“I shall do my best to answer, provided it’s within my purview.”
I beam up at him, lashes fluttering, puppy-dog eyes engaged. “Any idea where a girl can score some weed around here? At this point, I’m not even picky about the quality.”
seven
LIZZY
Ask and ye shall receive.
Not without a lecture on the dulling of the mind, the declining accountability of today’s youth, the dangers of chemical dependency, just say no, yada yada for theentirewalk home. But when we got back to the portal, Dr. Sutherland shot me one more admonishing look (veryhot), sighed heavily (also hot), scribbled something onto a piece of paper, dropped it into the portal, andshazam! The portal flashed, and up came a silver box, which he handed over at once, muttering something about Oliver the Bad Influence, whoever that is.
Inside, I found the most perfect, juiciest pile of Mary Jane a girl could ever fall in love with, and I proceeded to make out with it. Figuratively, of course. And if Dr. Sutherland was a hugger, he would’ve gotten some of my appreciation too. His loss; I haveamazingboobs.
Either way, we said our goodbyes, all of his lecturing was forgiven in a single puff (this isreallygood shit), and then Iwas off to my old bedroom to finish my Upstate New York fall wardrobe shopping order and snag a few hours of sleep.
By the time I rolled out of bed this morning, my clothing had been delivered and my sisters were already gone. I found a note in the kitchen in Kate’s loopy handwriting, complete with a flower doodle next to my name, informing me they were heading to my mother’s plant shop for an eight a.m. walkthrough with the landlord. She asked me to join them when I was “up and about.”
Why no one bothered to knock on my door or send a text is a mystery, but I’m pretty sure it’s because Rachel wanted another excuse to scold me. Well, she can have it. I took my time getting “up and about,” and now I’m refreshed, adequately stoned, and outfitted in averycute off-the-shoulder sweater and wide-leg jeans combo. Which is good, since I agreed to meet Professor Sutherland later, back at the cemetery. He’s got a theory he wants to test, and I’m all for being his apt little pupil (glasses, hotness, etcetera, etcetera).
I missed the walkthrough—only a sadist would schedule a meeting for eight a.m.—but I figured I should make an effort, even if I am two hours late. Kate said the town square is just a short walk from the house, so off I go, ready for Graves Hollow to impress me with its full-on small-town charm offensive.
Such high hopes!
Yeah. Instantly dashed.
Where are the quaint cafés? The friendly yet quirky passersby? The street-side palm readers and random black cats and campy yet adorable outdoor decor? Everything is gray and drab and dead, despite the watery sunlight trying to break through the trees. There aren’t many people out and about either—just the mailman stuffing bills into mailboxes and a few passing cars honking at the one traffic light, which seems to be on the fritz. The vibe is super grumpy, and instead of thewelcoming whiffs of pumpkin spice I envisioned, all I smell is gasoline and disappointment.
Zero stars, do not recommend.
God, I miss the sunshine and the ocean and cute shirtless boys on Vespas and Trader Joe’s pickle hummus, and once this portal situation is under control, I’m taking my magical ass back to California, land of happiness, where I can put my newly acquired mojo to good use whipping up some quick cash and maybe a cute boy of my own. One who doesn’t have a taste for his housekeeping staff.
After a grueling half-mile hike, I finally see the sign Kate mentioned, announcing in trendy, all-lowercase letters on a cream-colored background:
petal & vine
The door says we’re closed but it’s unlocked. I weave my way through a jungle of plants to find my sisters at the back of the shop, speculating about a suspicious looking stain on the floor. Blood or water damage? Another Graves Hollow mystery!
“Good morning!” I sing-song. I’m going for chipper today. “I hope everyone’s ready for a sugar coma, because I brought treeeeats!”
The bakery I passed on the way over was the only bright spot in the whole damn town. I don’t tell them Brendan picked up the tab. Irrelevant! Besides, I have no idea how much longer I can ride this gravy train before he reports the card stolen. Gotta milk it for all it’s worth, then deny, deny, deny. By the time he catches up with me, I’ll be a fully trained witch, more than capable of hexing his ass. Or turning his dick into an inchworm. Preferably both.
“Lizzy, that was thoughtful of you,” Kate says in her Conflict Resolution For Dummies tone. Then, helping herself to a blueberry muffin, “Rachel, wasn’t that thoughtful?”
Rachel abandons the mystery stain and peers into the box. “I can’t eat processed carbs.”
“Maybe you’re just not trying hard enough.” I heft out a chocolate cappuccino muffin the size of my head.
“I’m on a metabolic health journey.”
“How fun,” I say with a roll of the eyes. “Send me a postcard when you get there.”
“It was still super thoughtful of you,” Kate says, giving Rachel The Look.
Rachel frowns. I know she’s eyeing up the caramel apple one. That was always her go-to flavor combo. I snatch it up and take a bite, just to spite her. Give her a big gooey grin full of it.
“Don’t be gross, Lizzy.” She wrinkles her nose at me, but I’m both stoned and sugar-bombed. Total immunity from sisterly bitchery.
“Anyway, I figure we should talk about what happened last night,” I say, when no one else does. Gotta jump right in, take the temperature here. Figure out just how deep into the denial tunnel they’ve burrowed. “Crazy, right?”
