With the elder Robertsons finally gone, life with Clara and Lola feels almost… normal again.

  Normal? No—better. My life’s good. I’m more or less officially Joe’s girlfriend now, and he’s invited me to a concert. The concert. The Blue Cauldron—yeah, that Blue Cauldron—is performing in town next weekend, and Joe’s got tickets. Not just any tickets. VIP tickets. His brother, the pro football player with the flashy sports car and the overflowing bank account, scored them for him.

  And guess who’s playing Cinderella for the night?

  Me.

  I’m invited.

  Naturally, Joe wants to kiss me. He’s been patient, but I know he’s waiting for things to move forward. Truth is, I want that too. But so far, I’ve kept my distance, and he thinks it’s because of what happened at Tim’s party.

  He’s not wrong. But that’s only part of it.

  The rest? Well… scars, wings, horns.

  Those are a little harder to explain.

  Yeah… probably not the best move for our relationship to have Joe accidentally skewered by one of my horns. Or worse—imagine him hugging me, and his hands drift down to my back, only to find those wing stubs that definitely shouldn’t be there. How exactly does one explain surprise anatomy like that?

  Still, I’ll say it again—I want to hook up with him. So, what’s the plan here?

  My horns were creeping up on three centimeters. Not exactly lethal weapons, but noticeable. And they’re only going to get longer. How long? I have no clue. Yesterday, I tried to cut them down. I thought it’d be like trimming hair or nails—quick, painless, easy.

  Nope.

  Turns out cutting a horn is not a casual affair. It was agony, the kind that lights up every nerve in your skull like fireworks. Felt like trying to rip out a tooth while the nerve is still very much alive.

  I stopped panting and cursing under my breath after the first few seconds of work.

  The second problem? The noise.

  That circular saw could probably wake the dead. Clara was in my room within seconds, demanding to know what the hell I was doing. She nearly caught me too—thank god I’d thought ahead and did my work behind the wardrobe.

  Of course, I had to come up with something on the spot.

  “Cutting stones,” I blurted out.

  “What stones? Why?” she squinted at me, clearly not buying it. “Where are my glasses—”

  “It’s for a project! Just—ugh—get out, it’s my room!”

  I practically shoved her out and shut the door.

  And after all that? All I managed was the tiniest, barely visible scratch on one horn.

  Fucking adamantium horns! Great.

  There’s no way I could keep cutting them with the girls at home. I’ll either have to wait for them to leave or find somewhere else.

  Next problem: the wings.

  They’d grown to about twenty centimeters—small, delicate, and annoyingly reminiscent of butterfly wings. Lovely, sure. But creepy. And they ruined any chance of wearing backless dresses without sparking a local panic.

  Thankfully, I could fold them, tucking them flat against my back. Still creepy, though. The fact that I could move them? Yeah, even worse.

  For now, a loose blouse did the trick. But if they kept growing… well, that solution wouldn’t last forever.

  Useless. That’s what they seemed to be—my wings, I mean. No strength, no lift. The best they could do was stir the air a little, like a personal fan on a sweltering day.

  Flo, of course, had other ideas. She insisted that if they fully matured, I’d be able to fly. Tempting, sure. But how big would they have to get for that to happen? I wasn’t holding my breath. You need a wingspan the size of a paraglider to actually fly, and these little things? Not exactly paraglider material.

  As if the horns and wings weren’t enough trouble, there was Matt… and Flo.

  Flo still talked to him. And even though the whole school basically knew I was with Joe, Matt invited me over. Not to a party—just to his place to meet his friends. They were musicians, apparently.

  The problem? Flo said yes.

  She wanted to go, and she wasn’t wrong. I had promised she could meet her friend.

  So what could I do?

  With a few hours to kill before heading to Matt’s, I sat in my room, stewing over what to do about my new… appendages.

  “Don’t you want to grow them?” Flo piped up. “Wouldn’t flying be fun?”

  I hesitated. Did I want that? Sure, flying sounded great, but how the hell was I supposed to hide full-grown wings? Strapping them down under some makeshift corset and layering a t-shirt over the top wasn’t exactly a long-term solution.

