Page 40 of The Hopeless Romantic’s Guide to Enchantment

It happens in an eye blink, so fast that I would have missed it if I had not been riveted. The shape of a wiry young man changes to one that is clearly female, though it retains the same hair and face. Then it flips back to the young man.

It looks at me, gaze on mine, ready to resume the charade, and then it seems to realize the futility and shifts fully to a woman, one slightly older than me, buxom, with dark hair and eyes.

“It was worth a try,” she says, with that same teeth-baring grin. “I do not suppose you will give up your hair willingly?”

“My what?” I say, startled.

“Your hair. I like it. I plan to take it. Obviously, I need to kill you, as you have apparently been tracking me. You and Volkir.”

“Volkir?”

“My foolish little cousin. I should be flattered, attracting the attention of two hunters. I would be… if either of you was up to the task. But at least you have lovely hair, so it’s not a complete loss.”

Before I can even raise my knife, I find myself staring at a huge winged serpent with the head of a rooster. That head lowers, and I catch one half-glimpse of the cockatrice’s yellow eye before I duck.

Look in its eye, and I’ll be paralyzed.

Or that is what happens with actual cockatrices. I have no idea whether doppelgängers also adopt the powers of what ever they transform into, but I am not taking the chance.

I duck my head, and the beast grabs me in its beak. I scream my very best ‘Oh no, I am captured!’ scream, as I flail and kick… and then I slam my open palm into the cockatrice’s serpentine neck. It screeches at the slap. Or, probably, at the iron medallion my palm presses to its scales. I fall from the beak, as it is no longer a beak and the creature cannot hold me aloft in its humanoid mouth.

As soon as I tumble, the doppelgänger changes again, this time to a bear, jaws open, fangs snapping toward me. The heat of its breath hits just as I slap the medallion against its snout. The doppelgänger loses that form as well, and before it can shift again, I am on it, pinning it to the ground.

We fight, and each time the iron stops touching her skin, she tries to shift again, only for me to slap it against her. Finally, she tries to grab the medallion. I release my grip on it, and she crows in triumph… and then her eyes widen as she sees the dagger, just before it plunges into her heart.

* * *

I make some small attempt to hide the doppelgänger’s body. I only push it off the path and under some brush. I also relieve the creature of all its valuables, because again, I am not being paid for this particular job.

I briefly consider returning the corpse to town and proving she was the killer, but none of my experience with the law suggests this would end in any way except seeing the other doppelgänger – Volkir – still executed, probably with me alongside him. Even if people did believe my story, they would never turn down the opportunity to kill a rare monster, especially in such an entertaining fashion.

Which means I need to free Volkir. Earlier, I had insisted that his arrest wasn’t my fault and his escape not my responsibility. But that was only when I could still believe he might be guilty. Now that I know he is not – and that his cousin confirmed he was trying to stop her – I cannot walk away.

I need two plans. One to get inside the prison and another to get him out. I come up with the second more easily than the first. That takes time and thought, until I remember talking to the barmaid earlier, and it gives me an idea.

* * *

The prison guard looks me up and down. Then up and down again. Eventually, his gaze fixes on my chest with all the wonder and greed of a man seeing gold rain from the sky. I should point out that I actually have a figure best suited for when I wish to dress up as a boy. However, the beauty of maidenly virtue is that I can cover myself from knee to throat, and all that is required for a spectacular bosom is a roomy bodice and plenty of stuffing. The same goes for forming an ample posterior.

As the murderous doppelgänger noted, my hair truly is my best feature, and I wear it down, in the style befitting a maiden several years my junior. I look up at the guard from between my lashes and flutter them.

“Everyone says the doppelgänger is utterly revolting to gaze upon,” I say breathily. “And I cannot stop thinking about that.” I give a shudder that mingles horror with delicious titillation, and of course, I make sure that shudder shakes my bosom, which entrances the man like a cobra.

“I would do anything to see it,” I whisper. While I am very adept at playing a virgin, I am even more adept at playing the type of virgin men fancy most – the ones who have never known the pleasures of the bed chamber and yet, somehow, are ripe to bursting with yearning for it.

I nibble at my lip, and his gaze moves to my mouth, which might be my second-best feature. “Is there any… any way I might see the creature? I have a few coppers to spare.”

His expression says coins are not what he wants.

“And while I hate to impose further,” I say huskily, “the hour does grow late. If there is any chance you might walk me home afterward. I live just outside the town. Through the forest.”

Really, by this point, any man should know he is being tricked. But I can also tell the sort of man who will believe he really is just this lucky, and this one – at least forty, with his hair blackened and slicked – is exactly the sort.

“I suppose I could do that,” he says. “It does grow late. You ought not to walk home alone.”

“Oh, thank you.” I exhale, bosom heaving. “May I see the creature, then?”

“Follow me.”