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“Get another phone. I need to talk to you every day.”

“That’s a waste of money.”

“It’s not a waste of money. I need you.”

I snorted. “And that’s why you’re gone so much.”

He was quiet for a long time. “Are you angry at me? Of course you are, because I’ve abandoned you, and the kids aren’t making things easy. I’m so sorry. Do you want me to cut my trip short?”

“No. It’s fine. It’s just that’s part of why Sage is angry, because you aren’t here. But of course you have to support our family. Even though your business trips have been longer and longer every year.”

“They have. It’s almost two months out of the year that I’m gone lately. That’s too much. I’ll figure out some way to reduce my time away. You know that you’re my first priority.”

Seriously? I guess you had to give it to him for his consistency in building his lies. “It’s not feeling like it. Look, focus on your work, and I’ll focus on the kids, and we’ll see you when you get back.”

I felt a flicker of satisfaction when I thought of him showing up at the house and seeing it for sale and us gone.

“You don’t want to talk to me?”

“I don’t want it to be something I stress about. Missing your calls because my phone isn’t working. I have enough stress.”

“Of course you do. I don’t want to make you more stressed. I just thought it helped you to talk to me about what was going on.”

“Not with my phone not working.”

“Okay. It’s just that—” His voice cut off, and I was left with silence on my phone.

I lowered it and frowned at the blank screen. It seemed fine, had power and everything, almost a full charge in spite of me not charging it for days. But it was definitely freaking out. Was this house actually haunted? Of course not. That was ridiculous. But my phone was acting weird. I should take it to the shop. At least I didn’t have to worry about Clark calling me. Right? I hesitated then pulled up his number and blocked it before I could think it through.

I was done. I didn’t need to hear his low, persuasive voice when I was trying to work through my pain and this whole new world of absolute irrationality. Sage had thrown energy at that kid. And the garbage can. Had she thrown it with her hands or something else? I needed to learn more about all this crap so I could manage it. My daughter wasn’t going to become some psycho killer. Not a chance.

I went into the living room where Sage was still playing the piano and joined her on the piano bench, playing a few harmonic chords up high while I let her feelings flow through the music and through me. At least I could hold onto my kids.

seven

. . .

I focused on cleaning for the next few days, managing to actually make a healthy meal the next evening. The electricity stayed on, and Sage didn’t try to kill any neighbors. She wore makeup to cover up the bruise on her cheek, although under the makeup it bloomed all purple and green, looking truly impressive. I hated seeing it, knowing I’d done that to her, but she’d done it to Donny, and I hadn’t known I’d be able to give her his pain. That was crazy. Impossible. But that’s what we got to deal with.

I was cleaning the living room, dusting all the corners and chasing spiders away when I saw a book tucked on the top of a shelf. I pulled the large square tome out and started dusting the dark green leather. Was that alligator skin? How special.

It was too big to fit on a shelf, and square, so an awkward shape. No wonder it was stuck up there behind those other books. I put it to the side and started dusting the rest, frowning at the titles. Aeromancy, Geologica, Necromancy…you know, ridiculous things like that.

I stared at those titles, shaking my head at the stupidity of the situation while I dusted, brushing the leather faces. When I finished with that shelf, I bent over and picked up the awkwardly large alligator book. I’d banned square books in my last house because they just didn’t fit and were always falling over and making everything screwy.

What should I do with this tome? Maybe it could stay on the coffee table. It didn’t have a title, so it could have anything in it, but what would be weirder than necromancy? I carried it to the gold velvet couch and sat down, propping the large book on my knees while I opened it and stared at the Latin. Latin. Seriously? What was I going to do with that? Nothing. Except that I had a translation app on my phone.

I pulled it out and brought up translate, pointed the camera at the words, and they were translated on my screen.

Hoar House Grimoire. May your spells fly true and your curses not come back to you.

~Aurelia Frost

Nice. What a sweet dedication. A grimoire? That was like a magical journal, right? I read a few pages of the intro, which was a deep theoretical ramble about what made energy manifest. So this was a theory book? Would that help Sage? Theory was good, but I preferred a practical approach. Like a step-by-step idiots guide on how to not create balls of energy that you wanted to hurl at your neighbor. Was there a way to turn that anger into something positive? Like daffodils and roses instead of balls of death?

I kept reading. More theory, but everything was about the transfer of emotion or other energy into something else. People could produce different things other than raw energy, which was apparently the least difficult way to manifest energy.

I kept reading until my head ached and my phone battery was near zero. Right. I needed to finish dusting then get dinner started. I could do a grocery run, but I wasn’t sure I had the energy.