13. 13

The Victrola had gone silent. The sword cane lay on the mantel next to the bow tie. The fire was out, and Patty Melt looked up at me forlornly from the cooling hearth.

Somehow, I knew: no amount of flames would bring him back again.

She had stopped him.

I ran my fingers through my hair and gripped it at the roots, letting the dull pain be a sharpener for my thoughts.

Patty Melt squeaked at my feet.

When I looked down, she gently reached out a tiny paw and set one of my bootlaces on fire.

I quickly swatted the fire out. "Thanks, baby," I said. "I know you care." I scooped her up and closed my hands like a cave. Light flared between my fingers and went out, and I felt Patty Melt return.

I closed the window. Closed the Victrola. Returned to the fireplace and crouched, to survey the damage.

Inside the fireplace, the broken glass was gone. In its place, a single, sparkling drinking glass lay on the irons: pink fluted cup, hollow purple foot, and in between, the stem—holding the whole thing together—was a perfect pink glass flamingo.

I sagged to the carpet, rocking with helpless, silent, borderline hysterical laughter.

When I finally managed to pull myself upright, my stomach growled.

There might have been an interdimensional goddess on the way, preparing to destroy my soul, but even that wasn't enough to stop my hunger. Magic took it out of a person.

I remembered Daniel's snacks, and staggered to my feet.

I stumbled back to the kitchen, bringing the lights up as I went, and then I collected everything I found in the refrigerator except for the soft-sided cooler, which I suspected held blood. I didn't look.

I carried everything to the living room and laid it out on Prospero's dainty side table. It didn't all fit on one side table, so I dragged over a second one. I should call Daniel, I thought. I should call Mom and Poppy. I should call Berron.

Instead, I sat on the sofa and began mindlessly eating cheese cubes.

When I looked up from my food haze to find only empty containers, some sense returned. I typed and copied the same text to everyone: I'm fine. Will give you more details in person.

That should buy some time.

I dusted crumbs from my hands and leaned back on the couch, only to be interrupted by the sound of a key in a lock. I sat up and more thoroughly wiped my hands on my jeans, wondering why Daniel had come back so quickly.

The door opened.

It wasn't Daniel. It was Jessica, swathed in black: black boots, black tights, black skirt, black leather jacket, and a thick black scarf.

"How did you get back so fast?"

"I was barely a block away." She stopped in the entryway and blinked at me. "What are you doing?"

"Didn't Daniel tell you?"

"Of course Daniel told me." She approached and gave me a very unflattering onceover.

I became acutely aware of a trail of cracker crumbs down my front.

"Oh my God, did you eat all the food?" She picked up the empty plates and dropped them back on the side tables with a crash. "Were you raised in a barn?" She stalked to the kitchen and flung open the refrigerator door, peering into the depths like it was Aladdin's cave of wonders. "There's nothing left."

I pushed myself up and hurried to the kitchen. "Sure there is," I said, looking over her shoulder. "There's eggs and stuff—"

"For people who cook," she said.

The food had been stocked for her. A diet of plain old red stuff wouldn't cut it anymore, not with her powers fading. "Move and let me work," I said.

She shot me a look but budged out of the way.

I washed my hands and collected the remaining contents of the fridge. Thankfully, I hadn't scarfed all the cheese—there was another package unopened, so I chopped some up.

"So," Jessica said, leaning against the counter. "How did it go?"

"I had a nice chat with your old boss."

"Prospero's dead."

I hunted around for a bowl, then found a fork in a drawer. "Not as much as you might think." I washed up and began cracking the eggs, stealing a glance at Jessica. "You don't look surprised."

"He was…" She trailed off as if trying to find the right word. "I don't know." She looked sincere, for once, and it softened her face. By the time I tossed the eggshells in the trash, the hard edge was back. "Not human enough to die."

"You were his protege." I set a pan on a burner and cranked up the heat.

"I wasn't human, either." She rubbed her stomach and gave the bowl of eggs a look.

"I'm going, I'm going," I said. "You can't rush perfection." I reached for the butter and cut off a generous chunk. The butter hit the pan with a satisfying hiss and a trail of bubbles in its wake. I coated the pan and poured in the egg and cream mixture, then left it alone to solidify on the bottom.

There was a tricky maneuver you had to do when the omelet was ready to flip, but you had to time it right and do it with the perfect flick of the wrist. "Jessica," I said, "why did you dislike me so much? I mean right from the beginning, when you and James tried to kidnap me."

"Isn't it obvious?"

I gripped the pan and jerked it hard, but controlled, freeing the omelet underside from the grip of the hot pan. "Enlighten me."

"You were going to stop us from being free."

A quick upward motion, and the omelet flipped in a tight arc and landed top side down to finish cooking. "Free to prey on people outside of Manhattan?"

"Like normal people don't prey on each other." Jessica did a Gen-X eyeroll so perfect I couldn't help but smile to myself. "Is it ready yet?"

"Almost." I sprinkled cheese on the cooked side of the omelet. Only two more moves to go: a perfect fold, and then slide the completed omelet onto a plate.

"You know he asked the witches to drop the barrier."

I almost had the fold when the pan wobbled in my hand. Half of the omelet fell short, and I had to hurry to get it all the way over before it stuck in the melted cheese. "He what?"

"You didn't know?"

"Sometimes it feels like nobody tells me anything." I pushed the cheese omelet onto the plate, rolled a fork and knife into a napkin, and held both out to Jessica. I wondered if she'd had a pair of Doc Martens back in high school; what her favorite song had been; if we would have been friends from the start, if everything had been different. "Sorry I ate your snacks."

She looked at me for a moment, then took them. "Sorry I tried to kidnap you."

