I can’t get my thoughts in order enough to even tell him what I’m thinking. He doesn’t rush me or try to finish my sentences. As much as I love Percy, she’d be throwing out suggestions about what I’m feeling. Lark wouldn’t even bother letting me work through things on my own. She’d hand me the answer since she knows me so well. Then again, if she did, she wouldn’t have disappeared without a trace. She’d know what it would do to me. Unless I was a necessary casualty in her quest for knowledge.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she fell so deeply into magical lore she forgot what the consequences would be. If she just would have called me, I could have warned her. I’m sure my insistence all these years to leave well enough alone made her second-guess talking to me. I don’t blame her. It’s exactly what I would have done.
“I need something,” I whisper, throwing caution to the wind. I’ll loosen the reins just enough—trust him just a little.
“What kind of something?” He glances around the room at the many items strewn about.
“Not something witches usually have.”
His eyes narrow, and I swear recognition flares in his eyes, though he can’t possibly know I’m looking for a book. His nostrils flare, and a curse forms on his lips. Then he disappears.
“Of fucking course.”
“Percy, we’re going out. Don’t care where. Don’t care what we do. I just need out of this house.”
I shouldn’t be taking out my piss-poor attitude on her. She’s not to blame for the mess in the living room. Or the fact I still don’t have any leads on my sister. It’s not her fault that every time I stop moving, Dimitri pops into my head.
I imagine he poofed off to Hell. Again.
The problem is, he hasn’t really left. The longer he’s gone, the more worried I become. I fucking hate it. I don’t pine. It’s not in my nature. Yet as spring bursts into summer, I’m still wondering where he slipped off to. After so many random visits in a week, I’m surprised he hasn’t collapsed back into my life.
Maybe he found a cure and doesn’t need you anymore.
The voice in my head has morphed into my aunt’s. She always was a pessimist. Nothing good ever came from anything in her eyes. Most people would think we make our own happiness. Not Aunt Star. She just assumed everything would eventually go to shit regardless of what she did. Maybe some of her cynicism rubbed off on me.
“We looking for low-key and calming? Because there’s a goat yoga class tonight?—”
“Not goat yoga,” I say quickly as I flip through the necromancer book again. For some reason, I keep coming back to it. Not that there’s anything in here I can use to fix the summoning circle. There isn’t even a scrying recipe in here.
“Sorry, forgot you’re scared of them.” She laughs, and I roll my eyes.
“I’m not afraid of them. They chew on your shit, and I don’t exactly have a lot of clothes left.” I’ve thought about borrowingsome of Lark’s, but I can’t bring myself to do it. It’d probably make her appear just to yell at me for taking her shit, though.
“Sure you’re not. Except last year there was that petting zoo, and you practically bowled over that five-year-old to get away from them.”
“They should have a warning so people don’t get too close,” I cry, slamming the book shut.
Her peals of laughter ring down the line. “They did. In big bold letters,” she says between gasps.
“Whatever. We’re not doing goat yoga. Let’s go clubbing.”
Her giggles cut off abruptly. “For real? Do you even have clothes for clubbing? When was the last time you went to a club? Do you have a push-up bra? You realize you’ll have to wear a dress, right? An oversized shirt and no pants won’t cut it. Plus, we’ll have to drive at least an hour. Unless you’re thinking of going to a dive bar and just randomly calling it clubbing.”
“You fucking sound like Dimi—” I wince, then rush, “I’m aware of what it takes to go clubbing. I’ll just channel my sister. What time should we go? Five?”
“Five?” she chokes out. “Girl, they won’t even be open then.”
“Well, if we leave at five?—”
“No. I’m saying, they won’t be open until like nine. Maybe ten. Are you sure you want to go clubbing?”
“Yes. I need to not be me for a little while. It’ll take my mind off everything, and then I can focus on what needs to be done.”
She doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches on so long I’m afraid she hung up. If she doesn’t go with me, I doubt I’ll go myself. I need to get out of here, though. Out of this house, this town, this life. Just for a bit. I’ll get rip-roaring drunk, flirt with those willing, maybe hook up with someone…well, that’s pushing it. I can pretend, though. I’ll cleanse my mind of a certain demon. Who knows? I might find what I’m looking for when I stop looking. Isn’t that how it always works? Lose yourkeys, search for days, give up, then six months later they show up in the most obvious of places. It’s science or something.
“Percy?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Who’s Dean?”
