“So, we can get drunk there every Friday night, but I can’t sport the merch?”
Monday’s brows snapped together. “And Phoenix Wildes has nothing to do with it?”
“What are you implying?”
My eyes bounced between them like a tennis match.
“I see the way you look at him every Friday night with thosefuck-meeyes,” Monday said, and the two continued back and forth. At my side, Kioni shoved an entire Whoopie Pie into her mouth. I grabbed the bottle from Fable’s distracted hand, unscrewed the cap.
Kioni leaned to the side and dropped her mouth to my ear. “Are ‘ey a’way’ ‘ike ‘is?” she asked, her mouth full and eyes on the girls arguing.
I nodded. “Pretty much.”
Kioni swallowed, then clapped her hand once. “Fable Sullivan, I have an idea on how to settle this,” she stated. “Want to meet your husband tonight?” The two girls snapped their heads toward Kioni, and Kioni’s smile spiked in the corner. I admired the way she so easily broke up the tension. “Come on, it’s October.” She shrugged. “Or have you done it before?”
“No way,” Fable shook her head. “I haven’t and I won’t. I’m not messing with my fate. I don’t want to know.”
“Afraid to see Phoenix in the mirror?” Monday asked, and turned to Kioni and me. “I’ll do it.”
“Do what?” I asked.
“During the month of October, they say if you go into a pitch-black room with a candle, stare into the mirror, you will see your one true love’s reflection over your shoulder,” Kioni explained.
“It’s just a superstition,” Monday added and waved her hand out in front of her. “Fallon doesn’t believe in those sorts of things.”
“So, I’m the perfect subject,” I said, then looked to Kioni. “I’ll do it.”
“But if you see him, it’ll fuck with your head, and you could subconsciously screw things up without knowing,” Fable replied lazily, the effects of alcohol getting to her. “You can’t have your cakeandeat it.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Yeah, I’ll take my chances,” I said, rising to my feet. “What do I have to do?”
“Fallon Morgan, look at you.” Monday smiled a sly smile from below. She leaned over and reached for the base of the candlestick holder, held it up for me. “Take this and go to the bathroom.”
“She has to eat an apple,” Fable stated and looked up at me with glossy hazel eyes. “You have to eat an apple, or it won’t work.”
“She doesn’t have to eat the apple, she just has to peel it,” Kioni corrected her.
I looked between all three of them, the hot wax dripping over my fingers. “You guys are so strange.”
Five minutes later, I was standing in front of a mirror in the downstairs bathroom. The candle reflected a soft glow around my face in the mirror as it sat on the sink. I held the apple in one hand, a peeler in the other.
“This is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” I told myself, then tore my eyes from the mirror and began to peel the bright red skin into one coiling spiral. The color reminded me of Julian’s lips. It had been long—too long—since I’d tasted them, since I’d felt them on my mouth. The last time I’d seen Julian was at Gramps’ funeral, which had been days.
I had never expected him to be the one to make it so memorable for me or for his coven to be supportive.
Julian hadn’t returned to the balcony since then, and my chest ached, missing him. My fingers gripped the peeler tighter. Adrop!...drop!…drop!… sounded like a heartbeat from the leaky faucet, and flashing sheets of rain pounded against the bathroom window.
I kept my focus on the apple and what my hands were doing, unsure if I wanted to do this, or if I was even doing this right. But I couldn’t stop either. Something took possession of me as my fingers kept moving, the apple spinning between them. The air was cold all around me, and the small hairs on my arms stood straight, a soft buzz in the room.
“Fallon.” The whisper of my name weaved into the air, but I kept peeling, my body humming. “Look at me.” A deep voice so soft and angelic.
I shook my head, kept peeling and peeling and peeling. Julian wasn’t here, and even while I thought that, it hurt somewhere inside me. Julian wasn’t here. Perhaps if I said it often enough, I would start to believe it. And it wouldn’t hurt as much.
Julian wasn’t here.
The peeler sliced my finger, and the apple dropped from my hands. Blood ran red over the white porcelain and down the sink’s drain. I watched as the blood dripped from my finger, and my gaze followed the crimson current. Hypnotized, my eyes grew lazy as the blood moved into a pattern, drawing a shape by an invisible finger. Crossing patterns at first, until it made up a star. A five-pointed star.
“Fallon,” the voice came again, along with a drop in temperature. White mist clouded from my lips. It was so cold.
