I don’t know how this works.
I just know I’m tired of this impasse.
Something has to give.
I narrow my eyes and stare hard into the mirror.
“Midnight at St. Fortuna’s,” I tell myself, and maybe him, too. “I’m going to open a rift. If you’re trapped and you want out, then you better be there.”
If this works, I just hope he’s grateful enough to help me in return.
29
A RECKLESS PLAN
We return to the estate with full bellies and three plates of leftovers.
“One is for Jude,” Mrs. Calloway had said.
As if she knew exactly how he was spending today.
A Porsche is parked along the circular drive, which means he’s still stuck with his stepmother and the Everlys. His Thanksgiving involves formal attire, catered food, and their cavernous dining hall. I can almost hear the clinking silverware, the stiff conversation. Mr. Tulane waiting on them in his uniform while eating alone in the kitchens. Unlike Mrs. Calloway’s no-Christmas-until-after-Thanksgiving rule, Isabel brought in a crew at the beginning of the week. The manor is beautifullydecorated and as impersonal as Isabel’s catered Thanksgiving.
As though sensing my thoughts, my phone vibrates. The message is from Jude.
Movie later?
My stomach twists.
I’ve already decided I’m not going to tell him about my plan, which makes me the world’s biggest hypocrite. I made him pinky promise never to lie, and yet, that’s exactly what I’m about to do. Not blatantly, I suppose. I’m not making up a dying grandfather or anything. But I am withholding a pretty big truth, one he would absolutely not be okay with.
Which is why I can’t tell him.
He would try to stop me.
Of course he would try to stop me.
What I’m going to do is wildly reckless. So much so, I didn’t even tell Twig. Rafe is a bad egg. An immortal with a rotten soul. He can’t be trusted. I know this. But beggars can’t be choosers. Despite everything, he’s more informed than we are. He knew about Lainey before we did. He knows how to navigate the Overlay. And until I get him out of there, he’s going to keep haunting me in mirrors, which I can’t have happening forthe rest of my life, so I might as well get this over with.
I just have to keep my mouth shut between now and midnight.
I text him back.
Gremlins?
It’s a date.
Two hours later, I bring him Mrs. Calloway’s plate of food, which he puts in the refrigerator, and a side of my grandmother’s Jell-O, which makes him wrinkle his nose. The fact that he tries a few bites is incredibly romantic. We watchGremlins. Or rather, he watchesGremlinswhile I watch him watchingGremlins. It’s every bit as good as talking to him on the phone while he watchesTales from the Crypt.
When the credits roll, he turns to me and says with only a hint of mockery, “It’s sad he didn’t get to keep Gizmo.”
“I know,” I reply with genuine enthusiasm.
Because itissad.
I love Gizmo.
Jude grins.
