Page 40 of The Eternal Mirror (Lucifer’s Mirror #3)

Playing Hooky

I open the mirror to Earth. To Hawaii, to be precise.

Sometimes being a witch is pretty cool. I have a vague memory of Selene once telling me that all magic has a price. But I’ll worry about that later.

We step through.

And instantly, I regret nothing.

The sun hits me first; it’s maybe midday and hot. Then the sand. Warm, golden, blinding. Then sound—waves, laughter, the screech of seagulls and small children. A faint steel-drum beat in the background. It smells like salt, sugar, sunscreen, and money.

Also instantly, I realize how ridiculous we look.

Khaosti’s dressed like he just walked off the set of a vampire war film: black boots, black pants, a shirt open to the waist, and a sword strapped to his back.

He’s also bleeding. Not much, just a nick on his hand—I’m guessing he was training people earlier—but enough for one bikini-clad woman to gasp and clutch her margarita.

I glance down. Right. I’m also in full rebel gear: black leather, a thigh holster, boots, dirt—the showering facilities are a little scarce at the camp. Between us, we must look like we just murdered a beach volleyball team.

“Okay,” I mutter. “I see one small flaw in this plan.”

Khaosti arches a brow. “Only one?”

“We look like the end credits of a dystopian action movie.”

He surveys the crowd—bare skin, floppy hats, neon swimsuits. His mouth curves into a smirk. “They seem underprepared for war.”

A toddler runs up, points at his sword, and yells, “Mommy, look! A pirate!”

Khaosti bows slightly. “I get that a lot.”

I grab his arm and drag him toward a quieter part of the beach, under the shade of some coconut trees. We pass a tiki bar, and I freeze.

“Shit.”

“What?”

“I forgot about money. Earth money. We can’t even buy a drink.

” I could magic some cash up. What do they use in Hawaii?

Dollars, I guess. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen a dollar bill except maybe in the movies.

Agh. I give Khaosti a once-over. He’s still drawing a lot of attention, even back here.

“We could barter with your body,” I suggest.

“Sorry, my body is for you only.”

We keep walking. I find a secluded little patch behind a row of rocks, half-shielded from screaming families and strolling couples.

I could glamor us, so we look like we’re dressed in something else. But I’d still feel like I was wearing tight leather pants, and that’s not how I want to experience swimming in the Pacific Ocean.

Or I could make us invisible, and we could just go naked. But that’s not what I want either. I want to be normal. Well, as normal as I can be. So, we need money, clothes, and sunscreen. Or Khaos is going to be bright pink by the end of the day.

I search around us; behind is the facade of a pretty swanky hotel, and I have an idea.

“Okay, let’s go get some money.” I grab Khaosti’s hand and make us both invisible.

Then we’re strolling through the sand—I’m getting pretty hot—and heading toward the hotel, with no one looking at us at all.

There’s a posh doorman standing at attention, and we wait for a guest to approach before slipping in behind them.

I stop and search the huge reception area. It’s filled with exotic tropical plants and marble, reminding me a little of Khronus’s palace. I spot an ATM machine in the far corner and wait for the people in front of it to finish and wander off. I tug Khaosti over there and stare at it for a moment.

“Bank of Earth, unlock your door,

Show me what you’re hiding for.

Fives, and tens, and twenties too—

Spit out cash like rich folks do.”

Suddenly, it’s spewing out money like crazy—everywhere. I look around in panic, but so far, no one has noticed, and it’s still spewing.

“Grab some,” I whisper.

I crouch down and scoop up handfuls of notes, which disappear as I shove them into my pocket. Khaosti does the same, but there’s still more coming, and people are starting to look our way. I guess I’ve got enough for a bikini and a couple of cocktails.

“Bank of Earth, you’ve done your bit—

Now shut your mouth and stop this shit.”

“Let’s go,” I whisper, reaching for where I think Khaosti is. He grabs my hand, and we’re running. This time we don’t wait for the doorman; we just bolt through the door and race down the beach. I’m laughing like a madwoman. We make it back to our little hiding place, and I make us visible again.

“Oh Gods, that was fun. I am so going to be a bank robber if I ever come back to Earth.” I pull the money out of my pockets and pile it on the sand. Khaosti does the same. There’s a lot. I smooth it out and count it up—over three thousand dollars.

Do I feel guilty?

Hell no. I saved Earth from Lucifer; they owe me something.

“Let’s go party.”

We decide to leave the scene of our crime and head down the beach.

I spot a small beach boutique and leave Khaosti outside while I go in and buy us some beach-friendly gear.

I never had much money when I lived on Earth; I had to think about every penny I spent.

So, this is crazy wild. I get beach towels, sunglasses, sunscreen, a pink and orange bikini for me with a matching sarong, blue and gold swim shorts for Khaosti, flip-flops, and two huge beach bags to carry all our stuff.

