The Changeling (Book One of The Síofra Chronicles) Read Free

dancing. We are absolutely not hitting up any frat parties. Every time you drag me to one, it falls apart or the campus police show up, and I really don't want to get mixed up in all that mess this time. We'll go dance for a little while and make it home without any drama."
    Becca's face split into a broad smile and she mimed drawing an x over her heart.
    “Why would we hit up any frat parties? We’re just going dancing! Now we need to get you dressed!  I have just the thing!” she said with a grin.
    Grabbing my hand and dragging me into her bedroom, she rifled through her closets for something she would deem appropriate for a night out on the town.  My shoulders drooped and I allowed myself to be pulled along, conceding defeat.  One day, I would get used to Becca treating me like her own living, breathing Barbie doll, but today wasn’t going to be that day. 
     
    ***
    What the hell did I get myself into?
    I felt like a walking disco ball. After rejecting the two miniskirts and the even shorter dress she had thrust into my hands, Miguel settled the dispute by reaching into her closet and pulling out a silvery top, a pair of skinny black jeans, and four-inch glittered high heels that threatened to send me to the hospital with a sprained ankle just by looking at them. I was already iffy about the clothes but knew better than to think it would end there.
    I was right.
    Becca hauled me off to the bathroom to paint my face into what I could only assume looked like a cheap hooker while Miguel straightened my curls with a flat iron.  By the time they handed me a mirror, I was terrified that I wouldn’t look anything like myself. 
    I was right again.
    I inhaled sharply, surprised by my own reflection. Becca's mastery with a makeup brush had brought out the clear jade green of my eyes, and the mascara made my already thick eyelashes thicker and darker. My pale skin glowed like a lustrous pearl, and my red hair cascaded over my shoulders in a sleek silk curtain. I barely recognized myself. I looked more confident than I felt, like a girl ready to take the world head-on instead of one who was being dragged kicking and screaming into it while wearing shoes completely unsuited for kicking and  screaming.
    Pulse was the newest club in town, and there was already a line stretching halfway down the block. Being one of the few nightspots for those under the legal drinking age, it was a big hit with the college crowd, and I groaned at the sight.  I hated places like this. I always felt so out of place, yet somehow I let my friends drag me here—even on my own birthday—because I didn’t have the heart to tell them how much I disliked it. My feet were already starting to hurt from teetering around in Becca's too tall heels, and I thought longingly of my flannel pajama pants and the stack of DVDs waiting for me at home.
    "I don't think we're going to get in, guys. This line is way too long. It's not too late to call it a night and veg out in front of the television," I said hopefully.
    "The hell you say," Becca grinned, grabbing my hand and dragging me to the front of the line.  She tilted her head so that she was looking up at the bouncer through her long eyelashes and flashed her most disarming smile at him.
    "I don't suppose there's room for three more, is there? It's my friend's birthday, and I would hate to see her spending it out in the cold after I insisted that we go out dancing to celebrate." She pulled me closer to her side and wrapped her arm around my waist, fluttering her eyelashes.
    To nobody's surprise, it worked.
    There wasn’t a person alive who could resist Becca's smile, and before I knew it, the three of us were ushered in the door. It was small, but the sight took my breath away nonetheless. There were long mirrors secured to each of the walls, giving it the impression that there was more space than actually existed. A long dark bar was along the wall farthest from us, and small tables scattered around the