his human handat a row of candles on the edge of the sunken tub. Flamessparked on the candle wicks and grew stronger as they burned. Then he pulled the curtain from the full-length mirror and gazed in numb horror at the ghastly sight of himself.
Even after four years of seeing himself, inadvertently at times, he still wasn’t inured to the sight. These days there were other Cabalists who actuallylooked worse, but they did so by design and reveled in their appearance. Warren never would.
You’re a monster, he told himself. As foul-looking as any demon you’veever seen.
Fearing the results, Warren raised his human hand to his face. He held his hand within inches of the demon’s scales that covered his cheek. Then he willedhimself to be healed.
Shimmering force passed from his hand to his face. But nothing happened. He tried again with the same result. Cursing, he gathered his power and blasted the mirror into a million gleaming shards that dropped to the floor and shattered again.
“What are you doing?” the voice asked.
“Nothing,” Warren answered. “I was a fool. I did a foolish thing.”
“Tell me.”
“No.” Warren figured that if the voice didn’t know what was wrong with him,it wouldn’t understand anyway. “It was a private matter. I’ll be better servedtrying to figure out how to find Fulaghar or his remaining lieutenants.”
“You’re displeased with your appearance,” the voice said.
Warren started to deny that, but he knew his feelings were so strong that he wouldn’t be able to get away with that lie. “Yes,” he whispered. “I’m horrid-looking and I can’t bear it.”
“Are you?”
A bitter laugh erupted from Warren. “Can you not see me?”
“Of course I can see you. You look a lot like most of the Cabalists. Morefearsome than most.”
“I’m not a Cabalist.”
“You spend most of your time with them.”
“Only because no one else would accept me.” And because of Merihim.
“The Cabalists respect your appearance.”
“That’s not how I want to look.”
“I thought your appearance was very unique.”
“I don’t want to look unique.”
“Then how do you want to look?”
Warren looked down at the myriad images of himself looking back. “I want tolook like me. Like the way I used to look.”
“Show me.”
“I don’t have any pictures.” Over the last four years, everything Warren hadowned that was personal had been lost. After living in foster care, there hadn’tbeen much of it anyway.
“Show me in your mind,” the voice coaxed.
Quietly, Warren took a deep breath and pictured himself as he’d been. He sawhis face as smooth, unblemished ebony. He’d been handsome, he knew that. Womenand girls had told him that. He’d kept his hair cut short, not shaving his headuntil after he’d lost a third of his scalp in the fire. He’d always wanted togrow a mustache and goatee, but four years ago when he’d been twenty-three, hehadn’t been able to.
“You prefer this appearance?” the voice asked.
“Yes.”
“It isn’t so different from the face you wear now.”
“That was my face,” Warren grated. “Not this patchwork horror.”
“You can look like that if you wish.”
“I can’t. I tried.”
“You tried to heal yourself,” the voice said. “You’re already healed.”
“I’m not healed. I suffered third-degree burns. My own flesh died and wasreplaced by the demon’s hide from my hand.”
“I can help you look the way you wish.”
Warren didn’t want to get his hopes up. “The demon hide has claimed my faceand my arm. My torso and legs are covered by more scales.”
“You tried to eradicate the demon skin.”
“Yes.”
“You can’t do that. It’s become too much a part of you. You have to acceptit.”
“I have,” Warren said. “I’ve accepted the fact that I’m going to look likethis the rest of my life.”
“Not if you don’t want to.”
Warren glared at his images. “How can I change this?”
“Let me help you. Reassemble the mirror.”
Almost without thinking, Warren gestured toward the mirror fragments. The leaped from the floor and fitted themselves back to the mirror frame. In less than a minute, every piece had slid back into place and left the cracked surface facing Warren.
Then the mirror rippled, lifting and falling back into place. As it fell back into the frame, the mirror was once more unblemished and whole.
The horror that was him looked back at him. He wanted to shatter the mirror all over again.
“Try again,” the voice coaxed. “This time don’t try to heal yourself. Try to… sculpt.”
“Sculpt? I’m no sculptor.”
“You liked art as a child.”
Warren’s surprise grew. The voice knew so much about him it was unsettling.When he’d been a child he’d drawn the comic book heroes he’d read about. He’dalso experimented with modeling clay. But he’d never been satisfied with theresults.
“Try,” the voice entreated.
Fear told hold of Warren then. He thought about how he’d been able to healNaomi’s heart valve. What if he really could reshape his face? Could he make itbetter? Or would he make it worse? Even more frightening, what if he’d dosomething irreparable to himself? What if he blinded himself?
“You won’t do any of those things,” the voice said gently. “Trust me.”
Warren knew he had a hard time trusting anyone. He’d spent his whole lifetrying to live small, to be inconsequential and fly beneath everyone else’sradar. But his stepfather had hated him enough to kill his mother and try to kill him. His flatmates had hated him in spite of the fact that financially he’dpulled more than his weight. He’d been passed over for promotions and fired fromjobs because he’d drawn the ill will of others.
And he’d become enslaved to a demon and haunted by a talking book.
“I am not the book,” the voice reminded. “The book is the key.”
He’d had more than his share of bad luck.
“Trust me,” the voice repeated.
Warren lifted his human hand. “All right.”
“Close your eyes and think about how you want to look.”
*
When Warren first began using the energy, his face turned hot. In places it felt as if it slipped. He started to open his eyes.
“Don’t,” the voice said. “This is very careful work and you’re changing areasclose to your eye.”
Warren