At the last minute, I pick up a little ankle bracelet made of tiny shells and seed pearls—a souvenir. And a postcard for Josh.

I pay with my stolen cash, and outside, we both change. Khaosti looks pretty hot in his shorts; he has the most amazing muscles and a lean, almost concave belly, and the broadest chest with long, long legs.

Just wow.

I don’t look bad in my bikini and sarong either. At least the look in Khaosti’s eyes says I’m pretty hot myself.

And half an hour later, my vision has come true. We’ve left the big hotels and the scores of tourists behind and found a quiet stretch of beach with a small beach bar featuring a thatched roof and sun loungers right at the ocean’s edge.

We both have cocktails, compliments of the smiling barman—complete with umbrellas. Mine tastes like mango and sin. Khaosti’s smells like pineapple and blood orange.

We clink coconuts.

“To temporary delusions,” I say.

“To good ideas,” he replies. “Thank you for this.”

We drink more cocktails, lime and juniper, while sitting on the sand, toes buried, the water licking close.

After a while, we wander down the shoreline.

He lifts me and twirls me into the surf.

I shriek. He laughs. I kiss him because I can, and because here—now—none of it feels heavy. None of it feels real.

No gods. No mirrors. No fates.

Just salt and skin and something dangerously close to joy. We don’t talk about anything important. In fact, we hardly talk at all.

We lie down on the warm sand, side by side, bodies damp and salty and warmed by the sun, his hand brushing mine.

And I doze, at peace. When I open my eyes, darkness has fallen and Khaos is sitting beside me, staring out at the ocean.

The sea is calm, the bar is closed, and the people have gone.

Even the bond is quiet, at peace. This is what life should be like.

I study his face. I could stay like this. Forever.

He gets to his feet and holds out his hand, and together we walk into the sea.

He turns me to face him, tangles his hand in my hair, lowers his head, and his mouth takes mine; I open beneath him and his tongue thrusts inside, all warm wet velvet, that tastes like Khaos with a hint of lime and salt, and I can’t get enough.

My body yearns for him. I’ve held him at a distance for too long; now I’m burning with a need even the whole Pacific Ocean can’t cool.

Only Khaosti.

I don’t break the kiss as I rest my hands on his shoulders and wrap my legs around his hips. I can feel the burning length of his erection.

He moves a hand between us, and then he’s pushing inside me, so big, filling me, and my whole body tingles and pulsates.

I release my hold of his shoulders and let myself float free, the warm water enveloping me as Khaos holds my hips and thrusts languidly inside.

It’s like time no longer exists, and we make love forever.

I don’t want to come, because I don’t want to end this.

But pleasure is building inside me, spiraling out from the point our bodies are joined, suffusing me with heat and pleasure that builds and builds until it has nowhere to go but outward, and I come with a small scream that is swallowed by the vastness of the ocean.

And I lie like that for an age, floating, just anchored by Khaosti, staring at the sky as the stars come out.

I stare and stare, and I’m sure among the myriad constellations, I can see the spinning rings of the Eternal Mirror.

And I know we have to go back.

He must sense the change in me. His hands slide to my waist, and he steps away, and I’m once again standing alone.

I lean across and kiss him on the lips. “Thank you for today.”

He smiles. “My pleasure.”

“I wish we could stay.”

“We can’t. I have an army to sort out. Thanks for that.”

“Why did you agree?” I ask.

“Because you asked me to,” he says. “And because Khendril once said... ‘One day, someone you care about will ask you to lead. When they do—don’t run.’” He meets my eyes. “So I didn’t.”

I sigh. Khaosti is going to be an amazing man one day.

Time to go. I wade back to the beach, and we gather our things, including most of the cash.

I glance around—the beach is almost empty.

It’s just us. But then down near the rocks, I spot an older guy with a grey beard and a sun-faded baseball cap, walking slowly with a plastic bag in one hand and a stick in the other.

He’s whistling off-key, and picking up bottles and cans, looking for anything that might be of value.

A shaggy dog trots beside him, tongue out, tail wagging like life’s pretty damn great.

He doesn’t look desperate. Just...weathered. Like the world’s been a little rough, but he’s still in it.

Khaosti raises an eyebrow.

I shrug, reach into the beach bag, pull out what’s left of the cash, and jog toward the man. The dog spots me first and trots over, tail wagging harder. I crouch to scratch his ears, then hand the man the money.

He blinks. “Uh...”

“No strings,” I say. “Buy something stupid. Or a steak for him.” I nod at the dog.

The man chuckles, slow and easy. “You two just fall off a cruise ship?”

“Something like that.”

I walk back to Khaosti. He’s watching me again, that unreadable look on his face.

“What?” I say.

“I just sometimes forget what a nice person you are.”

I pull a face. “Not so nice. It’s not as though we needed it.” Then I turn away before he can get all mushy, and I whisper the words to open a mirror.

And we go back.