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A pregnant woman across the waiting room glared in their direction, reaching to clap her hands over her small boy’s ears while he played on her phone in a zombie-like trance.
“You’re already pregnant,” the woman next to Bunny said, her voice high and accusatory. “I’ve been trying for six years. I get to say ‘ass’ all I damn well like!”
The woman blinked, frowned, and then turned away to try to ignore the offensive conversation. Bunny started to wonder if she was going to get to put any souls in during her time in the waiting room. Maybe it was time to cut and run.
Almost as if she read Bunny’s thoughts, the woman latched onto her arm, staring into her face like she was searching for a commonality. “I’m Pippa,” the lady said unapologetically.
“Bunny.”
“Love it,” Pippa replied, enthused. “How long have you been trying?” she asked Bunny.
And for all her blustering, and all her thick-skinned bravado, Bunny felt her heart break for this woman who so desperately wanted to be a mother. She didn’t know if it was a moment of weakness, or whether the souls encapsulated in her pendant were having some kind of weird effect on her estrogen levels or what, but she did something she almost never would have considered doing otherwise.
She lied through her teeth.
“Longer than you,” she said kindly, patting the woman’s hand. “And I’ll be three months along next week.”
Relief seemed to flood the woman, to the point where her happy smile was accompanied by tears shining in her eyes. “That’s wonderful,” she told Bunny, genuinely happy behind the aching sadness that seemed to emanate out of her very aura. “Twelve weeks… just lovely.”
Bunny mentally kicked herself. Of course they—real pregnant woman—spoke about their pregnancies in terms of gestational weeks, not months. She knew that. Why had she made such a stupid mistake? Luckily, her new bestie didn’t seem to have noticed.
“Thank you,” Bunny told her, patting the woman’s hand again. “You’re next.”
“I hope so,” the woman beamed, her faith in the universe restored just a little.
The door to the waiting room opened, and a stylish young woman with an incredibly expensive designer handbag stepped up to the receptionist’s desk. She was lit up like a glow stick at a rave party, and a thrill of excitement jolted Bunny like electricity.
Batter up.
She gave the woman’s hand one more compassionate pat and stood, hefting her purse farther onto her shoulder. Scooting across the room was easy. Orchestrating a clumsy double-step to ‘accidentally’ bump into the woman at the counter as lightly as possible was a little more challenging.
“Oh—excuse me!” she said, immediately reaching out her hand to touch the woman’s arm in conjunction with her apology. Upon making a connection, Bunny’s pendant gave a strange buzz against her skin. She watched a silver tadpole pop right out of its surface and zip through the air at lightning speed, disappearing into the left side of the woman’s lower abdomen. A second later, the white glow became a cheerful bright blue.
“No harm, no foul,” the lady laughed, before half-turning back to the receptionist. “Abbie Miller for Dr. Edmunson, please.”
Bunny’s tight, apologetic smile widened into a genuine one as soon as she was out of the doctor’s office. So that was how it was done! She touched the glowing woman, and divine purpose did the rest. Sweet. One down, five to go.
A thrill of excitement gave her butterflies as she wandered down the street toward her apartment building. The sounds of the city calmed her; even the intermittent honking of aggressive car horns was part of the urban symphony that she loved. Never in a million years could she trade all this for sleepy, cricket-chirp-infested Mosswood.
* * *
Bunny browsedthe aisles of the small but convenient market, picking up the things she would need for dinner and a little extra besides. Her favorite honeycomb ice cream was on sale, so she indulged. The apples were bright red and sinfully delicious-looking, so she grabbed a couple of those, too. But just for good measure, she also threw in a couple bags of potato chips and some chocolate bars.
It was a start-of-week ritual that usually helped her feel settled and in control—Zen, even—but now it was interrupted. She eyeballed every woman she walked past, hoping to see a hint of a glow about them but she came up empty-handed. Her thoughts were zooming along at the speed of light, turning over the infinite possibilities that learning about her mother’s secret had opened up to her.
And then there were the pesky, very inappropriate thoughts about a certain immortal force in a sweeping black coat.
It was ridiculous to even entertain the idea—she knew that. But she couldn’t remember the last time she’d fantasized about a man who wasn’t fictional. Every time her eyes caught movement in a shadow she thought about the way he moved with a practiced ease, or the way he seemed to stare right into her soul. He was one part Heathcliff, two parts Keanu Reeves, and a whole lot of trouble. She was no spring chicken, but she dreaded to think of how old he was, which only complicated things because he didn’t look a day over forty.
A very robust, energetic forty.
But where did that leave things? Was he too young for her or too old for her? Or both? Was it both? Was he even capable of romantic feelings at all?
She shook her head as she wandered out of the cereal aisle, determined to focus on what was going on around her. She was never going to put in enough souls to meet her quota if she was all doe-eyed and awestruck, as he had put it. His voice saying those words in her head echoed back to her mockingly.
Ugh.
She was so distracted that she almost ran her grocery cart into a group of people who had spilled out of the next aisle over, pulling up short and muttering an apology under her breath. Her grueling night and almost uneventful morning was obviously starting to catch up with her. The sooner she got her stuff and got home to bed, the better.