  It was already a hassle. I had to twist and contort like a circus act just to get everything tucked away. And that was in the privacy of my room. Locker rooms? Different story.

  Lucky for me, when I played handball with the boys, I had the locker room to myself. But soon enough, I’d be stuck in gym class with the rest of the girls.

  And that… was going to be a problem.

  Where could I possibly hack these things off?

  There was really only one place that came to mind—Gonzo’s garage.

  His place was out in the middle of nowhere. No neighbors, no curious ears. I could make all the noise I needed without anyone poking their head in.

  Feeling victorious over my dilemma, I grabbed the saw. The bike’s cargo bay was small, but after some creative angling, I managed to squeeze the saw inside.

  With that, I was off.

  Bye-bye, horns! Hello, kisses! I hummed an improvised little tune as the bike roared on the way toward Gonzo’s.

  It wasn’t a long ride. When I passed the local patrol car, I threw a wave at the officers and they flashed their lights in response.

  Huh. I was starting to make friends with the cops.

  Gonzo wasn’t his usual laid-back, easygoing self. Something had him on edge. All I could gather was that he was expecting company.

  Okay…

  I wasn’t about to let that get in the way. I needed this done today, and I didn’t exactly have a long list of alternative workshops. As long as I could work alone, his garage would do just fine. Plenty of space, and more importantly—privacy.

  “Gonzo, I’ve got something urgent to take care of. Mind if I use your workshop for half an hour?”

  He squinted at me. “Something wrong with the bike?”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s just a school project. I need to cut some stones with my saw. Might get a little dusty, but I’ll clean everything up when I’m done. Don’t come in unless you want to be breathing rock dust.”

  He hesitated, but eventually shrugged. “Alright, alright. Grab that plastic tarp over there and cover the rest of the stuff. You can make all the noise you want for an hour, but no later. I’ve got… you know, people coming over.”

  “Got it. I’ll be out of here before then.”

  He waved me off with an apologetic smile. “Sorry I can’t lend a hand. Gotta clean up inside. You sure you’re good on your own?”

  “Totally fine.”

  “Alright. Have fun, then.”

  I gave him a quick thumbs-up and headed inside. Fun wasn’t exactly the word for what I was about to do.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  Gonzo disappeared inside in a flash. I shook my head. Whatever inspection he was sweating over must’ve been serious.

  I stepped into the workshop, and Flo conjured a mirror mid-air, reflecting my image then she flicked her fingers and made the horns visible.

  “Fucking hell… Hideous things,” I muttered, leaning closer. “But if I cut them off, won’t I just end up with open wounds?”

  As she was leading, Flo’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I’ve considered that. I’ll try to shift the skin over and partially heal it once they’re cut.”

  “That’ll work? They will stay like that, like Cala’s broken nose?”

  She shook her head. “This will be different. The skin won’t stop the horns from growing back, but it’ll cover them temporarily.”

  I paused, the gears turning in my head. “Hold on… Could you do the same thing over my scars? At least the one over my eye?”

  Flo brightened at the idea. “Actually, yeah. I think I can.”

  I grinned. Aesthetic magic? Hell yes. Maybe I didn’t have to look like some half-formed eldritch creature after all. More importantly, it meant I wouldn’t feel like one when someones finger would brush the deep ridge cutting my brow. There will be no ridge!

  “Let’s start with the scar over my eye,” I suggested.

  “We’ll need to make a cut first so I can heal over it,” Flo explained, while looking in the mirror. “Let me take your blouse off, or we’ll soak it in blood.”

  I slipped off my blouse and grabbed a rag lying around, tucking it into my belt to shield my trousers. The plan was simple—make a shallow cut, and Flo would pull the skin over the scar and seal it with a light heal. Simple in theory.

  But Cala’s skin wasn’t just tough—it was like cutting into hardened leather. After a few frustrating attempts with a knife, I resorted to the circular saw. I didn’t need to cut deep, just enough to break the surface, but guiding a buzzing saw millimeters from my eye? That’s a whole new level of creepy.

