"Whoops." I cringed as I took in what I had done. The Reggie now looked like The Regina—double-E boobs and all. His once closely cropped black hair was now a mass of shiny ebony curls and his makeup was flawless. However, his outfit was rather alarming—hot pink booty shorts and a bra top that made his boobs look like weapons. His scream of terror and fury almost made me cower. Almost.
"Change me back," he ground out through clenched teeth as The Henry stood by and tried not to laugh. "Now."
"Say please." I grinned as I took in my handiwork. Hells bells, I had no clue how to undo what I had just done.
"Please," he snapped.
"Nicer," I told him, buying time before I had to admit he might be stuck as The Regina with the ginormous rack for eternity.
Sucking in a huge amount of air through his nose and blowing it out slowly through his mouth, he got to his feet and turned to me. "Please," he begged as he pathetically pushed his wild locks out of his eyes. "Please change me back."
His tone was nice even though he looked like he still wanted to kill me. I didn't think he would—at least not until I magically altered him. The Henry was enjoying himself a little too much for my pleasure and I was starting to feel guilty about The Reggie—especially his bosom. Those knockers were horrible. If I couldn't remove them, he would have to get custom bras made and live with backaches the rest of his immortal life. Um…cowballs, what should I do?
Come clean that I had no clue what I was doing? Or try to restore him?
Decisions sucked. If I was going to be of any use here, I needed to step up my game. If I couldn't undo a spell that changed a man to a woman, then how could I be useful in saving Ethan's baby and his concubines, Martha and Jane? With a quick shake of my head to clear my thoughts I flicked my fingers again. I prayed to my Uncle God, I wouldn't turn The Reggie into a toad or a monster or something worse—like a woman with even bigger hooters.
I flicked my fingers a second time, then closed my eyes and waited. If I screwed up I was sure The Reggie would exact his revenge with his fists. If I was successful then maybe he wouldn't be such a butthonk to me. Certainly I would have put the fear of grossly overblown boobs into his head and he would be more pleasant. Or…
"Very good, Astrid." The Kev said, congratulating me.
I opened my eyes slowly. The Reggie was back to his gorgeous self. My body sagged with relief.
"You had no idea what you were doing, did you?" The Reggie asked as he paled and checked his body for abnormalities.
"Um…nope." I grinned and shrugged. "However, I would suggest staying on my good side. If that's what happens when I'm winging it, no telling what will happen when I get my memory back."
"So noted," The Reggie said as he backed away from me in either awe or fear.
Whatever. As long as he wasn't crawling up my backside with his snarky rudeness I didn't care.
"If she gets her memory back," The Henry added.
"She will get her memory back," Ethan snapped to a suddenly contrite The Henry. I was sure he didn't want his head removed by an irate Vampyre.
The Kev said nothing, which was worrisome. Was there a chance I would never get my mind back? That was unacceptable. It would devastate my human husband and would scar my ten children. Ten? Did I have ten? Why in the Hell would I ever have agreed to ten children? That husband of mine, whatever his name was, was going to have some freakin' explaining to do.
"So what's the plan?" I asked. We needed to get the show on the road.
"Who's your favorite female singer?" The Kev inquired as he conjured vials of liquid out of thin air.
"Um…I like Pink," I answered.
"Ethan?" he asked.
"Alive or dead?"
"Alive would be preferable," The Kev said. He shook the vials and whispered in some unidentifiable language over them.
"I enjoy Adam Levine," Ethan said. It amazed me that a five-hundred and twenty-two–year-old Vamp still kept up with pop culture.
"That won't do," The Kev said. "He's on The Voice. It's a conflict of interest."
"Care to explain?" Ethan asked, truly confused.
"No, not really," The Kev replied as he eyeballed the contents of the vials critically. "Just choose another male singer."
"Frank Sinatra."
"Nope, he's dead," The Reggie said. "Has to be alive."
"Oh, for fuck’s sake," Ethan groused. "Elvis?"
"Dead."
"Jim Morrison?"
"Dead." The Reggie was enjoying himself.
"Keith Richards?"
"Very close to dead. I'd pick someone else," I chimed in.
"And who would you pick, Astrid?" Ethan asked. "Who do you find attractive?"
My instinct was to yell "YOU" and then jump him and ride him like a cowboy, but I couldn't. Number one, I was married and number two, there were entirely too many witnesses. "Um, I like Eminem and Jon Bon Jovi."
"What does this Eminem sing?" Ethan asked.
Clearly he wasn't too immersed pop culture.
"Rap," I told him and he shuddered.
"That's not singing," he huffed. "Does this Bon Jovi rap?"
"Nope, he sings and he's hot."
Ethan's eyes narrowed to slits and I swear he was jealous. "I choose Bon Jovi," he snapped to The Kev.