Page 178 of In Somnis

“No. Soul contracts are permanent. That’s what makes them dangerous, and why you need to protect your soul from them.”

Shit.

“Drink the tea,” Seraphine says. “Before bed. Not too hot.”

I look down at the herbs in my hand. Mugwort, Valerian, lemon balm. For the soul.

I close my fingers around them when the front door bangs open.

Jasper materializes in the kitchen doorway still wearing his backpack, curls everywhere, his eyeliner smudged on one side, suggesting it was either a very long school day or a very strong opinion about aesthetics. His eyes find the plate on the table and lock on immediately.

“Is there food?”

“Hi,” I greet. “I brought you guys some lunch.”

“Thanks.” He’s already reaching past me for a sandwich triangle, then takes a massive bite and chews. He looks slowly around the table, and his expression shifts into suspicion. “Why are you all so weird right now?”

“We were just talking.”

He points at me with the rest of his sandwich. “Your face is doing the thing.”

“I don’t have a thing.”

“You absolutely have a thing.” He shoves the last of the triangle in his mouth, drops his backpack on the floor, and starts rummaging through the front pocket. “Anyway. I got a new pendulum I need to show you.”

Mabel exhales through her nose, and it’s almost a laugh.

“Why do you have a pendulum?” I ask.

“It’s for divination.” He resurfaces holding a thin silver chain with a small pale purple crystal hanging from the end, amethyst maybe, pretty in a pointed sort of way. He holds it up so it reflects the light coming from the window. “You ask it questions, it tells you yes or no. I’ve been calibrating it all day.” He grabs my wrist. “Come on.”

“I was⁠—”

“Two minutes,” he says, already pulling me toward the living room.

I throw a look back at Mabel, who waves her hand in a go-ahead gesture that suggests this is not the first time Jasper has dragged someone out of the kitchen mid-conversation and probably won’t be the last.

But I wanted to ask his mom some more questions.

In the living room, on the floor, pillows lay about. Big, mismatched, embroidered pillows, a little flat from years of use. Jasper drops onto a dark green one and points at the one next to him.

I cautiously sit as he pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket and smooths it on the floor between us with both hands. He’s drawn a cross on it in blue pen, and written YES at the top and bottom, and NO on either side.

He holds the chain between his thumb and forefinger, the little amethyst point hanging perfectly still above the center of the paper. “Quiet. Let it calibrate.”

“I didn’t even tal⁠—”

“Shh.” He watches the crystal with the focused patience he usually saves for tarot, and after a moment, he says, “Okay. Ready.” He looks up with bright eyes. “So. What do we ask?”

“I thought you were asking.”

“I am. I like to build anticipation.” He turns back to the pendulum. “Does Lennon like my brother?”

Of-fucking-course.

The crystal swings back and forth, straight toward YES.

“That’s because I like him as a friend,” I say immediately, which would sound more convincing if the pendulum hadn’t almost thrown itself off the chain.