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“What’s that saying?The enemy of my enemy is my friend?Yeah, she wants that motherfucker Paimon dead too.”
“Modder-fucker,” Penny repeats, looking up from the phone for the first time since we sat down.
“Shit, I mean, crap, sorry.”I wince.“I keep forgetting she can talk.”
Abby laughs but her eyes hold back fear.“And Paimon is the demon that you trapped during your baby shower when you went to Hell with Julian?”
Hearing his name is like an instant knife to the heart.I wish he were here.Things might not have gotten so bad if I’d had him with me, helping me with this whole mess.“Yeah.He’s been able to astral project out.That’s how he…how he killed Julian.”
“Who died?”Ricci comes back to the table.
“My favorite character in a book series I’m reading,” Abby answers.
“Ohh is it a spicy book?”Ricci waves down the waitress who had just played host to the demon Drea.It is a cool name, but I’ll be damned before I admit it to her.\
“Um kind of,” Abby says.“It’s a love story set in the zombie apocalypse.”
“Hmm, interesting.You know what else is interesting?The tea that was just spilled.”She raises her eyebrows.“Coach Mar was caught under the bleachers with a senor!”
I have no idea who the fuck she’s talking about, but for the first—and probably only time—I’m thankful for her incessant gossiping.I look at Abby and give her a tiny nod, trying to convey that things will be okay.She gets my silent message and relaxes a bit, tearing a baguette apart for Penny.Our food comes while Ricci is still painting a very detailed picture of exactly what position Coach Mar was found in, and we make it the rest of lunch without anymore demonic interruptions.
Penny is in full meltdown mode by the end of lunch, and since the sun is out, we back to Abby’s house so Penny can toddle around the yard while we sit and talk.
“Here,” Abby says, folding a thick comforter in half before spreading it on the grass in the shade so I can lay Juliet down and stretch out myself.
“Thanks.”
“So, I’m kinda scared to ask, but are things okay?”
“Yeah,” I tell her, not even feeling bad for lying this time.If anything, I’m doing her a kindness, right?Why scare her with things she cannot control?“I mean, considering.”
“Right.If I could help, I would.”
“I know.”I look at my sister and smile.“You would.And don’t,” I tell her, know where she’s about to go.“I don’t blame you for what happened.”
“I’ve told you that you can put a little bit of blame on me,” she jokes.“And I’ve kind of struggled with thing lately.Mom—Nancy—was going through old photo albums the other day and she has a whole shoebox full of pictures of you.”
I just nod, trying not to let myself feel.For years, Nancy believed I was her biological daughter.She raised me and loved me and treated me like her own until I started showing signs of having powers.
“I remember one time I might have been in like first grade,” I start, letting the memory wash over me for the first time in years.“I was playing with those antique snow globes that used to get put out every Christmas in the foyer.”Abby nods, knowing what I’m talking about.“And Scott yelled at me and said he was getting Mom.He shoved me, and I dropped one.It should have shattered but I must have telekinetically caught it or something because it hovered in the air, like just inches from the ground.Scott froze and then Nancy came around the corner.She saw it floating in the air too.And then Scott kicked it and it did break, but she never blamed me or told anyone what happened.Scott sounded crazy ranting about it for a while.”
“I remember that.”Abby slowly shakes her head.“Man, Scott was a jerk from the start.”
“You can say that again.”
“I don’t think you hear this enough,” she starts.“But I really admire how you’ve been able to move on from all that.”
“I struggle,” I admit.“On a daily basis, I remind myself that I can’t curse him, can’t kill him, and everyone says I should forgive him and move on for my own well being.”I roll my eyes.“Where’s the fun in that?Can’t I at least cause a little bodily harm?”
“No,” Abby chuckles.
“What about make him walk through poison ivy then accidentally break all his fingers so he can’t even scratch the itches?”
“It’s creative, I’ll give you that, but no.Still falls under the category of “bodily harm” if you’re breaking bones.”
“Fine,” I huff but smile.“What about cursing him so he only speaks with a really bad Irish accent?”
Abby laughs.“Okay, even I would like to witness that one.”
