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I look down at the wine. “Shit. I’m really sorry. I can go buy another one if you want me to.” I can’t help the shakiness of my voice. Something was just here. It tried to take me.
“Girl, no—what? Forget the wine! It’s just a drink! You look like you saw a ghost! What the hell happened?”
I look into Faye’s dark brown eyes, contemplating telling her what I saw and felt. It all felt so real, yet here I am. Standing still. Perfectly fine. Unharmed.
I touch Faye’s face, making sure she’s real, and her flesh is soft and smooth. She even has the sprinkle of light brown freckles on her tan skin, just as I remember.
“Okay…you’re clearly not well. Come on. Let me get you upstairs.” She wraps an arm around me and leads me past the shards of glass to get to the stairs.
I can hear jazz music playing before we leave the basement, and soon we’re drowning in the noise as we move through the bookstore, past the mingling guests and the café, to get to the front counter.
“Sit,” she insists, pointing to a stool behind the counter.
“I’m sorry, Faye. I—I really don’t know what happened. I…” I swallow hard. How do I explain what happened without sounding like a complete lunatic?
I was in the basement and then it turned into a forest, and I was floating in darkness! Something grabbed me—no,yougrabbed me! But it wasn’t you, it was something else! Something evil!
“Willow,” she murmurs, squatting in front of me. “Please tell me what’s going on with you.”
“Nothing’s going on, Faye. I just…I thought I saw something in the basement but…it was nothing. It couldn’t have been anything.”
She considers that a moment. “Is this about Warren?”
When she says my brother’s name, I freeze again and avoid her eyes. “No.”
“Your birthday is this weekend,” Faye continues. You’re turning thirty. He’d be turning thirty too.”
“Faye, please.” I close my eyes and rub the center of my forehead. “Not here. Not right now.”
“You have to talk about him, Willow. You can’t keep holding it in.”
“I’m not holding anything in. I’m fine, really!” I exclaim, a little louder than intended. “I’m—I’m medicated. I’m living and breathing. I’m fine.”
“I called your name six times in the basement,” she says, concern swimming in her eyes. “It’s like you were looking past me and at something else when I tried to snap you out of—ofwhateverthe hell that trance was.”
I push off the stool and step sideways. “Don’t worry, okay? I’m fine. I just think you’re right about the meds and tequila. Maybe now is a good time to stop mixing the two.” I laugh but there’s no humor to my tone, and Faye can sense it because she doesn’t laugh with me. She’s still worried, and I don’t blame her.
“Come on, let’s go get that wine before people realize they’re still sober,” I say, steering the subject.
A smile pulls at the edges of her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes and I know she’s still thinking about the basement and about whatever the hell that trance of mine was. Hell, so am I. But Faye has guests and tonight must run smoothly, so she doesn’t put up a fight, despite how badly I’m sure she wants to.
And besides, what happened to me hasnothingto do with Warren, nothing at all. And even if it did, he’s the last thing I want to talk about right now.
Nine
WILLOW
I actas normal as possible throughout the entire open mic, despite Faye coming to check on me every ten minutes. When the night is over and the guests are leaving, Faye thanks them all and waves them off, and while they exit, I help Mel (the employee who showed up to run the café) stack the chairs.
It’s as we’re dragging the tables back to their designated areas when Faye returns with a heavy sigh. “Just leave it. I’ll be in early tomorrow to fix things before opening.”
“Are you sure?” Mel asks, standing upright.
“Positive. It’s been a long night and the storm is going to get worse. We should get out of here while we can.” Faye walks down the hallway to get to the employee lounge and collect her things. Mel does the same, and when they return, I’m sliding into my jacket and pulling my car keys out of the pocket.
Faye wishes Mel a goodnight and watches her cross the parking lot to her car, and when it’s just us, Faye turns and asks, “So is it just tequila at your apartment?”
I enter my apartment,kicking out of my shoes right away as Faye follows me in. She slips out of her damp jacket and hangs it on the coatrack by the door along with her purse, and then looks around my place.