  Still, it worked. Flo managed to link the skin over the scar and heal it just enough to smooth the area. The first result wasn’t bad, but the brow looked uneven—shortened in a way that made me look lopsided.

  I had to redo it. And again. By the tenth attempt, I finally felt satisfied.

  “It’s not fully healed,” Flo warned, inspecting her work. “It looks better now, but if you ever get a full heal, the scar might return.”

  I sighed, running my fingers lightly over the smoother skin. For now, this would have to do.

  I shrugged. I wasn’t about to let this ruin my day.

  “Hey, progress is progress. Let’s try one horn—start with the left.”

  Five minutes in, I was drenched in sweat, panting like I’d run a marathon, and barely a quarter of the horn was gone.

  I had to stop, leaning against the workbench just to catch my breath. What the hell were these things made of?

  The pain was unbearable. I wanted to scream.

  Gritting my teeth, I pressed the saw against the horn again, this time with more force—maybe too much.

  There was a sharp crack, and the blade shattered. A jagged piece shot across the room, ricocheted off the wall, and struck me square in the eye.

  I howled, dropping the saw with a clatter. For a few agonizing seconds, I just stood there, half-blind, squealing like a wounded animal.

  When I finally gathered the nerve, I yanked the shard from my eye, gasping through the pain.

  “Fucking fuck!!” I growled, squinting down at the bloodied sliver of metal.

  “Oh my God!” I heard from somewhere nearby.

  I hadn’t expected an audience. I glanced up with my good eye to see Gonzo standing frozen in the doorway, staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

  We locked eyes for a few long, awkward seconds.

  He blinked.

  “Who the hell are you? Oh God—your eye! You blinded yourself?! Where’s Dolores?! We need an ambulance! Now!”

  Ah. Flo had dropped all the illusions. There I was—Cala, horns and all, standing in the middle of his workshop like a horror movie reject.

  Before he could bolt, I grabbed his arm, stopping him dead in his tracks.

  “Relax, Gonzo. It’s me. Dolores.”

  He spun back, eyes wide, staring at me like I’d just crawled out of the underworld.

  “You’re… bleeding. Your eye…” he stammered.

  I shrugged. “It’s fine. I can fix it.”

  He said nothing, watching in stunned silence as I healed the injury.

  His gaze flicked from my now perfectly normal eye to the horns… back to my eye… and then—Flo swept her hand, and just like that, I was Dolores again. No horns. Just a girl in a cute t-shirt, standing there as if nothing had happened.

  Gonzo blinked. Twice.

  “What the actual fuck.”

  "I'm a witch, Gonzo. Happy now? It's still me," I said, watching his face for any sign of comprehension.

  "A witch… with horns?" he echoed, his eyes flicking to where the horns had been on my head.

  I let out a long sigh. "Yes. They've been growing for about a week. It's the result of—well, let’s just call it a failed experiment."

  "A failed experiment?" he repeated slowly, like he needed the words to marinate.

  I shrugged. "Yeah. Not exactly what I was aiming for, but here we are. I've got wing stubs too, in case you’re curious. If you happen to have a copy of Witchcraft for Dummies, I might make fewer mistakes next time."

  He blinked, staring at me.

  "But… I saw a different face before. Dolores. Why the disguise?"

  I sighed again and dropped the illusion, letting Cala’s real face flicker back into view.

  "This is how I look now. That’s how I used to look. Call me sentimental, but I like to hang on to the old me. You know… for practical reasons. My boyfriend’s taking me to a concert—Blue Cauldron, ever heard of them? After that, there’s a party. Now imagine him hugging me and getting a handful of horns and wing stubs. Romantic, right? And let’s not even start with gym class. Locker rooms aren’t exactly designed for… this." I gestured at myself. "Illusions only do so much, so I’m just trying to hack off a few extra features until I figure something better out."

  Gonzo stared at me, eyes flicking between my face and the jagged horn. "How... how did you end up like this?" he asked, voice stuck somewhere between awe and concern.

