“We’ve got a deadline,” I growl. “No matter what, I’ll get this project finished, and I won’t be breaking concrete.” The guys are silent as they study their hands. “And another thing,” I add. “Who dropped that pile of bricks on the wrong side of the site? They left a mess.”
Without looking up, Isaac answers with, “That was Antoine. New guy.”
“Fire him.”
Ron stops organizing the cards in his hand. “I thought you said, ‘Fire him.’ Must be hearing things.”
“You’re not. Fire. Him.”
“The guy’s got kids, a family. Trying to make a fresh start,” Isaac tells me, like I’m supposed to be someone who cares.
“Not my problem.”
The table goes silent except for Clarice, who gives a low whistle. “You’re not like your brother, are you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.
“Means whatever you think it does.” She sets the bowl of milk beside the lambicorn. The sheep laps it up like its life depends on it. “Poor thing’s thirsty.”
“I didn’t ask to be its mom,” I grouch. “Would you like to have it? You can own a magical creature for free. People would pay millions for such an adorable thing. It might even have magic, though I don’t know what that is yet, other than the gift to follow me everywhere.”
“Better a creature than a human,” Isaac mumbles.
“What’s that?” I ask.
Isaac rearranges the cards in his hand and doesn’t look up when he replies, “People and magic don’t mix well in Mystic Meadows.”
“You said that before. What’s it about?”
He hitches a shoulder to his ear. “There are stories.”
“What kind?”
McCauley pipes up when Isaac doesn’t answer. “There’s one about a garden. But what I remember is about a guy who lived outside town—named Tom. This was when the magic was really strong, so over twenty years ago. Folks said he could light candles without touching them, among other things. Then one day he vanished. No note. Just a burned-down house and a lot of rumors.”
“But that doesn’t mean someone hurt him,” I challenge.
“Doesn’tnotmean it,” Ron says darkly.
“All you need to know is that magic and animals, good,” Isaac explains. “People and magic, bad. But I wouldn’t worry about it. That lambicorn looks partial to you.”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me, but I’m not interested. I don’t even know why I care so much aboutnotcaring.”
That’s not true. I know, and I don’t like it. Frustration bunches up my muscles, and I exhale a sigh so hard my lungs deflate. Everything in me shifts, coils, like I’ve got to explain it.
Before I can stop myself, I grumble, “When you grew up believing your dad didn’t give a shit about you—a lie concocted by your own mother—the last thing a person’s interested in is being responsible for something that can be hurt.”
There’s a long stretch of quiet at the table. My insides feel raw, jagged, the edges razor sharp.
Good God. Why don’t I just open my mouth and vomit all my secrets? It’s that woman. First my mom called, and then Coco spun me out of control.
“It was all Sylvia Maddox being Sylvia Maddox,” I add bitterly. “Besides, do I look like a mother to any of you?”
McCauley eyes me. “Get rid of that scruff on your face and maybe you could pass for female.”
“Ha ha. Hysterical. I can see why my brother likes hanging out with the three of you.”
Ron talks around a mouthful of potato chips. “Before all that stuff came up with Coco, it looked like the two of y’all were getting along.”
