly mix so much as they exist side by side, in one body. And she’s fighting it. I think the swelling is her body trying to shift, but she isn’t letting herself because the other side just…fights.”

“The swelling is her…starting to shift…?”

“Sort of. It’s her body trying to change, but it’s also her body fighting that change. But you…” he swept his eyes over her, from head to toe. “It seems to be all harmony inside of you.”

“But you think I can’t shift?”

“No, I think Verity can’t shift,” he said. “I think you can shift into anything in the world.”

“That’s what they said at the Felidae headquarters, but then they told me that it would have manifested by now if it were possible.”

“Not necessarily. No one has ever showed you how to shift; no one has ever needed to.”

Viola’s head was swimming. Was it possible that she was the only person on the planet who could shift into any living creature? She gave a sharp shake of her head and forced herself to listen to what Graham was saying. “And if you can, as I believe, then you can unite the clans by mating with both the alpha of Clan Felidae, and…me.”

That was about when all of the color drained out of Viola’s face, and she squawked a hearty laugh. “Mate? I’m sorry—come again?”

“Bear us each a child and start the intermingling of the bloodlines that will give rise to more powerful shifters. Shifters that can become anything, not just a bear in Clan Ursus, not just a feline in Clan Felidae, but anything at all.” This was his grand scheme, to usher in a new age of shape shifters. And the entire plan rested on Viola’s tiny shoulders.

“But…what if they all turned out like Verity? What then?” Perhaps he hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps there was another way.

“That’s why we’ve ruled her out as an option—that’s why one of us couldn’t take her, and the other, you. We don’t want to risk her illness spreading. We believe that your blood is good, and that hers is…”

“Tainted.”

He nodded slowly, setting his glass down on the coffee table and scooting closer to her on the couch. She watched him move, the glow of the fireplace sending dancing shadows across his face. “I know this is a lot to take in,” he said, voice hovering just above a whisper, “and I don’t expect you to agree right away. But please do think about it.”

She shook her head. “I think you’re wrong about me,” she said. “I can’t shift into anything. I’m nothing special, I’m just a girl. A human girl. Totally unextraordinary.”

Graham lifted a hand and brushed an errant ink black curl off of her forehead. “Even if you are only human, as you say, you would still be extraordinary.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Flatterer,” she scoffed.

“Viola,” he rejoined, his tone suddenly somber, “I know you didn’t ask for any of this. I know that you feel as though you’ve been set down in the middle of someone else’s crisis, but I believe you are the key to fixing it, once and for all. And maybe then you’ll have the thing you were always searching for, ever since you and your sister were little girls, and she can have it, too.”

“And what is that?” She asked, utterly mesmerized by his words, his conviction, and the way his eyes glowed golden in the firelight.

“Belonging.”

The very word made her heart skip a beat, made her draw in a sharp breath of air through her nose, made her close her eyes at the wonder of it. Could she really belong somewhere? She and Verity were orphans, and though they had found happiness in their lives, they had never once felt as though they belonged anywhere, or to anyone. Maybe they could have the clans, find a place of status and importance among them. Find love, and family, and make a home for themselves, like the one they never got to have as children. Maybe everything could change for them. Maybe it was already changing.

“We are the children of the earth,” Graham’s voice was low and sonorous, like he was incanting a spell, “and we beget life. And in this ongoing cycle, I can think of no other woman more worthy of bearing the next generation of shifters than you.”

Viola sighed quietly through her nose and couldn’t help but shake her head. “I’m the opposite of a mother,” she muttered. “I’m an assassin, in case you had forgotten.”

“But that doesn’t have to be all you ever are. Even if you turn my insane plan down entirely and I never see you again, even then, you don’t have to go back to the life you had before. You can forge something new for yourself and ask yourself what you would be if you didn’t have to worry about Verity’s hospital bills.”

“I will still have to worry about Verity’s hospital bills,” she argued.

“No, you won’t. I swear to you. I intend to take care of them myself from now on.” She regarded him appraisingly, brows raised in question.

“Sure, right up until I turn you down for this little bear-your-children stunt, right?” She was frozen in place, staring at him, daring him to argue with her.

“No. My estate will handle the expense in perpetuity, regardless of whether or not you accept my offer. You have my word. In fact, I’ll have it drawn up in writing for you, so you’ll have more than my word.” He smiled; she responded with a stunned expression. “What, no quick-witted rejoinder at my expense?”

