Amelia was still sipping water when I returned to the room. She placed it on the nightstand, her head slightly canted and eyes narrowed to slits. “So,” she drawled, “anything new I should know about?” Her voice, light and melodic, didn’t match the situation. Which meant she was really worried.
“Well,” I let my voice match hers, “there are some events.”
Sitting on the end of her bed, I began my account whimsically to take the bite out of it all. By the end, my voice and mood were low and morose. Amelia’s lips lifted in an imitation of a smile that faltered and fell away. There were lulls in the story while I watched horror spread over her face. Running her hand over her face, she kept drawing the skin down. Spiraling. I stopped and handed her the water. After taking another small sip, she made a face and inhaled.
“I need to brush my teeth and shower. And food. I need lots of it,” she asserted. When she started to get out of bed, I rushed to help.
“I was only out for two days. I’m well rested and fine. You’re the one who seems like you could use a nap.”
“I’m good.”
She turned her assessing eyes on me and frowned. “Liar.”
Sleep deprived and still in disbelief that Amelia was alive, I was faced with a new set of problems. The House of Hollows had witnessed the failure of the spell. How was I going to explain Amelia’s recovery?
Amelia slowly made her way to the dresser, pulling out clothes and toiletries she kept at her “second home” and headed to the bathroom, and I made my way downstairs for food.
Lime-colored loose-fitting pants, an oversized shirt, and fluffy socks with animals on them was Amelia’s way of adding color and life to a dreary situation. Her towel-dried hair was a mass of coils, and her appearance was missing its usual lively glow. She looked at the bowl of stew of bone broth, celery, shredded chicken, carrots, and green onions I’d made her. Her brow cocked.
“You can’t be serious! I said food.”
“You’ve been asleep for two days, I don’t want you to get sick,” I explained.
She patted her stomach. “Steel trap. I won’t get sick.” Grabbing my phone off the table, she handed it to me. “I want tacos, jerk chicken with rice and beans. Don’t forget the plantains. Pizza. Half pepperoni”—she made a face, giving me a derisive look before adding my favorite—“the other half cheese.”
“There’s no way you’re going to eat all of that.”
“Order. And get some mac and cheese,” she demanded with a grin. “We have a long night ahead of us.”
While I ordered, she called her father. I couldn’t make out their conversation, but I heard a perk in his voice. There were so many missed calls from him. I wasn’t convinced he believed her when she said she’d been in the lab, referring to other times she’d been too engrossed in creating a new spell and honing her magic.
“It’s not completely a lie,” she said once the call ended. “We’ve learned a lot from this.”
The understatement of the year. While we waited for the exorbitant amount of food to be delivered, Amelia finished her stew, retreated to my kitchen, and returned with bread, cheese, a bottle of wine, and glasses that she managed to carry with the use of her hands, arms, and chin to keep everything stable. Plopping on the sofa, she started setting everything out. I grabbed the wine and the glasses, put them aside, and handed her another glass of water.
“Girl, we need to be sober.”
“No, we need to be a little less sober. Do you know what we’re dealing with!”
“I have to unlock my magic, find the person who cursed you, and plan an intervention for my best friend.”
Making a face, she grabbed the wine and opened it, pouring us both a glass.
“Cirrian,” she said. “What do you think of him? Do you trust him?”
Her question was simple, but her intense expression was asking so much more. “Short answer? I don’t know,” I admitted. “He’s the epitome of deception. He navigates this world as an unseen observer. When he makes himself known, it’s in the guise of deception.” I reminded her of the many faces of Cirrianhe’d shown me, which sparked the image of my wolf. Quickly placing the glass on the table, I ran to the back of the house.
I scanned the area, even moved to the front of the house, feeling eyes on me. “He was here earlier,” I told her when I was back in the living room. “I have no idea how he got in the gate.”
“Dogs can open some locks,” Amelia pointed out.
“I don’t think you want to openly compare a wolf to a dog.” I brought my finger to my lips, urging her to lower her voice.
“You’re sure it’s not Cirrian?”
“Can’t be. He showed up when Cirrian was here.”
“He’ll probably come back as long as you don’t call him one of those ridiculous names.” She frowned. “Onyx.” She shook her head. “Coal?” Her eyes rolled. “Wolfie? He should have bitten you. You don’t look basic,” she teased. “Why not Midnight or Raven?”
