A sharp shaft of light cut through the darkness, aiming its laser focus at Abigail’s left eye. Turning away from the morning sun, she groaned and pulled a pillow over her eyes. If only the pain in her head was from a heavy night of drinking, a little hair of the dog would help. She knew she’d have to transmorph again for her meeting with Barlowe, and she also knew that hairy dog wouldn’t fight.
She left the pillow covering her head, and stretched out in bed. Every joint, and every muscle complained. Slowly rolling out of the other side of her bed, she shuffled to the bathroom. Without turning on the light, she stepped into the shower. She made a mental note to buy better blackout liners for her bedroom drapes.
Across town, Barlowe studied his face in the mirror, then lifted his chin to shave his neck, nicking the thin skin stretching over his Adam’s apple. Grabbing for something to stanch the flow of blood, he swore out loud when the roll of toilet paper fell off its holder, and skipped across the tile floor.
With a wad of paper held to the seeping cut on his throat, Barlowe took a deep breath. He wasn’t this nervous about seeing a girl since he took Petra Walkowski to senior prom. Then was because he knew she was going all the way that night. He had no such expectation with Iona Dolan.
Department protocol prohibited him from asking her on a date while the Liam Dolan case was still active, but that didn’t stop him from thinking about her.
Wrapped in a thick towel, Abigail padded back to her bed. She flipped her head over to rubbed the water out her hair, and let out a startled squeak. Scooting to the end of her bed, she slowly sat up to look in her dresser mirror.
Staring back at her was the face of Iona Dolan. Standing, Abigail looked over her naked body, twisting and turning to get a better angle. Sitting back on her bed, her mind was racing. No wonder she was so sore, she had transformed in her sleep.
There was no time to experiment and attempt to revert to her natural shape. She had to meet Det. Barlowe in less than two hours. She couldn’t take the chance of not being able to shift to Iona.
Dressing for the day, Abigail let her mind wander to the police detective. She almost hated to use him in her plan. Leaning in close to her vanity mirror, she applied her lipstick. Jerking back, a frown worked across her face. A germ of an idea percolated in her mind, and she smirked wickedly at her reflection.
One last check, and she was ready to see Barlowe. “Jack, either you are in deep trouble, or I am.”