“You aren’t the only one who’s exhausted,” I said, peering outside the door. Sure enough, there was a small pile of neatly folded clothes sitting there. “I’ll get some sleep and eat a good breakfast and you can have a draw then.”

Billy didn’t answer. I turned from closing the door to see him eyeing the frothy mass in my hands. I ignored the slowly spreading grin on his face and sorted through the results of Marsden’s shopping trip. I guess he hadn’t expected me to bring a friend, because all the stuff was for the body I no longer had. None of the lacy, frilly things was going to fit my new form, even if I’d been willing to risk Pritkin’s wrath and put them on.

I paused over the bottoms of a pair of pajamas. They were the plainest things there, light blue cotton with only a little lace around the ankles. But even they wouldn’t work. Pritkin had too much leg muscle.

“If the mage sees you in those, he’s gonna have your ass,” Billy said gleefully. He waited a beat. “Of course, come to think of it, he already does.”

A low throbbing ache had settled below my right eye. “Billy! Just go.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. No, wait—you can’t.”

“Billy!”

He faded away, still laughing. I was glad someone was having fun. I decided that I was too damn tired to even try to come up with a solution to the clothing problem, draped a towel around me and went to bed. It wasn’t hard to find my assigned room—Marsden had left the door open and the bed turned down in the room next to Pritkin’s.

I hit the cool sheets and stopped caring that I was in a strange room and a strange bed. The bathroom might be antiquated but the mattress was top-notch. I stretched, luxuriating in the way it took my weight, in how every muscle in my body was slowly going liquid—and fell asleep before my brain could remind me of all the things I had to worry about.

I saw myself standing alone in the middle of a field, with rolling hills spreading out to the horizon on all sides. I was wearing a simple white sheath and looked happy and unconcerned. It was bright and sunny, and a small breeze bent the grasses, toying with the hem of my dress.

With no warning, clouds rushed in from every direction, strangling the day. Their undersides were swollen and bruise-red, flooding the land with a hellish light from one horizon to the next. Thunder groaned and rain began to fall, but the droplets had the same ruddy tinge as the clouds. And along with the taste of lightning in the air was an acid tang with a dark undercurrent of sweetness.

A drizzling cascade of thick, scarlet blood hissed down, like the leavings of a slaughterhouse, spattering my skin, my hair, my pale linen shift, before running in rivulets down my body. It drenched the gown and pooled under my feet, soaking the soil until it softened, until it opened up and I began to sink. And still the rain came, pouring into the earth, widening the fissure until I couldn’t see myself anymore, until it swallowed me whole.

The red tide didn’t stop there, but spread outward in all directions, like water rippling from a thrown stone. And where a moment before there had been abundant life, green and lush and full of health, there was only dust and decay, everything brown and withered and so very still.

I woke in a pool of sickly green light—moonlight filtered through the vines that draped the only window like curtains. I lay there, my heart hammering in my chest, and tried to tell myself that it had just been a nightmare. I was overdue for one, and my subconscious had never been subtle.

But that hadn’t had the flavor of a dream, not even of a nightmare. I’d had enough visions to know one when it hit me between the eyes. Something was wrong.

I mentally rolled my eyes while trying to calm my rapid breathing. Of course something was wrong! The Circle was trying to kill me, I’d let Tami down, I’d just witnessed a wood full of monsters and, oh yeah, I was in the wrong body! It would be more surprising if something went right for a change!

But somehow, the litany of my problems didn’t sound quite right. None of those matched the apocalyptic visions my power kept showing me. A dead Vegas, an abandoned highway turned cemetery, and now a scene of destruction with me at the center.

I shivered in the warmth of the suddenly claustrophobic little room, dizzy and half sick with too many swirling emotions. Ever since the destruction of MAGIC, it had felt like a storm was building. Something behind the scenes that I couldn’t quite see, couldn’t quite grasp, but something important nonetheless. Something vital.

I rolled onto my side and stared at the darkness. This last vision had been the most disturbing of all. Because it seemed to be saying that the destruction started with me. I hadn’t summoned the bloody storm, but it had focused on me, almost as if it was using me to spread the wave of death.

Was my power trying to warn me that if the Circle succeeded in killing me, we’d lose the war? That would certainly explain the devastation. If we lost, I was under no illusion about what Apollo would do. The magical community had been the direct cause of his banishment; he wasn’t likely to leave any of us alive to do it a second time. Even his dark mage allies might be surprised at the “reward” they received for helping him out.