"You want to sit at the table?" I said, restaurant habits kicking in.

"Tables are for suckers," she said, stalking down the hall. "Come on." She opened her door and swept in. She dropped her phone into a stand, where it instantly began to play music.

"‘Bullet with Butterfly Wings,'" I said. "A classic."

"Don't call it a classic—you're making me feel old." She flopped unceremoniously on the bed and stuffed a large bite of omelet in her mouth. "Don't just stand there. Sit down."

It was between the chair at the vanity table and the edge of the bed, so I picked the chair. Did she know we had been in here? That I had held this bottle of Poison in my hand?

"Relax," she said. "I'm not going to murder you. Besides, you could probably murder me back with your weird magic." She wiggled her fork at me. "Is that why Daniel was into you? Your powers?"

Oh, no. Not boy talk. I wasn't good at it. Strenuously avoided it, in fact. No one needed a play-by-play of the whole pint of ice cream I ate last night, either. Mistakes and pleasure should be private—especially when they overlap.

"Your silence is confirmation." She smiled wickedly. "Is he always so stuffy?"

"Not always," I said, feeling my face heat up.

"He reminds me of Prospero that way, actually," she mused.

I gazed under the bed to see if there was room for me to crawl in and hide. What did I not want to hear? How Daniel was like Prospero, how I was like Jessica, or any other combination that had all the appeal of a pickles and peanut butter sandwich. "Were you and Prospero… uh…"

Jessica coughed. "Together? God, no. I mean, not that I wouldn't have considered it…"

I squeezed my eyes shut. It didn't help, so I opened them again.

"But it was strictly business." She went back to the omelet.

I reached for my phone. "My, look at the time—"

"Are you seeing anyone?"

I considered jumping out the window, or possibly texting someone and saying I'd been attacked by a werewolf. Send help. "No, not currently."

"What about Mr. Gentry Prince? He seems like your type."

"My type? We've known each other for how long, mostly at knifepoint, and you think I have a type?"

"Sappy," she said. "Like you."

My jaw fell. "I'm not sappy."

She shot me a dubious look. "You're, like, a serial puppy rescuer. You can't help yourself."

"Berron is—I'm not—you—"

"Except you can't actually go for your type because then you'd have to admit you were sappy, too."

My mouth was open yet no sounds were coming out.

"That's why it didn't work with Daniel. He's a lot of things, but sappy isn't one of them," she said, blithely taking another bite of the eggs. "Are you all right? You look funny." It was almost sincere, but the wide-eyed look of concern was ruined by the mischief etched across her face.

"I'm fine," I said, standing up, hating how stuffy I sounded.

"Aren't you having fun? Isn't this what friends do?"

I was almost through the doorway when the silverware rattled on the plate and Jessica was right behind me. Grape soda and cinnamon mingled with cheese omelet when she laid her hand on my shoulder. Poison omelet, I thought.

"You're not mad at me, are you?"

I turned. What a weird little cat she was. No wonder I was a dog person. "No—" I started, but was interrupted by another key hitting the lock.

"Ssh," Jessica said. "Not a word to Lord Daniel. Just between us girls, right?" She winked, and I was reminded of Poppy, if Poppy were an unreliable American vampiress.

"Right…" I said.

She giggled madly, turned me around by my shoulders, and pushed me out into the hall, following right behind me.

"Hello?" Daniel called.

"We're right here," Jessica replied gleefully. We emerged into the living room and she threw her arm over my shoulder like we were old pals.

Daniel slowly removed his coat. "So I see. What happened?"

Jessica steered me over to the couch and gave me a shove so firm I lost my balance and sat. She bustled around, humming and scooping up the empty plates I'd left behind, sashaying off to the kitchen. The way she went back and forth from venom to sweetness was enough to give anyone whiplash.

Daniel cleared his throat.

"Sorry," I said, coming back to myself from yet another attempt to follow Jessica's patented weirdness. "I was able to summon Prospero."

"And?"

"The Mirror is now a flamingo drinking glass."

"I can't imagine that's all of it."

"The Arcade is coming back."

Daniel blew out a breath and sank into a chair.

Jessica reemerged from the kitchen and stood behind his shoulder, at ease, in a pose that reminded me of her second-in-command status with Prospero. She smiled at me, secretly.

"What are you going to do?" Daniel said.

"Me? I have no idea. It took a stroke of luck to defeat her last time. I doubt I could even pull the same trick twice. Not to mention that it was Prospero who set that meeting in the first place—all we did was follow him to it."

"Maybe he's just messing with you."

"He did enjoy that," Jessica added. "Messing with you, that is."

So do you, I wanted to add. "Maybe," I said. "But I get the feeling it cost him to bring me this message. Cost him enough that I don't think he's coming back."

"You don't think you could summon him again?"

I shook my head. "I know I couldn't." I knew when a pizza was cooked by the smell of it; I didn't even have to see it. This was the same. "I want Mom to go home. I don't want her here if this goes to hell." I stood and paced, trying to shake off the rising worry.

"Understandable," he said. "Do you think she'll agree?"

"I know she won't."

"Tell her if she goes back now, you'll come visit her," Jessica said.

I stopped. "That's actually not a bad idea. What made you think of that?"

Jessica shrugged. "That's what my mother would want."

I stared.

"What?" she said. "You people act like I didn't exist before I got initiated. You're not the only person with a mother. And—let me tell you—it gets really hard to explain not visiting for twenty years."

Daniel's gaze turned to her with red-glowing sympathy.

Even when Mom and I weren't getting along, I could always see her. Even if it was awkward.

The Blessed could not. Easy to believe they were too dangerous to roam, when they were midnight stories of blood and fear.

Harder when you had four of them as friends.