She turns her head and levels the psychic with a murderous look.
“You can’t have him,” Piper says. “He’s mine.”
The psychic tilts her head. “Are you sure about that?”
“Completely.” Then Piper turns to me, grabs my jaw, and licks my fucking face.
Full eye contact.
She turns back to the psychic. “I licked it,” she says calmly. “So it’s mine.”
It?
The psychic nods thoughtfully. “Fair.”
I pull Piper closer. “You’re a territorial little thing, aren’t you?”
She looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes and dark lashes. “Careful, I’ll start peeing on you.”
I can’t hold it back any longer. I burst out laughing.
As the night continues, the engineer gets excited about bridge tension cables, and the psychic keeps touching crystals and checking if my aura has shifted. Someone tells Piper she has “festival spirit.” She cries because she thinks it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to her. Someone asks her to play violin, but she refuses.
At one point, she grabs my hand. “Hold this.”
“Why?”
“So I don’t float away.”
I hold it and watch the fire burn.
The guitar player switches songs three times without finishing one.
Piper leans back against my chest. “See,” she whispers. “Not a cult.”
I kiss the top of her head and wrap my arms around her shoulders. “Definitely a cult.”
Thirty-Nine
Piper
I wake up because something is attacking my skull.
It takes ten seconds to realize it’s my heartbeat.
Another ten to realize I’m alive.
Another ten to question if that’s good news.
I peel one eye open. The tent is tilted… or I’m tilted. Hard to know. My tongue feels like it’s been replaced with an old towel, and my joints ache.
I try to sit up, but my body says no, so I lie back down and groan loudly.
There’s a grunt beside me.
Griffin rolls over, hair everywhere. The blanket is half on, half off, and his shirt is missing.
He squints at me. “Stop making noises.”
