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BELLA
Iunlocked the door to my shitty apartment with shaking hands, blinking to clear my vision. In the cemetery, everything had gone flat and gray. The colors were only now bleeding back into the world. I chalked it up to shock. I knew it could do weird things to people, and I didn’t doubt I was feeling the effects after whatever the hell had just happened.
The woman was still with me, but she didn’t seem to be the talkative type. She told me we would “discuss matters in private,” then hadn’t spoken a word since.
The door creaked open and I cringed at the sight that greeted us.
The coin operated dryer in the basement was expensive. I normally hung up my clothes all over my one-room apartment to dry instead. So of course, every surface was draped in laundry.
I could only imagine how it must seem from the woman’s point of view. It probably looked like my place had been tossed by the FBI or something.
“I’m really sorry,” I said. “I don’t get a lot of guests.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, looking pinched.
I frantically grabbed a bunch of underwear off the table and two chairs by the one window.
“This is all clean,” I promised her. “It’s just that the dryer situation here isn’t good. Go ahead and sit. Do you want some tea?”
“Uh, sure, thanks,” she said.
I could tell she didn’t really want to sit down, and I didn’t blame her. I turned around so she could wipe down the chair with a handkerchief or something if she wanted without worrying about hurting my feelings.
I ditched the clothes on my bed, which was conveniently located next to the table, then I plugged in the tea kettle on the kitchenette counter and hoped I had at least two types of tea bags to offer her.
I opened the cupboard and saw my tin still had a couple of flavors.
I grabbed two mugs, spoons and a handful of sugar packets - one of the many perks of working at a diner.
I stole a glance at my guest, who was sitting on the edge of her chair. She looked completely out of place in my shabby apartment - like a fashionable vice-president, or leader of a religious cult on a tv series or something, with that impeccable suit and her dark hair looking like she’d just had a blowout.
Maybe she is like a cult leader, a real one.
The truth of the matter was, I shouldn’t be worrying about what she thought. I might be poor and a terrible housekeeper, but she thought she was awitch.Or at least she thought I was.
My mind went back to that… thing that had been chasing me, and to the vines reaching up to encircle its feet, the fronds of the willow tangling together to hold it in place.
“Nice,” she said, her sharp voice piercing my thoughts.
She was looking at a childhood photo of Jon and me. We were both smiling, ice cream running down our chins.
“That was back in Philly,” I told her.
She nodded.
“Are you two close?”
We weren’t anymore, not really. Not like before. The familiar pain tightened around my chest and I shook my head.
“Good,” she said crisply. “You’re going to be too busy for that.”
I carried out the tea things and poured hot water into her cup.
She picked through the bags, selected a peppermint and dropped it into her mug.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I had been hoping she wouldn’t ask for milk, since I didn’t have any.
“I’m sure you have questions,” she said.