I flopped onto my back, frustrated as hell. That interpretation seemed to fit, but I didn’t see what I could do about it. I was already doing my best to come to some kind of deal with the damn Circle! I couldn’t force them to accept me, any more than I could force them to get their heads out of their butts, look around and realize that we were in the middle of a war! We couldn’t afford the infighting, as I’d been pointing out for some time.

Only nobody seemed to be listening.

I groaned and put my pillow over my head. I really wished Mircea was there to knock me out again. I didn’t want to dream. Especially not when the only thing I got out of it was a lousy night’s sleep.

I woke a second time stiff with pain. There was a dull throb in my right ankle from some injury not noticed yesterday, soreness in my back and lingering tenderness in the injured arm and the abused throat, all of it slowly forming a picture of a body again. A body with stubble scraping bright against my cheeks and hair a lot spikier than normal.

I frowned. The sleep haze started to lift as my hand went exploring. It found a man’s chest, hard with muscle, a sweeping ladder of ribs, a ridged abdomen and a . . .

I jerked awake with a sharp gasp of pure panic. It caught in my throat, threatening to choke me, and for a moment, I couldn’t think at all. This whole experience was so alien it shredded my brain. Because I’d had a lot of strange things happen to me, but I’d never woken up as someone else.

I stared out the window, gulping for air, waiting for my pulse to edge out of heart attack territory. The vines didn’t do much to block the view beyond, where a bank of low-hanging clouds were rolling restlessly over the sky. At least they’re black, I thought, as they began leaking.

I spent a few minutes lying there, tracking the hypnotic slide of drops down the windowpane. It was raining, but it was daylight. What was the old saying? That meant the devil was beating his wife.

Or maybe he just wanted his dog back.

If I didn’t look at my body, I was okay. The bed was warm and comfortable, with well-washed linens and fat feather pillows. It was so tempting to go back to sleep, to forget everything for a little while, to forget about Pritkin. Because he was going to expect me to fix our little problem, and the truth was, I just had no idea.

But if it was morning, Billy would be back soon. I had to get a grip. I had to get up.

I concentrated on the slow in and out of my breath, ribs moving, lungs inflating, telling myself that most things were the same, most things were familiar. A body was a body, after all: two arms, two legs, a head. Not much difference, really. I was doing pretty good until I looked down the length of my new form to find a not-so-little something that wasn’t the same at all.

I scrambled back until I hit the headboard, but of course my newest problem came, too. I stared at it in a sort of wondering horror, but it didn’t go away. It just kept jauntily tenting the sheet, obviously excited to welcome the new day. Now what?

A quick poke to try to push it down only had it bobbing back up relentlessly. I tried again, starting to feel a little frantic, and held it down this time. It was hot and hard beneath my hand, like there was no sheet there at all. It made me notice other things that were just plain wrong, like breasts that were flat and no longer shifted with every breath, like the heavy mat of hair arrowing down over my abdomen, like the blond hairs on the patch of thigh that had slipped outside the sheet.

Despite my little pep talk, this body did not feel more or less normal. It had been easier to ignore that last night, when I’d been so exhausted I’d been staggering. But now I noticed things, like the current of electricity that ran beneath my new skin, rolling and hot and bothersome, making me sweat and shiver. Suddenly, everything was exciting, from the soft kiss of the sheets to the vague tickle of air filtering in around the old windowpane.

I’d never been so aware of myself, of the way I inhabited muscle and bone and skin. I wondered if Pritkin felt the same, sharp and fresh and vivid, with every sensation maddeningly familiar yet completely strange. I wondered if it was driving him up the freaking wall.

I caught sight of my reflection in a mirror and it didn’t help. Long eyelashes drooped over flushed cheeks and the usual tight lips were softened by surprise. The broad shoulders and nice arms were the same, the skin sleep-warm, the signs of the fight almost healed. There were only a few raised, red lines to contrast with the cream and gold.

My fingers slid over the beard coming in along his jaw to the fine-skinned hollow just behind his earlobe, and into his hair. He had nice hands, the fingers blunt and callused, the nails trimmed round and no-nonsense short. He’d be strong, I thought, a shiver of awareness cutting through me.

And the flesh under my palm leapt.

I snatched my hand back, swallowing hard, and the sheet slid off. And there it was, hot and huge, the stretch of it a biting, static ache. Maybe it’ll go away on its own, I thought desperately. I held my breath, panic crowding my lungs, and it actually got bigger. Long and thick, it was darker peach than the rest of him, with an elegant bend to the left. I’ll have to remember to tell Pritkin that he has a pretty dick, I thought hysterically, and shoved a pillow over it.