No. No snide remark, no rolling of the eyes. All she could think of to say was, “Thank you.” And it seemed to fall pathetically short of what she was feeling.

“It’s my pleasure, Miss St. James.” He chuckled wryly, and leaned back, staring into the fire. “Truly, I would do a great deal more than this for a woman like you.”

Before she could even think about it, before she could second-guess the move, or make even a vague attempt at being logical, Viola sprang to her feet and climbed into Graham’s lap. She had her hands on either side of his face, and she was gazing intently down into his eyes, her lips hanging slightly agape as she regarded him with an expression that bore a distinct resemblance to awe. Then, she kissed him, kissed him like she was trying to show how his gesture had moved her, kissed him like she was trying to indicate just how profoundly it would change her life. She kissed him because she was free to kiss him, freer than she had ever been before in her life. She kissed him, because that was what she wanted to do with her life, in that moment, just kiss him. And she kissed him because he’d made it possible for her to do what it was that she wanted.

His hands traced the gently curve of her thighs and landed on her hips, even as his tongue gently lapped against her own. He hummed his desire, and she could feel it buzzing against her teeth, and she smiled; she wrapped her arms around his neck, and she just smiled and smiled. Breaking away, she peered down into his face, his handsome, lovely face, and whispered, “Take me to bed.”

He didn’t have to be asked twice. He hoisted her up in his arms as he rose to his feet, cradling her like a new bride being carried across the threshold, and moved with her into the bedroom. She didn’t know what it was he saw in her, exactly. She didn’t feel like anything special. Except for when he looked at her the way he was looking at her, full of such a blatant and vulnerable longing that she could not help but mirror it back to him.

He laid her gently on the mattress, and she sighed contentedly as she peered up at the canopy overhead. He tugged her shorts away so she was in panties and her tee shirt, then set about undoing the buttons of his flannel.

“Take off your shirt,” he said quietly, and she sat up on the mattress and obeyed, tossing it into a puddle at the foot of the bed. “Beautiful. And your panties.” She hesitated a moment, but obliged, and wriggled out of them until they were abandoned entirely. “Lay back.”

Viola scooted up so that she could lean back against the plush decorative pillows that littered the mattress, and rested with her hands behind her head, her elbows winging out to the side. “And your knees,” he said. “Put your feet up on the bed and spread your knees.”

“Graham, I—”

“Shh,” he interrupted. “Just let me look at you.”

She did as she was told, allowing her knees to fall apart so that he could gaze at the flower of her sex, exposed to him as it was. But she didn’t feel nervous under the weight of his scrutiny. She felt warm, welcome; she liked the feeling of his eyes on her body. She could feel her desire begin to pulse between her legs, and she took one hand out from behind her head and trailed her fingertips down her body, across the slope of her breast and the plain of her belly until her fingers came to rest on the small mass of cells that made up the pith of her sex. She began to rub it, gently at first, and then with more force, so that she may draw out her wetness and grant him access to the deepest parts of herself.

Graham was watching her touch herself as he shrugged out of his shirt and shimmied out of his jeans. His boxer briefs were the last thing to go, and she delighted in the vision of his thick, hard cock in his fist. He was stroking himself to full attention as he watched her masturbate. But after a short while, he could no longer stand keeping his hands off of her.

He climbed onto the bed on his knees and moved slowly forward until he could slide his free hand up over her knee, and down along her thigh. His fingers came to rest at her entrance, and he gently stroked the velvet soft flesh there. She responded to his touch, inching slightly forward begging him with body language to come in, come in. And he did: pressing one finger forward, he entered her, relishing the feel of her wet warmth.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he said, his voice more of a growl than anything else. All Viola could do was nod her head.

Her desire had been kept sharp ever since the first time they’d gone to bed together. So after a few moments of him working his finger in and out of her swollen nethers, she withdrew from him and rose up on her knees, coming face to face with him. After the span of several heartbeats, they kissed like two magnets coming together. Then she pressed him back, and he gave way beneath her so that he was laying down on the mattress, and she climbed astride him, a knee on either side of his hips.

