The Dark Glamour (666 Park Avenue 2)

whispered. Jane waved a hand in front of her face, and her eyes finally began to track the world around her again. ‘We just need you,’ Dee explained slowly, beginning to walk again. ‘We need you not to look like you. And that’s something pretty much everyone agrees witches can do.’
    ‘A magical disguise,’ Jane breathed. Across the street, a white stick figure turned into a glowing orange hand, and she stopped obediently for a stream of cars and taxis. ‘It would have to be complete; I’d have to look like a whole other person. And it couldn’t take too much power to maintain, or else I might burn out. And it would be better if it were something that didn’t leave any kind of signature Lynne might sense. And do you think I could choose a specific face?’
    ‘Holy hell, Jane!’ Dee laughed heartily. ‘Look, it’s the best plan so far. I’ll call Misty in the morning, and we’ll start up the research engine, but in the meantime you can’t sweat the details. Haven’t you figured out yet that magic has a mind of its own?’
    Jane stuck her tongue out at Dee and was nearly run down by a speeding bicycle that left the faint aroma of scallions and toasted sesame oil in its wake. ‘Karma,’ she observed. ‘Okay. I’ll do the meditating stuff and let you ladies be the brains of the operation. Just let me know when you’ve got something, because if we could wrap this up by the weekend, I’d love to check out this Coney Island thing everyone talks about.’
    Dee rolled her eyes. ‘Nobody talks about Coney Island any more, but duly noted. Jane, stop. We’re home.’ She pointed to the discreet, steel-edged glass door that Jane had been about to walk right past.
    ‘Almost,’ Jane murmured under her breath, and followed her friend into the lobby.

Eight
    ‘H ERE IT IS .’
    Jane leaned forward over the driftwood coffee table, eager for her first glimpse of the indispensable charm that would give her a new face. Misty hadn’t even been sure that there were any left in the world, but had tracked down the rumours tirelessly for two days until she’d found a person who, for tens of thousands of Jane’s dollars, was willing to produce the genuine article.
    ‘A Forvrangdan orb,’ Misty declared proudly, setting it on the table and pulling aside the cloth that shrouded it. It was a smooth, clear-glass sphere. It looked heavy, and seemed solid except for a few tiny bubbles caught motionless in its centre.
    ‘It’s beautiful,’ Dee said breathlessly, tilting her head to take it in from more angles.
    ‘It really is,’ Jane agreed. ‘And nothing at all like an incredibly expensive paperweight.’
    Dee looked alarmed, but Misty laughed. Even her laughter sounded beachy. ‘It’s the real thing,’ she assured Jane confidently. ‘Paperweights don’t do this.’ She slid a grey-and-white, pigeon-esque feather out of her supply bag. Careful not to touch the surface of the orb with her skin, she set the feather down gently on top of it.
    At first, nothing happened, but after a short while, Jane was almost positive the feather was darker. A few seconds later, it was definite: the feather was almost as black and shiny as a raven’s. It elongated and became even glossier and uneven on one long edge, and Jane abruptly realized that now she was looking at a plastic comb. The comb began to lighten until it was distinctly purple, and then transparent. Moments later, it was a cheap-looking red pen, and briefly a salamander, then a chameleon, then a candle, then a white leather bookmark. And then, as Jane watched in growing horror, the bookmark’s edges began to curl and peel as if it were being consumed in an invisible fire, which ate its way through the leather with increasing speed. The bookmark looked like a pigeon feather again, for the briefest of moments, before it was gone, without the slightest trace of it remaining on the perfect surface of the orb.
    ‘Okay,’ Jane agreed, swallowing thickly. ‘Paperweights
don’t
do that. But I . . . um . . . I don’t want it to do
that
to me.’
    ‘It won’t,’ Dee reassured her quickly, although her face was a few shades paler than normal.
    ‘It won’t,’ Misty echoed, far more convincingly. ‘The spell controls it; channels the power and sets limits on it. That’s why the orb is destroyed at the end of the spell, instead of the object of the change. That means you,’ she added, glancing up at Jane. ‘And that’s why there are so many rules,