Thoroughly Kissed by Kristine Grayson Page B

You cannot come to court looking as if you’ve been swimming with your clothes on.”
    She snapped her fingers and Emma found herself wearing a silk suit. It was a shade of purple she never wore at home, but she had to admit that it set off her hair. Even her shoes were purple. Her hair was up just like the Fates’ and a briefcase sat at her feet.
    â€œThere,” Lachesis said. “Much better.”
    â€œWe were discussing your magic,” Atropos said. “And your freedom, although I do not see how the two are tied.”
    Emma took a step forward and nearly tripped over the briefcase. She resisted the urge to kick it aside. Her head was spinning. Too much had happened since that morning—which was precisely why she was here.
    â€œI’m just getting used to having lost a thousand years of my life,” she said. “I wasn’t ready to learn magic.”
    â€œThat’s not our concern,” Clotho said.
    â€œIt seems that you’ve adapted quite well to your new life,” Lachesis said.
    â€œYou’ve all that your culture says you should have,” Atropos said.
    â€œLife,” Clotho said.
    â€œLiberty,” Lachesis said.
    â€œAnd the ability to pursue happiness,” Atropos said.
    â€œThat’s not how it goes,” Clotho whispered.
    â€œThat’s what that delightful redhead told me,” Atropos whispered back.
    â€œWhat redhead?” Lachesis said.
    â€œThe one who claimed he wrote those words. Very tall. Knows a lot for a mortal, especially a dead mortal.”
    â€œExcuse me,” Emma said. “We’re not discussing Thomas Jefferson.”
    â€œWe are,” Atropos said.
    â€œIt seems appropriate in a place like this,” Clotho said.
    â€œI suppose we could be discussing that other one,” Lachesis said.
    â€œMadison?” Atropos asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHamilton?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWashington?”
    â€œHe was only a president. All the major decisions were made during the Continental Congress. I remember because Benjamin Franklin was about to let his true abilities slip that night he got drunk with John Adams and we had to—”
    â€œHey!” Emma shouted.
    The Fates all stared at her. Emma swallowed. Her temper was flaring. She took several deep breaths, trying yet again to control it.
    â€œI am only thirty years old,” Emma said. “I’m not supposed to come into my magic yet.”
    â€œMy dear,” Clotho said softly. “I know this is a delicate subject for a woman, but you are in truth one thousand and forty years old.”
    â€œYou should have come into your magic nine hundred and ninety years ago,” Atropos said.
    â€œBut you were in a coma,” Lachesis said.
    â€œA magical one,” Clotho said.
    â€œAnd even we do not entirely understand magical comas. Perhaps the Powers that Be—”
    And with that all three Fates bowed their heads and spread out their hands in a reflexive movement, the way a Catholic might cross himself.
    â€œâ€”determined that no mage could come into her powers while unconscious,” Atropos finished.
    â€œThat certainly would be unfair,” Clotho said.
    â€œImagine if she dreamed in her coma,” Lachesis said. “Why the very air around that glass coffin would have been—”
    â€œExcuse me,” Emma said again, trying very hard not to yell. “I would like to stay on topic here.”
    â€œI thought we were on topic,” Atropos said.
    â€œFor someone who has come to us, you are very rude,” Clotho said.
    Emma closed her eyes. She was making a mess of this too.
    â€œRudeness is a part of her new culture,” Lachesis said. “I understand that no one knows which fork to use anymore.”
    â€œI had heard that multiple forks aren’t the issue,” Atropos said. “That even on the most elegant tables, the silverware has been reduced down to a