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Skylar Waitrose wanders off after her son, a frown marring her pretty features. I smile, recognizing the frown of parents around the world. I’ll catch up with the woman later if that’s what fate chooses. If not, I’m doing fine with my current student base.
A suspicious buzzing flits past my ear, and I still.
Shit. What do I do?
Calmly walk away, Verity, creating distance between me and the insect.
I do that, barely breathing for fear of bringing too much attention to myself. But the bee follows every move I make. I try to gently shoo it away with a swish of my full skirt, but the tiny black and yellow bug takes that as an invitation to fly beneath the dress and the petticoat beneath it.
Ohmygod!
I hold back a screech of panic as I quickly turn away, shaking out the material and knocking over a man standing near a fountain. I call out an apology, barely hearing the man’s cry of surprise and the splash he makes as he falls into said fountain. I’m too focused on the panic threatening to choke me. My heart thunders in my ears, my mind working through so many scenarios I can’t seem to sift through them to find a solution.
The bee, utterly unfazed by my attempts to get away, rises beneath my skirts and buzzes angrily against my ass where it’s trapped.
Great.
Just great.
I can see the headlines now: Renowned Human Linguist Dies After Bee Stings Her In The Ass.
I howl a scream of the damned and yank my skirt away from my body. The onlookers, still staring at me from when I knocked that unsuspecting Lizardman into the fountain, laugh at my panic.
None of them knows that I’m fighting for my very life. That one tiny sting will take me out. Maybe I am a frail human. At least I’ll go out providing plenty of entertainment to the Lancaster’s party guests.
All of this means that not a single person comes to my aid, not even when my shriek would outdo any Banshee that may be present. I twirl away as the bee flies free from my skirt, but the tiny little insect decides to tell me off right to my face. My eyes cross as the bee flies up to my nose, buzzing angrily.
I nearly lose my balance on my sensible, flat-heeled shoes but manage to flap my arms enough to keep myself upright. Vaguely, I notice two fluted glasses of champagne fly through the air and shatter on the brick-paved walkway. All I can concentrate on is the tiny bee so very near to landing on the tip of my nose.
I suck in a deep breath of air, ready to scream bloody murder, when something very odd happens. Instead of releasing the air as I scream for help, everything inside me freezes. Or, more accurately, it hardens. Where blood flowed through my veins without me being aware of it, and hot sunlight and silky breeze danced against my skin, now there’s simply … nothing.
I try to move, my brain confused, but I can’t. My body is frozen, but I’m not cold. Is this how death by anaphylaxis works? How terrifying because my brain still works perfectly. I try to scream again, but nothing happens. I can’t release the breath of air I’ve taken into my now solid lungs, nor can I move my eyes.
But I can see the bee freezing in mid-air. Still right in front of my face, the black and yellow stripes fade, morphing into a chalky gray. As if the insect is turning to … stone?
Oh God! That can only mean one thing. I try to shift my focus from the bee to whatever is beyond. I spot him immediately. Frankly, I’m not sure how I missed him to begin with. He’s imposing and distractingly beautiful. A tall, impossibly broad man with tanned skin, a stunning smile, and … snakes for hair?
A gorgon.
You know, like Medusa. And it appears he’s turned my attacker to stone, along with me. Son of a …
I’m going to give that man a large piece of my mind if I ever stop impersonating a statue.
Why would he do this to me? Just because I was trying to avoid that bee and maybe caused a little havoc at that party? That shouldn’t give him the right to turn me to stone.Is he part of the security detail for the party? And he thought I was being a nuisance?
I manage to look at my outstretched arms and notice they’re a very pretty blue stone—lapis lazuli, perhaps. I’m not sure, and I don’t particularly care. I mean, I guess it’s nice to know that I’m a pretty statue. Right now, though, I just want to be free of my stony cage.
Anger flutters through me. There’s no fiery surge since I’m partially frozen or made of stone or however this works. I can’t even glare at him.
The handsome man stands there, his head full of hissing snakes.
A few strangled sounds come from my throat, and then, like a torrent, the words fly. “… you can’t just go around turning people to stone like that. What if your magic disappeared suddenly, and I was stuck like that forever? You don’t even know me!”
The man’s dark eyebrows hike up in surprise, and his lips quirk at my outburst.
I blink, then realize that my eyes are moving. My voice is working again. I inhale deeply, and my chest moves, my lungs filling with life-giving oxygen. I stalk up to him and jab him in the chest with my index finger, careful to avoid looking directly at his eyes on the off chance he’s glaring at me. I don’t want to be turned back into stone.
But I have a thing or two to say to this guy.
