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“How’s my girl?” he says, plunking all the bags on the counter, zucchini and asparagus spilling out. He grabs the roses and hands one bunch to me. “These are for you.” Then he notices the Alexander McQueen box and shoots my mother a scandalous look. “What’s been going on here, Elaine?”
My mother shrugs, smiling brightly. “I figured we could give it to her early. Why not?”
He looks at me, a wry grin on his face nearly buried by his beard. “You working your magic on your mother?”
I protest. “It was her idea.” But now I’m watching my mother. When my father’s back is to her, her smile abruptly fades. I can tell she’s still stuck on the Poe thing. So am I.
“Sure, sure,” my father says with a sigh. “Okay then, let’s do this. Do you want to open it now?”
“Yes, please,” I tell him. I’ve never had much patience, and the purse would be a good distraction.
He hands me the box. “We should have at least wrapped it,” he says, glancing over at my mother who is staring off into nothing, biting her lip. “Are you okay?”
“What?” she says absently, then runs a hand over her head. “Yes. Just drifted off there.”
I contemplate bringing up Atlas Poe to my father to see if he recognizes the name at all, to see if their stories differ, but I don’t want to ruin a good moment.
So I open the box and see the gorgeous purse, all silver hardware and quilted black lambskin leather with the skulls and stone over a metal knuckle. I slip my hand through the knuckle and admire it, like I’m wearing extra rings. I’m pretty sure the stone isn’t a protection stone, but it’s still nice.
All girls need protection, Lenore.
My mother’s words flit through my head for a moment. Then I bring my focus back to the bag, hug the both of them, gush over it appropriately. I don’t want that to steal this moment, especially when this purse means a lot to my parents, I can tell that much.
I then help my father put his groceries away, have another coffee, and chat for a bit with him about his morning before I head down to my apartment with the box under my arm, roses in my hand.
I take out my favorite vase (a knock off of a find from the 18th Egyptian Dynasty), fill it with fresh water, then cut off the ends of the roses before sticking them in. They look gorgeous on the kitchen table, the petals like velvet. I always try to have fresh flowers in the apartment as it really brightens the place up.
Then I go into my bedroom and take the purse back out of the box, displaying it on the dresser beside my metal figurine of Pazuzu, a demon god from the first millennium B.C., who matches a tattoo I have on my hip. Pazuzu was a feared demon, but he had the power of repelling other worse demons, so in a way he’s about protection too. I admire them together for a moment, then slide the box under my bed (it will be a great place to stick mementos), grab a banana from the kitchen, and go to my desk in the living room, the pile of books beside it ready to go.
I fire up my laptop and start studying.
* * *
Lenore.
Someone whispers my name.
I wake up slowly, like I’ve been drugged. Lift my head up off the textbook, the paper sticking to my cheek.
What the hell?
I must have fallen asleep.
I carefully look around, my head feeling heavy.
What time is it?
It’s pitch black inside the apartment, except for the light coming down the hall from the kitchen. I could have sworn I had my reading lamp on before, but it’s off now.
I grab my phone from beside me and tap it on, the light illuminating the space around me. It’s one in the morning. I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep for. I’d pretty much been studying all day, taking a couple breaks before having dinner upstairs with my parents. After that, I took a glass of wine from them and went right back to studying. Maybe the pasta coma had delayed onset or something, because the last thing I remember was reading my notes on the Austrian archaeologist Manfred Bietak and that was it.
Well, I guess there’s always tomorrow. Normally I’d push through and pull an all-nighter, but I’m still tired enough to go right back to sleep. Might as well take advantage of it.
I’m just about to get out of my chair when I hear a creak in the kitchen, then the sound of a door closing.
I fucking freeze.
My skin prickles in fear.
