“When I woke up, there was a bloodstain on the floor, and you were just gone.” His gaze is unfocused before it snaps back to me. “I was worried I killed you, and I—”
“You did.” I cut him off. My voice is dark and unfamiliar. A bright and visceral rage rises up inside me—hot with the taste of moss and dead leaves at the tip of my tongue. If he comes any closer, I’m going to snap—and part of me desperately wants to see how far I can toss him with my bare hands.
Tension releases from my body, and in one fell swoop, my wings spread wide. My antennae pokes through my hair in two angry points, and my vision blurs as though there’s a burst of bright red confetti overmy eyes.
“T-this… No—no, there’s no way.”
“Get off my porch now!” My nails twist into claws at the extension of my hand, andGod,I didn’t know I could do that.
For a half-second, he is slack-jawed and wide-eyed. It’s one secondtoo long.
“Now!” I repeat and I swear I feel the force of all the wind from the forest at my back, ready to throw him offthe porch.
He’s scrambling back to his car before I have the chance to utter another word, and it’s just as well. These claws are new, and I don’t want slime under them.
He’s left another letter of empty apologies. Written words to ease his guilt but will never heal my pain. I shred it into pieces but even that doesn’t change the hurt that radiates through me.
He came back.
Inside, I move carefully wondering if he’s left a trap for me. Chris knows what I am now. What if he comes back, and I’m unprepared? This form has changed into something powerful and strange, but I don’t know if I could actually do anything with it. Despite Holly’s best efforts, I’m no good withweapons.
I already know a lock won’t keep Chris out, and fear was enough to drive his actions last time. Hell, I just scared the shit out of him, but is that enough to really keep him from coming back?
Maybe I should have stayed in the other realm. At least I would have been safe—unwanted,but safe.
There’s one place I know I’ll always be welcome, so I spread my wings and burst into the sky, racing toward the last place I called home.
23.
Orlando: home of great coffee shops, a million bakeries, and most importantly, my mom’s house. I stand in front of my childhood home with my backpack—just small enough to fly with clutched to my chest. I can explain how I got here later. I needed to leave, and the idea of being confined in a car for hours was suffocating.
I’m grateful to still have a key, although I didn’t expect to be sneaking through the backdoor at 2 a.m. like a teenager breaking curfew.
“Hey, kiddo,” a familiar mellow voice calls from the kitchen. It’s not my mom seated at the kitchen table, but a welcome surprise, nonetheless. My mom’s older brother—and my favorite uncle—Doug sits at the pristine white marble table, an antique clock laid out like a science project in front of him. While my mom has always shined bright in the spotlight, her brother is quintessential quirky artist, always tinkering with antiques or paintings of oddities and creatures, demons and creepiest of all in his sad clown era. But seeing the clock laid out takes me right back to Queen Plume’s tower, and a chill cuts through the air.
Moth will never even know the portal existed. Holly probably won’t even finish her transportation spell. The reality that I’m never going to see him hits me again like a ton of bricks.What have I done?
“Kiddo?”
“Oh.” I look up, meeting his worried eyes. Even when I’m not in a crisis, he always looks so chronically worried.
“Very nice greeting for your favorite uncle,” he manages, setting down his tiny toolkit.
“Sorry, no… hi. It’s just … I was expecting to see my mom,” I explain, running my hands through my wind-swept hair.
“She’s out of the county doing… well, honestly, I don’t really know. Something about designer … Tupperware? She sounded very excited, flew to Italy last week. She asked me to come up and watch Peanut.”
The overfed chihuahua growls from the other side of the house. I’m pretty sure Peanut can take care of himself, but god, am I glad Uncle Doug is here.
“I don’t think they have designer Tupperwarein Italy.”
“If not there, then where?”He shrugs.
“I—I’m sorry, I’m way too tired for this.” I shake my head, heading to the fridge to retrieve a can of sparkling water that I promptly place on my forehead to ease the buildingpressure.
“Well, it was something food container related and sounded very fancy. Sweetpea, whathappened?”
“I uh—” I open my mouth, and nonsense pours out. The unopened can falls from my grasp, and before I can catch myself, I am sobbing in the center of the kitchen. Uncle Doug sweeps me up into a hug. The wool of his sweater is a familiar soft kind of scratchy; it’s nostalgic and comforting the way I’d imagine the stubble of a father’s beard feels when you’re a kid. Only instead of coming home with a scraped knee, I have a scraped heart.
