“Just don't start blubbering or something. Witches don't like that. A couple tears when the situation dictates, okay. Full on sobbing when no one died? Awkward. Especially with your sister there. She'll demote you for that alone.”
“We're the same rank. She can't demote me, first of all. Second, I'm not going to blubber. I'm perfectly fine. As long as Providence hasn't messed with her mind, we'll be fine.” I pick up my pace, forcing Dimitri to stumble in my wake.
As her house comes into view, I slow down. “Maybe you should stay here. Just wait for Providence to show up.”
“What? You don't want me there for your reunion?”
I walk away without answering. I don't have to talk to Clara, though I have a feeling I won't be able to resist if I see her. Her house remains vine free so I doubt it's been too long. Unless shemoved. Or hired someone to deal with them. Or maybe it's been a hundred years and she's…no. That doesn't make sense. Time may move differently, but notthatdifferently.
I peek in the front window, trying to catch a glimpse of her. My heart hammers in my chest when she comes into view. She looks…good. Frazzled, but good. With her dark hair in a messy bun and a flush on her cheeks, she takes my breath away. I swallow hard, at war with myself on whether to knock.
Clara blows a strand of hair from her face and stomps out of view. Providence hasn't shown up, and Clara seems fine. I should walk away—go back to Hell and deal with my slowly imploding existence. I should rank up and remove the temptation of coming back here. I should do a lot of things, yet my feet are rooted to the ground. One more glimpse of her is all I need.
“Omen, stop,” Dimitri hisses from behind me and I glance over my shoulder. He waves his hand frantically, and I huff before making my way back to him.
I'm only halfway when relief washes over me at the familiar tug in my gut. My face splits into a grin as I vanish, then reappear in Clara's bedroom. Her scent hits me hard and emotions tumble through me, threatening to bring me to my knees. A string of muttered curses floats from the attached bathroom, and I shuffle to the side.
She's hunched over the toilet, her shoulders jerking up and down. I have no idea what she's doing, but I don't think she's hurt. We've had enough of that to last us a lifetime. She pauses, wheezing as she straightens and tips her head back.
“This never would have happened in Hell,” she mutters. “Magic would have magically taken care of it.”
I smirk at her statement, then sober, clearing my throat.
She doesn't squeal or startle, merely huffs in response. “You've got to be fucking kidding me.”
She turns slowly and we stare at each other. I drink her in, searching for any changes. Nothing. She looks exactly like she did the last time I saw her. I don't know what I expected, but it's both comforting and unnerving. Asking her how long it's been on this plane seems ill-advised. Especially since she's glaring at me.
“Hello, little witch.”
“Hello? That's all you got?” she growls. “You teleport my ass out of Hell without so much as a conversation, then show up with just a simple hello? Fuck you, Omen.”
She spins around and continues messing with the toilet. I want to ask her how long it's been, how she is, if she's missed me. Instead, my mind goes blank.
“What are you doing?”
“Plunging the toilet. Your fucking cat knocked an entire roll of toilet paper in and I didn't notice. Half the thing dissolved and got stuck.” She whips around and shoves a finger at me. “And don't even tell me I should have fished it out. I did and it still plugged up. So, unless you're here to take over, I don't need any tips or pointers or advice or whatever else you're selling.”
I hum as she spins around. I could leave her to it or…I grab her around the waist and lift her. She does squeal this time and my palms tingle. I set her in the shower.
“What am I doing here?” I ask as I gaze at the stick poking from the bowl.
“I have no idea what the hell you're doing, Omen,” she shrieks. She shoves the glass door open as if she'll climb out.
“I'm fixing your toilet, but I don't know what plunging is.”
A hysterical laugh leaves her, and she stops fighting with the door. “There's a suction cup at the bottom of the handle. You put it over the hole and push it up and down. A lot. And you might get toilet water on yourself. It might leak or splash out ofthe bowl. In fact, it's almost impossible not to. So why don't you just…go back to Hell and let me deal with this.”
I glance at her and raise an eyebrow. “I thought you said to take over? That's what I'm doing.”
“I don't need your help,” she snarls.
“Yet here I am,” I murmur, then get to work.
It's not easy, especially with Clara trying to clamber from the shower every thirty seconds. My shadows decide to make an unexpected appearance, and they hold her in place. She yelps and I smirk as I start plunging. It isn't easy with the suction part slipping every few seconds. Plus, it keeps getting stuck in a weird position. The damn cup keeps flipping in on itself.
“Why don't you just do that weird snapping thing,” she asks, irritation lining her voice.
“Magic's been wonky,” I mutter as I focus on not spilling the water over the lip.
