The Dark Glamour (666 Park Avenue 2) by Gabriella Pierce

model-esque height came with pointed shoulders, small ripples of breasts, a long, flat stomach, and stretched-teardrop hips. Above her sharp collarbones, her face was unexpectedly girlish. Her jaw was wide, her cheeks short and round. She had a plump bow of a mouth and sparkling black eyes, which matched her straight, shoulder-skimming black hair perfectly. Most striking, though, was her skin. Jane, who had spent her life with the kind of hopelessly unfashionable peaches-and-cream skin that showed every blush and burned if she even thought about sunlight, ran a walnut finger across her walnut jawbone in wonder.
    I wonder where I’m from,
she thought idly; between her colouring and the slight almond turn to her eyes, she was distinctly racially ambiguous.
I just have to decide where I want to be from. And what my name is.
    The choices to be made from the seemingly endless possibilities in front of her suddenly felt almost overwhelming, and her breath caught in her throat.
I need some help with this,
she decided. She didn’t know how long she had been unconscious, but surely Dee would want to see the outcome of their bizarre spell. She was probably still awake, in fact, and Jane pushed herself away from the mirror to go show her how their efforts had paid off.
    She had barely stepped into the hallway before she smelled hot sugar and butter bound together by flour, and she forced her still-wobbly legs to pick up their pace.
She’s awake
and
baking,
she urged her limbs.
Please hurry!
    She entered the living room just as Dee was leaving the kitchen, with a telltale piece of cookie in her hand. Dee stopped and stared at her in shock. She was still wearing the black lace top and baggy black cargo pants that she had had on for the spell, but they looked wrinkled and tired . . . as did Dee’s face.
    ‘It’s me,’ Jane told her unnecessarily. ‘It worked.’
The sky is blue and Lynne’s a witch.
    ‘Oh my God, Jane, I thought you were—’ Dee stopped, apparently trying to make a huge mental adjustment. ‘It
worked?’
    Jane glanced quickly at her hands; they were still the same glowing shade of brown. The half-moons under her nail beds stood out in even brighter contrast than Dee’s. ‘Didn’t it?’
    Dee waved her cookie dismissively. ‘Of course, it’s just . . . we kept checking on you, and then Misty had to go, but I kept checking, and you still looked like you the whole time. And you wouldn’t wake up, and now it’s— Oh, you must be starving.’
    ‘Are those hazelnut?’ Jane asked helpfully, tilting her new chin towards the cookie.
    Dee looked at it as if she had no idea how she had come to be holding it, then shook herself all over. ‘White chocolate-cherry,’ she corrected with a little more of her usual confidence. ‘But samosas first, and— Well, there’s a lot, actually. I cook when I’m worried. And for God’s sake, Jane, you haven’t eaten in two days.’
    She disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Jane frozen in place this time. She cleared her throat; it seemed to take longer than it did in her real body. ‘I haven’t what in
what?’
she called out to the doorway that Dee had just vacated.
    Her friend’s tangle of black hair reappeared, although the rest of her body remained occupied by the stove. ‘I know you didn’t touch the food I left before the spell, and then you were out all day today. We were really starting to panic, you know.’
    ‘I don’t . . .’ Jane whispered, then raised her voice again. She could hear the note of hysteria in it, but felt that a little panic was probably in order about now.
‘Today?’
    Dee reappeared fully in the doorway, this time holding a plate. Jane could smell oil and the soft, low note of chickpeas, and her taut stomach growled fiercely. Dee opened her mouth to say something, but a loud, bell-like chime interrupted her. Her amber eyes darted to the front door and then back to Jane. ‘Shit,’ she whispered. ‘Jane, I really thought we