She reached between their bodies, his and hers, and curled her fingers around the turgid evidence of his arousal, guiding the head of his member to the pulsing, pink opening of herself. He slid effortlessly in, his breath catching in the back of his throat as she lowered herself down on him, taking more and more of him into her with every slight twitching movement. He grabbed her hips and settled her down so that he was as deep into her as he could be, and she began to rock her hips back and forth. He lost himself to the rhythm of her movements, his eyes coming to a close almost against his will: he would have rather kept them locked on her.

“I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you,” He confessed, his cool expression contorting with the intensity of his pleasure. She tossed her head back and leaned so that she could plant her hands behind her on his thighs, grinding against his groin as she rode him. “Even in the midst of all this chaos,” he continued, opening his eyes again to watch the elegant swell of her breasts as she moved, “I’ve wanted you.”

She sat upright and bounced slightly up and down so that the softer parts of her would jiggle and smiled down at him. She didn’t tell him how it was an effort for her to push him out of her mind; she didn’t tell him how the thought of him had been a comfort to her when she was locked in that cell, how the images of him in her mind made her grow feverish with longing. Instead, she leaned forward and caught his mouth in a kiss.

He ran his palms over the curve of her hips and gripped her fiercely, turning them both over and slamming her down onto the mattress beneath him. He held himself aloft above her as he positioned his knees, thrusting the full length of himself into her.

“Harder,” she moaned, and he obliged, snaking an arm underneath her shoulders so that he could grip her tight while he plowed into her dripping wet cunt. And she reveled in the sensation, surprising even herself by the force of her wanting.

“Fuck,” she whispered, her voice a husky descant above the rhythm of his grunting. “I’m gonna come.”

“Look at me,” he said, and she opened her eyes and found his locked on her face. Her arms were clinging to his torso, and one of his arms was beneath her shoulder, the other was holding him up so as to give her room to breathe, but they were pressed close together, trying to become one, and when her body shivered and convulsed with the power of her orgasm, his did, too. She could feel his cock pulse and release his come into the depths of her, and their eyes were open and locked together when it happened.

As the wave of their release began to subside, Viola felt a lump rising in her throat, and her cheeks grow hot. She felt her eyes begin to well with tears that she didn’t understand, so she simply kissed him, forcing him to close his eyes along with her, to break the intensity of the bond that they had just created. She’d never felt anything like that with anyone before; she was terrified of its power.

He was smiling when the kiss was broken, but that smile faded when he saw her face. “Viola?” He asked, uncurling his arm from around her shoulders and holding himself up a bit further, to give her some space. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry,” she turned her face away as a few tears escaped and made trails of water over the banks of her cheekbones.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Did I do something…?”

“No, no,” she said quickly, wiping at her eyes with her fingertips. “I guess I’m just…overwhelmed.”

He reached up and smoothed back her hair, his touch so delicate, she felt like a prized and fragile thing. He pulled out, and she could feel the warm trickle of the evidence of their lovemaking as it seeped out of her. He rolled over, turning fully onto his back and opening his arms to her, inviting her to lay her head on his chest. And she did, rotating onto her side so that she could drape one of her legs over one of his, so she could rest her cheek against his collarbone, so her fingers could splay through the light dusting of hair on his abdomen.

He held her like that, with both arms wrapped tight around her, even as her body tensed and convulsed with the tears she let flow freely from her. Incredibly, she felt safe enough to let herself be vulnerable. “S-so much has h-happened,” she stammered, “so much has ch-changed.”

“I know,” he whispered, turning to press a kiss to her head.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to keep it all together.”

“You have kept it all together. Viola, your entire world has been turned upside down over the course of the last few days. You’ve lost your home, your employment, you’ve learned—and subsequently come to accept—that there is magic in this world, and you’ve taken it all in stride with grace and aplomb. It’s only natural that you should be frightened.”

“But that’s just it,” she said, lifting her head to peer at him with glassy blue eyes, her cheeks a series of saltwater intersections. “I’m not afraid. I should be, shouldn’t I? But I’m not. I’m…relieved.”

“Relieved?” He echoed, questioning.

“Yes,” she said, exhaling a cleansing breath. “For the first time in my life, I feel like I understand what’s going on around me. I feel like I’m in tune, in synch with everything, instead of it all just feeling ever so slightly…off.” She lifted a hand and wiped away her tears. “I feel like I’m a part of something, instead of an outsider looking in. I feel like I can really do something, for once. I feel like I can take action and make choices that have meaning.”

