Page 64 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

“Now what?” Alphonse asked expectantly. “Untangling it like a ball of yarn, eh?”

“I think I can pick away at it,” Elizabeth said, “but I don’t know how long that will take.”

“Try something,” Deepa suggested through gritted teeth.

“I don’t suppose we can just yank it out, like snapping a thread,” said Aaliyah.

“That seems rash,” said Jacobi, contributing to the discussion for the first time. He was a man of few words, at least in mixed company, preferring to keep himself to himself until the situation — which was often either a case of Alphonse putting his foot in his mouth, or Aaliyah charging forth like a bull in a China shop — compelled him to politely intervene.

“You want it broken, don't you?” Aaliyah asked her. “By any means necessary? It doesn’t seem like the sort of curse that can up and kill you. Breaking it by force might not feel pleasant, but I doubt it’ll do you any serious harm.”

“Try it. Just…stand by in case anything goes wrong.”

Cherie scooted forward to pat Deepa’s knee reassuringly. “I’ll come up with something to tell your mother if we accidentally kill you.”

“Let's not let it get that far,” Deepa advised. “Now, how are we going to do this?”

In tandem, Elizabeth and Coxley worked to draw the curse-magic out, and it wriggled forth, wormlike, from Deepa’s chest. As soon as they had unwound a smidge of it from where it had her heart in a parasitic grip, Jasmine leapt into action, coaxing it into the open air as a sculptor coaxes art from solid stone.

Phillip’s magic was a sickly yellowish green, an ugly colour befitting an ugly man, or perhaps only turned ugly because of the curse itself, like Phillip's intent had soured the magic against its will and turned it rancid. It writhed through the air, thrashing like a fish in Jasmine’s masterful grip, until it was drawn out in a long, taut line. Staring at it, Deepa was sick to her stomach, furious and disgusted that it had been inside her, and that she’d let it stay so long before trying to force it out.

“Hold still,” Aaliyah ordered, kneeling upright with both hands raised like she was waiting to catch something about to be violently lobbed her way.

Reaching out with her own magic, she wrapped it around the curse with a firm hand, like tying two lengths of parallel rope together. When she was satisfied that it was secure, she commanded her magic to give it a good, firm yank, trying to pull the curse out of Deepa with sheer strength.

The force yanked Deepa forward with it, and she fell to her hands and knees with an unladylike grunt. Aaliyah was strong, but the curse was brittle, and instead of getting pulled all the way out, it snapped like an old, dried-out elastic and rocketed back inside her, slapping her hard enough to knock her back again.

With a snarl, Deepa shook her head got to her feet, tense all over and irritated that she had entertained Aaliyah’s reckless idea.

“Oh my,” Elizabeth said nervously. “So, that’s how that works.”

“Fascinating,” Coxley breathed, leaning forward with his hands on his knees.

Deepa took stock of herself. She was a leopard again, though it was barely mid-afternoon. Thoroughly fed up, she marched over to Aaliyah where the other woman was sitting back on her heels, and gave her a sharp, reprimanding shove right in the chest with one great paw.

“Sorry,” Aaliyah said ruefully. “I really thought that might work.”

Gently, Jasmine said, “Let’s get you put back.”

Deepa levelled her with a glare as well, not feeling particularly magnanimous towards anyone present, but she sat down, tail wrapped firmly around her paws, and waited. A twitch of movement caught her eye from the side, and she whipped her head around to catch Alphonse reaching forward with onetentative hand, as if he meant to pet her. At her look, he immediately jerked back, nearly swallowing his own tongue in the process, and sat on his hands to keep from giving into future temptation.

“It’s alright,” said Elizabeth. “I think I saw what happened. Let me just tease that curse-magic out again, and we should be able to get you back on two legs.”

“Do you lose your clothes every time you transform?” Coxley asked, and Deepa glanced down to find that her back paws were tangled in the remains of her dress, which had torn quite dramatically at the seams when it was suddenly asked to accommodate a ten-stone cat rather than a woman.

She’d liked that dress, she thought mournfully. It wasn’t one of Elizabeth’s works, nor particularly expensive, but it had been flattering enough for what it was. Sitting there, she allowed herself to wallow in self-pity for the full three minutes it took her friends to undo the transformation. It was nice, in a way, to be able to feel so abjectly miserable without anyone being able to read her expression.

As soon as she was a woman again, she pulled herself together and set to work figuring out the next course of action. Her friends couldn't break the curse for her, so she had to try something else.

First, she needed clothes. Faced with her sudden nakedness, Arthur and Jacobi both politely cleared their throats and looked away, abruptly interested in the ceiling and windows. Alphonse turned bright red and turned around completely, giving her his back. Coxley was unbothered, having seen her naked before, and for a much longer period of time. Aliyah just sighed and got to her feet, as if curses and leopard-women were inconveniences she dealt with every day.

“Come on,” she said. “You're too tall to fit in any of my clothes, but I'll lend you a robe to get you home.”

“I'm going to have to tell my mother, aren’t I,” Deepa said despondently in the bedroom as Aaliyah wrapped her in a light, summery robe, tying the sash firmly around Deepa’s waist.

“Maybe she’ll have some brilliant solution in mind,” Aaliyah offered. “Maybe she has some secret experience with curses, and knows how to break them cleanly.”

“She believes in love.”

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