Who shaped us.
And protected us.
On a top bunk bed, Uncle Ryke sits beside his wife—my Aunt Daisy, the owner of Camp Calloway and Sulli’s mom: blonde hair chopped unevenly and a long scar down her cheek. She swings her legs over the side of the bunk, and her bright eyes flit to Ryke’s darkened ones.
He looks pissed. But I don’t know…that’s his usual expression.
Below him, on the ground, my mom rests on a black trunk. Plastic baggie of trail mix on her lap, she shovels a handful in her mouth. Nervous.She’s nervous.
My mom tugs at my dad’s crew-neck shirt. Like she wants him to sit, too. He shakes his head, leaning against the post of another bunk bed. Arms crossed.
Eyes daggered.
I look to Jane’s parents. Uncle Connor and Aunt Rose stand all-powerful. Side-by-side, hand-in-hand, armored for battle like a king and queen.
Only, I can’t tell who they prepare to fight. I glance at each of them again. About how they positioned two chairs for us to face them.
Is this an interrogation?
“I’m glad all of you are here,” I say, giving them the benefit of the doubt. “We should talk about how to deal with the article.” I pause when they remain quiet.
My mom shoots her sister Rose a cagey look.Jesus.
Ryke is staring hard at my hand in Jane’s—Jane shakes her hand out of mine.What.
I whip my head to each of them. Not able to glare at all six fast enough. “It’sfalse. Christ, I shouldn’t even have to say that.”
Connor takes the reins. “We just have some questions.” Jane’s dad is the voice of reason. He’ll be the first one to understand. Everyone else is dramatic—but still, howthe fuckcould they believe this, even for a second?
Or maybe they don’t believe it.
Maybe their doubt is just my paranoia leaking into common sense. They’re family. They’d never combat us.
Jane straightens, her chair creaking. “What kind of questions?”
“Nous avons besoin d'explications, mon coeur.”We need explanations, my heart.
“No French,” my dad tells him.
Rose speaks, voice icy. “Weall need to be on the same page. We can’t let this divide us.” Her piercing yellow-green eyes drill holes into pretty much everyone. Even her husband.
“That’s what we want,” I say, my shoulders squared. I’m ready to resolve this and move on.
“Good.” Connor nods. “Let’s start with the night the cats escaped. Why were you in your underwear?”
Why the fuck would that need clarification? “We were playing a drinking game.”
Jane adds, “Sober participants had to strip instead of take a sip.”
“And we were usingyourrules.” My gaze swings up to Uncle Ryke.
Ryke rocks back like I sucker-punched him. “Myrules? No fucking way. You can thank Cobalt for that one.”
I grimace at Uncle Connor. “You came up with the stripping rule?” He’s the polished one—and he drinks. I always thought it had to be either my dad or Ryke.
“We’re one question in and this is already being derailed,” he says, “andyes, I did. Back to that same night?—”
“Hallow Friends Eve,” Lily clarifies.
