“Just so you’re aware, I only understand about forty percent of the words evacuating your mouth at any given moment. And that’s being generous.” Done with this highly inappropriate conversation, I open the cemetery gate and head for the center at a brusque pace.
The little witch is right on my heels.
“My so-calledsisters,” she nearly hisses, “are too busy joining in on their favorite pastime, a.k.a. let’s make Lizzy feel like the biggest loser ever. It’s not fair, Dr. Sutherland. And I’m tired. So freaking tired of trying to prove myself to them. Like, I didn’t ask for this! For any of it! I wanted to explain about the portal and the magic, and I went in there with such a good attitude. I even brought muffins! But right away, Rachel’s all, ‘Are you drunk Lizzy? It’s not even noon, Lizzy. Do you need an intervention, Lizzy?’ She’s in total denial about witchcraft, and Kate’s basically a jellyfish, and I didn’t even get into the whole dead ancestor, crazed serial-killer-slash-witch-hunter cult thing because that would’ve sent Rachelrightover the edge, and my sister over the edge is like… God! Just put me in the bathtub with a live toaster. Anyway…” She heaves a great sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Excellent, that makes two of us.” I set my satchel on the ground and gesture for her to do the same with her belongings, which she does, and I’m ready to weep with relief that we can finally get on with it. “Now, for our first official lesson, I’d like to assess?—”
“It’s just that I was really hoping they’d be on board, you know?” She glances up at me, the crease between her brows deepening. “Now it’s hitting me that I’m stuck dealing with all this magical mayhem on my own, and I had tolieto even get time away. I hate lying! But what choice do I have? They would lose their shit if they knew I was meeting with a demon. Am I completely missing something here? I know I’ve made some mistakes in the past, but seriously. How can they just dismiss me all the time? Like, I don’t even get a say in any of this? Probably the only reason they even allowed me to nope out of plant-store duty so easily is to get me out of their hair. It’s so obvious! I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re plotting to cut me out of the inheritance altogether. Find all the good stuff while I’m not paying attention. Then they’ll just sell it behind my back, keep the cash, and pretend like nothing happened. Because poor, drunk Lizzy won’t know any better, right? No wonder they went along with my plan so easily! Don’t you think?”
I think I have a headache.
I think this is going to be a long day and an even longer assignment.
I think I’m going to murder Warren and Oliver after all, just to take the edge off, then run away to find the three-breasted sorceress myself and live a life in exile.
“Is this your idea of not talking about it?” I ask. “Because if you’d like to sideline your lessons in favor of regurgitating your family drama, one that I’m quite sure has played out many times on the Bonnivarde family stage, we can certainly do that. But I must warn you, my area of expertise has very little in common with the sort of professional therapeutic intervention that your family would most directly benefit from.”
“They don’t even listen to me, Dr. Sutherland. Ever! I swear, it’s like talking to the wind!”
“Really?” I deadpan. “That must be so hard for you. I can’t even imagine.”
“They treat me like I’m still some stupid, dreamy kid inventing fantasies to escape our depressing life. Don’t get me wrong—my life is still depressing. The difference is that when I want to escape now, I skip the daydreams and go straight for the drugs, like a fucking adult. You know what that’s called? Personal growth! You’d think they could at least acknowledgethatmuch.”
“Miss Bonnivarde.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh, long-suffering as I am, knowing I’m going to regret this but unable to stop myself from asking anyway. “Why do you feel your life is depressing? You’re a witch. You’re young, eager, capable…”Distractingly beautiful.“Hardly the makings of a miserable existence.”
“Are you kidding me?” She gestures at herself. “Look at this mess. I’m—oh, god! I’ve got chocolate on myboob. You didn’t even tell me!”
I say nothing. Look nowhere. This is most certainly a trap.
“Anyway, they’re not coming,” she says, scraping the chocolate stain with her thumbnail. “Which I’m glad about, honestly. Letthemfuss over the shop lease and the legal bullshit and the mountains of paperwork that come along when an estranged parent suddenly drops dead. Me?I’mgoing to learn magic, just like we talked about. I’m going to master thefuckout of my spells, become the most sparkly, magical, badass witch the Bonnivarde line has ever seen, and figure out exactly how to…” She waves a frantic hand in the air, her eyes wide. “…to abracadabra the portal thingy. And then? Then I’m taking my inheritance and my sparkly, magical ass straight back to California, and I’m gonna make the world my oyster. Do you know why? I’ll tell you why. Because I’m tired of being the family screwup. I’m tired of my sisters and everyone else treating melike a doormat. From now on, I’m the goddamn boots. I’m the goddamn mud. And when I walk by and ground my heel on some unsuspecting schlep who dared to mock me, everyone will tremble. And I’ll be like, that’s right, bitches. I’m Lizzy fucking Bonnivarde, get thefuckout of my way!”
The breeze rustles through the trees, through her hair, and her green eyes blaze in the dim sunlight, hands raised up to the sky as if she’s just made manifest the storm roiling inside her.
I want to cheer for her. To fall to my knees and praise her as a goddess of old reincarnate, beautiful and terrible, as powerful as creation, but all I can muster up is, “Now you’ve got chocolate in your eyebrow.”
The breeze dies away. The little witch drops her arms. Glares. Does not laugh, as I’d ridiculously hoped she would. “What?”
I trace the affected area on my own brow.
“Are you even listening to me?” Angrily she rubs her fingertip over the spot, making a right mess of it. “God! I’m cursed.”
“You’re not cursed. Hold still.” Without thought, I reach for her, my palm curving around her delicate face, thumb erasing the offending smudge, lingering.
Her lips part on a gasp, and I freeze.
I’m touching her.The silken warmth of her skin, the softness of her breath, the brush of my thumb against the brow, a thousand tiny jolts of electricity sparking at every point of connection, and I feel it in my chest, in my bones, in my cells, a tumble of sensations I haven’t felt in so long I’ve forgotten the words to describe them, and…
What am I doing?
I snatch my hand back, shove it into my pocket. Turn away. Wish upon the dead to show me mercy, that one of the old graves should open up and swallow me whole.
Everywhere my skin touched hers, I feel scorched. Exposed. Ripped open to the very bone.
“Dr. Sutherland?” she asks, tender, almost wounded. “Is everything?—”
“You’ll be fine,” I say shortly. “Wherever you land after our training, it will surely be on your feet. But first, we must accomplish our task.” I locate my field journal in the satchel. Focus on the feel of the leather, soft and worn with age. The thickness of the pages, the scent of the parchment, the sound it makes when I run a finger down the cover, like a whisper. My hand tightens on the binding.
Still, the feel of her skin lingers. Haunts. Torments.
