“Um…hello there,” Octavia started.
My brow furrowed. “Hello there?”
Octavia frowned at me in the mirror. “Got anything better?”
Nico pressed his lips together, dipping his gaze down to the ground for a moment in the hunt for composure.
“Anything other than a polite ‘hello there’ would be a million times better,” I insisted. “This thing’s tried to kill you.”
“If you had a cheat sheet for talking to a demon, you should have passed it along,” Octavia said.
“I just assumed the tone of voice you chose would naturally carry disdain and not a…‘would you like some water while you wait’ vibe.”
A muscle in Octavia’s jaw ticked, but she funneled her frustration into her next address. “I’m here. Right where you wanted me. So, what now? Where do we go from here?”
Silence was a mosquito, buzzing with purpose.
“It’s cowardly, you know,” Octavia continued, voice growing harder with every syllable. “Hurting people when they can’t fight back. Sneaking around town in the shadows.”
Nico’s grip on his rosemary vial tightened when fog appeared on the mirror. Octavia stiffened. I offered her hand an encouraging squeeze.
“Keep going,” I whispered. “The ward’s not supposed toblock it out completely, remember? It’s supposed to weaken it, so it won’t have much more power than doing a few magic tricks.”
“Magic tricks.” Octavia nodded with a small smile. “That’s all you can do now. How does that feel? Being this close and not being able to do anything?”
Writing appeared in the fog on the mirror. Slow lines we watched in silence as they formed one word:
Careful.
We waited for more. I’d clenched my free hand into a fist so tight that the muscles in my wrist cramped. Nothing else happened. The fog faded, leaving thecarefulon the glass faint. A ghost of a warning.
“Did it work?” Octavia looked between Nico and me for verification.
Nico blew out a breath of relief and nodded. “I think so. So far, I think it worked.”
NINETEEN
It may have been a placebo,but the air in the house was easier to breathe. The lights from the lamps seemed brighter, as if the demon had been siphoning off so much energy for itself that we’d been living off the crumbs. And the weird, moldy smell, the one I thought meant we needed to wash the carpets layered on the living room floor, disappeared. Replaced with the peppermint tea Wilson had put on last night to settle us. December had gone through the house with a lavender incense; the smoke and open windows helped clean out whatever might have remained undetected by our noses.
The team monitored my room while Wilson and I slept in the living room for the next week. Being close offered a small taste of comfort. But I continued to avoid mirrors. Rae’s necklace remained pressed to my chest.
Each day that went by without an incident was a day in which we ventured farther into the house. We started entertaining possibility. The team—Rae specifically—encouraged said entertainment, citing the importance of keeping our anxiety levels down. The wards were a window with a weakseal. Drafts got in, and warmth got out. Creating more warmth meant not thinking too much about the cold.
“Are you coming with us?” my brother asked when I appeared in the kitchen in my nice jeans (they still had holes in them, but these holes were intentional, made under the guise of fashionability) and my locs freshly washed and twisted in twos. I’d wanted to swipe a bit of mascara on and some concealer for a new, angry red bump right in the middle of my forehead. But as soon as I got out my makeup, I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I bought anything for myself outside of new work boots and sunscreen. I threw away the tubes of old makeup because covering my breakout would always come second to getting a bacterial infection.
“Yeah…Rae said I didn’t have a choice.” I brushed my hands over my white top. It had lace panels down the sleeves. The only detail that made it feel like a going-out outfit. “Is this okay?”
Wilson gave me a one-shoulder shrug and gestured for me to grab the chair next to him. “You look fine.”
Fine. I scratched the nape of my neck but still sat down. I couldn’t expect my older brother to give me sound feedback on fashion. But I needed someone to give me something more than a lackluster “fine.”
“Where’s everyone?” I asked.
“Rearranging some of their things upstairs. And moving some of yours down. They said it shouldn’t take long and then we’ll head into town.” Wilson moved around the kitchen slowly, taking his time placing pots in their designated spaces.
“How are you?” I entwined my fingers, resting my hands on the woven table mat. “You’ve been locked in your room all day.”
“Nico let me take apart their sonar machine.” Instead of the usual wide wonder his eyes held when introduced to a new field of study, Wilson’s expression clouded.
