Page 3 of Victorious

And he never, ever smirked.

“You wear him like an ill-fitting suit. So why don’t you change?” It was an order in the guise of a suggestion.

Mitch’s mouth pursed. “But I’ve taken a liking to this one.”

He drew the gun from his pocket. Let it hang from his fingers.

“Come now,” she said. “We both know you’ll run out of bullets before I run out of bodies. Besides,” she added, rubbing the back of Mitch’s neck, “you wouldn’t want to hurt your pal.”

Victor took a step forward. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Mitch’s head tipped to one side. “Perhaps that’s why you’re all alone.”

Another step, the space between them narrowing.

“Or perhaps it’s ’cause you can’t use your power.”

Victor’s jaw clenched. “And what makes you think that?”

June laughed, the sound caught somewhere between Mitch’s rumble and her own strange lilt. “You think I just stumbled across you in a bar? Give a girl some credit.”

Victor hit the catch on the gun, ejecting the clip, and with it, a length of steel wire that ran between the magazine and the grip.

He’d thought of June more than once in the weeks since they met on bad terms and parted on worse. She was the only person Victor had found who was seemingly immune to his powers, when he had them. The only way to hurt June was to hurt the real her, and that was the one body she never wore.

But it was there, somewhere, under all those skins.

He spun the magazine end of the gun before snapping it out, the wire looping around Mitch’s right wrist. The stolen eyes widened in surprise as Victor pulled, and the steel cord cinched, locked in place by the magazine. “Oh, aren’t we full of tri—”

Before she could finish, Victor pulled hard, hard enough for the wire to bite down, blood welling on Mitch’s skin. Somewhere, the real Mitch would feel it. For that he was sorry.

This body only responded by slamming a boot into Victor’s ribs. Pain cracked across his abdomen, but he moved with the force of the blow, wrenching Mitch’s body off-balance. He was a big man—clearly bigger than June was used to wearing—and she stumbled, one knee hitting the floor. Before she could shove back up, Victor pinned the length of wire under his shoe and drew it tight, forcing Mitch’s wrist down against the tile.

It almost looked like she was swearing an oath.

“If you came to kill me,” said Victor, “you’ll have to do it wearing someone else.”

June scoffed and shook Mitch’s head. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Victor. I don’t want you dead.”

That was a surprise. He frowned. “Then what do you want?”

She looked up at him with Mitch’s stolen face, mischief shining in the eyes.

“Well,” she said. “For starters, how ’bout a drink?”

IINOW. THEN.

TEN minutes later, they’d traded the men’s bathroom for a corner booth, and June had traded Victor’s cellmate for a curly brunette in a peasant dress.

But it didn’t matter what she looked like.

When his powers were online, he’d been able to pick her out by the current, the energy signature, as specific as a thumbprint. Even now, as she met his eyes over a bottled beer, Victor could see the real June, glinting like a blade behind them.

“You were a hard man to find.”

“And yet,” said Victor, “here you are.”

“Here I am,” echoed June. Her smile sharpened.