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"I'm keeping it," I told him. "And I'm not trying to be a pain in the ass here, Quinton, but you have no room to pass judgment. You buried my mo... Vivian in the dirt in your basement and we all know she wasn't the first one and probably won't be the last one either. A little bit of blood never hurt anyone. Take a good, long look at your fingers, they are covered in scars from you bleeding yourself."
He eyed me in disgust, sending chills down my spine. I had really pushed him too far this time, but there wasn't much I could do about it. We were here and the only place we could go from here was forward.
"You're one to talk," he snapped at me. "Why don't you take a good look at your own damn fingers."
I didn't need to look to know what he saw. My fingers were starting to look like his, and I wasn’t bothered by that in the slightest. If he didn't look so angry, I might have smiled at him.
"What does this have to do with your dream?"
"Right." I turned back to the mirror and stared at the reflection of myself. My hair was a little on the wild side and slightly rumpled from having slept on it. My mascara had been smudged under my eyes and my tank top was crooked, tugged down slightly longer on one side. I readjusted the tank top, straightening it out. "About that."
Naturally, I wanted to stall. He'd just freaked out about the mirror having a little bit of blood on it. What kind of reaction would he have when he found out what I'd done and what was to come next?
"Ariel," he snapped.
Right, guess it was time to find out.
"I cut my hand and made him swallow some of my blood so I would be able to track him down that way, because he didn't exactly know where he was. And I know—so don't even try to lecture me—that if it's not really him then I just gave a potential enemy a very serious weapon to use against me. I weighed the risks and took that chance anyways. He had no idea where he was and I couldn't leave without having some sort of link to him in any way I could get. I took the risk and now we're going to see if it pays off."
Quinton shook his head in disgust as he muttered under his breath about how stupid I am. He slammed his hands down on his hips and dropped his eyes to his boots. I had a feeling it took a lot for him to control the rage he had coursing through him right now at what he thought was my stupidity.
I shrugged and ignored him. This was bound to be painful for both of us, I didn't need to further antagonize him and make things worse.
I pulled open a drawer from below the counter and rummaged around inside. I pulled out a pocketknife I'd tucked away in there and flicked it open.
"Oh God," Quinton groaned. "This just keeps getting better and better. There's a good chance I'm going to lock you away for your own good after this is all said and done. You do know that, right? I think at this point you need to be protected from yourself the most. Forget our enemies, you're going to do yourself in all on your own. With Rain leading the way. We're all going to die because of you two crazy people. And the stupidest part is we'll probably go down gladly so long as we're all together and following behind you."
I chuckled as I slammed the drawer shut.
Binx sauntered in through the door open to my bedroom. He rubbed his little head against Quinton's ankle before slithering toward me slowly. He stopped a foot away and stared up at me. His eyes looked far smarter than that of an animal and a slither of unease slid down my spine as he stared up at me, reminding me for some reason of the man I'd left behind in the dream world.
"Dash said Binx showed up right after his dad died, yeah? The very next day, if I remember correctly. Don't you think that's weird?"
Binx lifted his paw and started to clean himself. I wasn't so sure if I was comfortable with him being in my space anymore, especially not with us looking for Romero. Something seemed off about the kitty that I had never felt before.
"Yeah, I think so," Quinton said distractedly, as he studied the mirror closely. He looked like he feared someone might appear in the reflection behind him and reach through the mirror to grab at him. I couldn't blame him, I'm sure I'd worn a similar expression the first time I'd gotten a good, close up look at the thing. "It was a long time ago though. Why?"
Why indeed.
I gave the cat a wide berth as I sidestepped him and approached the mirror with the knife held in my hand. Quinton's face was almost pressed up against the glass as he studied the markings on one corner of the frame.
I ran my hand lightly down his side, trailing my fingers along the soft material of his t-shirt and wishing it was his bare skin. He hummed under his breath, happy with my touch, and finally, maybe even happy with me. For a second, though, because I knew it wouldn't last a whole lot longer.
With his attention fixed mostly on the mirror I raised my hand and slid my knife along the tip of my pointer finger on my left hand. It wasn't deep, only a prick really, and didn't even hurt this time.
Channeling Rain and mimicking what I'd learned from him, I pressed the tip of my finger to the mirror. I closed my eyes, seeing Romero chained to the wall where I'd left him, and began drawing slow circles on the mirror in my blood.
Calling my blood from where it resides,
Deep in another whose soul it hides,
Follow the trace and let me see,
The person I seek in front of me.
I pull upon the chords of Romero Flynn,
Drawing on the blood bond now within,