  I sighed. "Long story. Right now, I just need these gone. So, can I borrow a better saw? Mine didn’t survive the attempt."

  "You’re trying to cut them off?" His brows shot up.

  I gestured at the chipped horn. "Tried, yeah. But apparently, I’m growing adamantium horns. This is all I managed before the blade snapped."

  His eyes widened as he looked at the busted saw. "You can’t just hack at them yourself. You can’t even see what you’re doing!"

  I smirked. "Sounds like I’m hearing a volunteer. Because unless someone else magically appears, I’m fresh out of options."

  He hesitated. "Can’t you just—y’know, magic them away?"

  I shrugged. "I could try, but I’d rather not wing it. For now, I just need these trimmed down enough to pass for normal."

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting his life choices. After a moment, he glanced at the broken saw and exhaled slowly.

  "Alright," he muttered. "I just finished cleaning up, so I’ve got less than an hour. I can help. But are you sure you want to do this? You’re not a car, Dolores."

  I grinned. "Well, I’m parked in your garage, so let’s roll with it."

  He hesitated, and for a second, I thought he might bolt. His eyes fixed on the small, awkward lumps beneath my shoulder blades.

  "You want me to cut off your wings?" he repeated, disbelief hanging on every word.

  "Yes," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I’d prefer to fly under the radar, and these don’t exactly help."

  I chuckled at my humor. He didn't laugh. He scratched the back of his head, staring at me like I’d asked him to remove my spine. "Dolores... this is more than just—"

  I turned to face him, holding his gaze. "Gonzo, do you think I haven’t thought this through? If I show up at a hospital with this, I’ll either end up in some government lab or in the circus. And I don’t think either pays well."

  He let out a breath through his nose, glancing at the saw. "Fine. But... damn, I’m not exactly a surgeon."

  "I need a friend with steady hands and a willingness to not ask too many questions."

  He stared at me for a long moment, then nodded, rolling his sleeves up.

  "Alright. But if you start sprouting tentacles next, you’re on your own."

  I grinned despite myself. "Deal. Now, where do you want me?"

  Gonzo grabbed a stool and patted it. "Sit. This is going to be the weirdest thing I’ve ever done in this garage."

  I sat, pulling my hair aside as the weight of it fell over one shoulder.

  He exhaled, adjusted his grip on the saw, and brought it close to the stubby protrusion on my back.

  "Alright," he muttered. "Hold tight."

  It hurt like hell, but having someone else handle it—with better tools—made all the difference. By the time it was over, I was drenched in sweat and smeared in blood, trembling but oddly satisfied.

  Gonzo watched, wide-eyed, as Flo swept her hand over my back, the faint shimmer of magic sealing the wounds until only smooth skin remained.

  I stepped back, taking in the results through the floating mirror Flo conjured.

  “Doctor Gonzo,” I grinned, running a hand over my shoulder blades, “your patient is thrilled!”

  “You look… amazing. There’s not even a scar,” he said, his fingers brushing lightly across my back—then he froze mid-motion.

  His eyes locked on something behind me, and I turned just in time to see her.

  Helen.

  Not my Helen from school—the other Helen. Helen the gamer.

  A basket full of groceries tumbled from her arms, spilling apples and bread across the workshop floor.

  Fucking hell.

  He had a date with her.

  And she was early.

  I don’t know how long we stood there—frozen, eyes locked—before she suddenly turned and bolted.

  “Should I make her forget?” I whispered, barely glancing at Gonzo.

  He shook his head, but I caught the flicker of fear behind his eyes.

  “No. I’ll talk to her.”

  Without another word, he took off after her.

  I sighed, watching him disappear through the door. I’d done it again, hadn’t I? I could erase their memories—wipe the whole thing clean—but I didn’t.

  By the time I stepped out of the garage, they were gone. His car wasn’t there anymore.

  Did I make the right call? I had no clue.

  I stayed behind, cleaning the workshop—scrubbing out blood stains, gathering the severed horns and wings. Ten minutes passed, and with no sign of him, I left a note on the table:

  Sorry for the mess and the trouble. Call me if you need anything.

  —Dolores.