I’d take Dolly Parton hair-anything but this unnatural, blaring shade of platinum purple. I’d even settle for light brown, or blonde. Heaven above, I’d love it if she could return my hair to its normal dark, dark brown. Her heels clacked on the tiled foyer and stopped. It certainly kept things from getting boring.

“Well, hey,” I said, opening the door on a bathroom with gold plastered walls and an antique sink, “adventure is good.” Most of the time. “I honestly can’t figure out why I picked it,” she said, sounding a little lost. Hillary’s gaze traveled over the room, as if cataloging everything she’d like to change. “I know this house isn’t something you’d normally choose, but I like it.” “Thanks.” I wrapped my hand on the faceted crystal handle and paused. “The bathroom is right through there,” Hillary said, pointing to a door near the foot of the staircase. Maybe my demon slayer lifestyle really had warped my brain. A classic staircase wound up to a second floor landing that boasted an impressive collection of medieval weapons, all within reach. Large red and silver patterned rugs decorated the floor and tapestries hung from the carved wood walls. We passed a formal dining room and a sitting room on the left, before we entered a spacious foyer. The hallway was lined with oil paintings of nighttime landscapes and long-dead Victorians posing in uncomfortable clothes. “Follow me,” she said, placing her wine on the counter. If I’d given her more time, it would have been frightening to see what she could do. Hillary was a master at planning and organizing. “You can.” It was the God’s honest truth. “Most of the pictures they sent were of the gardens,” she said, touching a wine droplet at the rim of her glass. “Like with this house?” I liked it, but it was so not Hillary. “It’s true things don’t always turn out like we plan,” she ventured. “For the record, I hate having purple hair.” “Or better yet, don’t.” She’d tell mom the truth. I looked down to the recycled Smuckers jar in my hand, with the Mind Wiper spell plastered up against it like a lovesick puppy. With the clothes and the hair and that awful belt…and what are you holding?” She ran her manicured finger up and down the stem. “It’s not like I can keep up with Grandma while wearing heirloom pearls and driving an electric car.” Yes, life had changed since I’d last seen her. She watched me carefully as she poured two glasses of Sauvignon Blanc.

Darkwood hideout 3 biker