Fuck, this is bad. It’s so bad. It hasn’t been bearable for even a breath.
I thought I was ready for it—losing him. I thought I’d been bracing for it, for months. But I couldn’t know how awful it would be. And I have a feeling it’s just starting, that I’m still in the slow-motion part of it—that scene in a film where someone takes a bullet, then it takes ten seconds for their face to fall and another eternity before they clutch their chest. I’m in that scene, and my hand hasn’t even reached my heart yet. I’m still opening my mouth to scream.
“Turn off that music!” Fiona shouts from the next room. “No emo shit in my flat.”
Iamemo shit. “This is electronic soul,” I mutter.
“It’s crap!”
I sit up and rub my face with my shirt. I should corner Fiona while I have a chance. I should make sure she doesn’t get arrested again. I should talk to her about Daphne. The world hasn’t stopped turning just because I’m dead and slowly dying. It could still get worse.
I stand up, and the blood drains from my head. I give myself a second, then walk into the kitchen. The kettle’s on, and Fiona’s reaching into the fridge.
“Where have you been?” I ask.
“Working. I do have a job.” My aunt is a vampire hunter now. The Coven gave her a warrant card. At some point, I should probably talk to her—I should probably talk tosomeone—about what I’ve learned about vampires. (The fact that they may not all be murderers. That some of them are more like sexy bedbugs.) If I thought Fiona was any good at vampire hunting, I’d make it a higher priority.
I lean heavily on the open refrigerator door, resting my elbows on it. “That’s why you’ve ignored my texts all week? Too busy working?”
She stands up, holding milk in one hand and ham in the other. She’s got a plum in her mouth. She shrugs.
I relieve her of the milk. “Fiona.”
She spits out the plum. “Is this about your stepmother? Christ, is that what’s got you all cut up?”
“What do you know about Daphne? Have you spoken to her?”
Fiona drops the ham onto the counter and starts slapping together a sandwich. “What Iknowis that your father’s marriage isn’t any of your business.”
“I’ve been talking to Mordelia—”
“Who isnotmy blood relative.”
“Well, she’s mine, and she hasn’t seen her mother in weeks. From what I can tell, Daphne’s either joined a cult or run off with another man.”
“Neither would surprise me.” Fiona gets out two mugs and goes for the kettle. “You know, under the old laws, your father is still married to your mother; those children aren’t even legitimate . . .”
I drop into a chair at the kitchen table, rubbing my forehead. “Curses, you’re impossible. Daphne is a lovely person.”
Fiona “pffft”s and sits across from me with her sandwich. She shoves a mug of tea in my direction. “Doesn’t make her your business. You can’t interfere in a marriage, Baz, legitimate or otherwise. If Daphne and your father are having troubles, that’s for them to work out.”
I press my fingers into my eyes.
“You really do look frightful,” she says, still chewing. “Do you need to, you know . . .”
I need to replace every single person in my life with someone more functional, is what I need. “Do I need to what?”
“Youknow. . .” she says.
Is my aunt asking me if I need to getlaid?
She pushes her eye teeth over her bottom lip. “Youknow.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
She holds up both her hands, in surrender. One is holding a ham sandwich. “Just looking out for you. No need to get chippy.”
“No, I don’t need toyou know.” I do, actually, but this isn’t something we justtalk about.“I need you to focus. What if Daphne’s got herself into real trouble?”