“You can,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “You can.”

“So here is what we need to do,” she said, suddenly energized. “We need to find a way to bring peace to the clans, we need to find a way for all of the cleans—Felidae, Ursus, Canis, all of them—to pool their resources so we can figure out what’s going on with Verity, and so we can figure out whether or not what I am, what I could be, is something that we can usher forth into the world. A way to permanently unite all of the shifters. And maybe disband this idea of clans altogether.”

“That’s a pretty hefty order,” Graham said gently, rubbing at the rich, brown stubble on his chin. “I’m not sure they’d all go for it.”

“They might, if they knew it would work. If they saw someone who could shift into anything. Because let’s face it, once one clan has that capability, the others will want it, too.”

“That’s an excellent point,” he said, smirking. People could always be relied upon to covet their neighbor’s property, after all.

“And furthermore, they could use this mating process as a way to strengthen bonds between clans. It could be…revolutionary, really.” She paused and lifted herself up so that she was sitting cross-legged beside him on the mattress, regarding him levelly. “I’m not saying that I am going to consent to this whole…mate with you and Rowan…thing. I think there could be another way to make this all work.”

“I’m certainly open to ideas,” he said. “Though I do hope you’ll at least consider—”

She gave a shake of her head, a wave of her hand, “I can’t even think about that right now. It’s just…” She made a sort of frenetic gesture with her hands, and he couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

“Ok, ok,” he said, sitting up beside her. “What did you have in mind, then?”

“Well, you said before, earlier, that the reason you didn’t think I had ever shifted was because no one had been around to teach me how, right?”

“Mmhm.”

“So,” she said, the smile playing on her lips reaching all the way up to her eyes. “Teach me.”

He hesitated for only a split second before bobbing his head in a nod and scrambling to the edge of the bed to stand up. “Ok,” he said, raking his fingers through his mass of brown hair. “Ok, I’ll try.” He gestured for her to join him in the center of the room, and she did, feet planted on the faux bearskin rug.

“It would seriously be so much easier if we all just shifted during the full moon,” she said, grinning. He rolled his big, beautiful eyes.

“So, when my father taught me to shift,” he said, “he had me focus all of my mental energy on bringing my guiding animal to the forefront of my mind. For me, it was the great Kodiak you’ve seen me become.”

“Mmhm.”

“So, close your eyes,” he said, and she did, squeezing them shut tight, and making sure that she felt steady on her feet.

“And tense your limbs so that you can feel the energy flowing throughout your entire body. Yes, good, clench your fists.” And she did. She tensed all of her muscles from head to toe and tried to bring her guiding animal to the forefront.

But she didn’t know what her guiding animal was—was she a bear? Or a panther? Would she become some sort of monstrous combination of the two, or would she be something else entirely? She scrolled through a menagerie in her mind, images of grizzlies and lions, antelope and bald eagles, tigers and hyenas and sharks and wild dogs. But nothing happened.

“Do you remember when you were little,” he said gently in her ear, “and you would play pretend? Do you remember how you would start to embody an animal even before you made any of their noises? Think of your guide and try to put your body into their form.”

She tried to get her mind to focus just on one animal, but she couldn’t stop the scrolling. She saw giraffes and elephants, house cats and door mice, snakes and lizards. She saw men: she saw Rowan. She saw Winifred and Katherine. She saw Verity.

“I can’t focus,” she said, her mind a runaway train over which she had no control.

“Whatever you’re doing,” he said, “keep doing it. Give yourself over to whatever is going on in your mind.”

Viola took in several long, deep breaths, and surrendered to the visions in her brain, to this wild jungle of thought. And she felt herself vibrating, felt her cells contort. And it wasn’t painful—it felt a little like putting on a pair of jeans that you’ve only just washed, and they’re a little snug, but if you give them a moment, they’ll stretch out. Except it was her skin that was a little tight; it was her skin that needed a moment to give.

She was a gaussian blur, a smear of ink. But she was still herself, Viola, the woman, the assassin, the sister, the orphan, the lover. She was still Viola until, in one high frequency instant, she wasn’t.

She was looking at him through her own eyes, a limpid blue that Graham could have recognized anywhere. But by his expression, she could tell that whatever body she now inhabited, it was no longer her own.