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Like the last time she’d visited, it was late, but at least she had the utilities sorted out. The power, water, and gas were in her name, thanks to some guidance from Mr. Davis.
Iris couldn’t bring herself to sleep on any of the mattresses because who knew how long it had been since they were cleaned. Maybe never. And while she wasn’t ordinarily that picky about housekeeping, there was something unnerving about being in a house by herself that had belonged to someone who’d passed away.
Yeah, I can’t let myself think along those lines. My imagination will kick in.
Before the world changed and the witches stepped out of the shadows, sometimes she’d even imagined she caught glimpses ofthe elusive fae while walking in the woods. Since her family was…unusual, she’d believed in ghosts, unicorns, and mermaids too. To Iris, it always seemed strange that her sisters didn’t wonder atallabout the other paranormal communities that might be quietly coexisting nearby, hidden in plain sight just like her family. But no, instead of being curious, her sisters used to wind her up with far-fetched stories, which usually ended with Iris in tears and Mom scolding her for being difficult and dramatic.
Good times.
Her phone pinged, and Rose popped up in the notifications. Until now, nobody had messaged her since she’d skipped Rose’s party, and if she was honest, she’d welcomed the silence. Things hadn’t been the same since Iris brought home her boyfriend of two months …and her sister Lily had snapped him up.
She hadn’t been inlovewith Dylan, but in her view, both he and Lily were wrong. He shouldn’t have flirted with her sister, and Lily damn sure shouldn’t have gone along with it, even if those two were a better fit. Now everything was awkward, and Iris couldn’t help feeling resentful toward everyone currently enabling that relationship.
It felt like she didn’t even have a family anymore, frankly. She wished she could opt out, like people did with newsletters they didn’t want anymore. But there was no button to press that would get her out of those blood ties. Iris sucked in a calming breath, wishing that she was enough for someone. Anyone. Without changing who she was or—
She could practically hear her mother’s admonition—Get your head out of the clouds. Dreams won’t get you anywhere. It’s all about hard work. Look at how well Rose is doing.
Mom usually didn’t add the last, unspoken sentence:Why can’t you be more like your sister?But Iris didn’t have to hear the words to know Mom was thinking them. Pretty much everyone believed that Iris was wasting her life.
It was yet another layer of disappointment that Iris was so…average, unable to share in the family legacy or even know what it was like to…feed. Which was a gross way to put it, but her family seemed to look on most humans as a snack pack rather than individuals with their own hopes and dreams. Olive was the only exception, as she genuinely cared about others. Irisshouldbe able to relate better to humans, but her sisters wereexpertsin mental and emotional manipulation; they had…well,minionsseemed like the right word to Iris, even if Lily and Rose called them “friends.”
Anger and envy burned within her in a bitter, blazing knot.
Most people could hold on to friendships at least, but people always drifted away from her, as if she had nothing they needed long-term. Her family, on the other hand, cultivated sycophants addicted to the faint euphoria that came from draining their emotions, a blissful numbness that approached inner peace. Her mother’s “best friend,” Misty, had been running errands for Delphine Collins for over thirty years, whereas Iris’s bestie from high school had ghosted after graduation. Since Iris had gone to four different colleges before dropping out, she hadn’t made lasting impressions there either. As she rolled up in a blanket and curled up on the couch, she thought,Nobody would care if I disappeared.That was a lot grimmer than she usually felt. Maybe exhaustion was making her emotional. Things would look better in the morning, right?
The next day, things were still messy.
She hauled all her stuff upstairs and then got started sorting Great-Aunt Gertie’s earthly effects. Her family would have simply paid someone to do this, but that felt deeply wrong, even if she could’ve afforded it. To her surprise, she wept as she sorted. When she found a bundle of letters, she couldn’t resist opening them.
In a romantic movie, these would be a collection of love letters from some tragic affair, perhaps a soldier who’d perished in some long-ago war, the reason Auntie had never married. But no, these were chatty notes from various friends, illuminating what life had been like for her great-aunt over the years. Those she elected to save because discarding responses to Gertie’s words and emotions while living in this house seemed like an act of violence.
Iris saved all the photos because they too felt like stories with a life of their own. Most of the clothes went, though she salvaged some vintage sweaters. Random bric-a-brac got discarded, along with musty decorative objects and muddy watercolors. Little by little, over the course of three days, she packed most of what should be donated and called a charity service to collect it.
Then she popped out for the cheapest prepaid SIM she could find. She’d probably keep the data turned off and stick to free hotspots, as this purchase had to last her for the foreseeable future. Between credit cards, student loans, and paying to deep-clean the house, there was no room in her budget for extras. Hell, she’d probably be eating oatmeal for weeks.
Iris cringed at paying online for hired cleaning professionals. “It’ll be worth it,” she told herself and put the transaction on her card.I’ll never pay this off.But the site promised that they’dscrub the place, top to bottom, and they’d also deep-clean all the mattresses and rugs. The next day, the team showed up in pristine uniforms, ready to scour.
Iris spent the afternoon weeding while the crew blitzed the house with cleaning agents. When she came in hours later, the place smelled much better. It couldn’t make up for years of neglect, of course, but stripping away the junk helped. So did making the woodwork gleam. Now, the house itself felt…lighter, somehow, as if she’d lessened its architectural burden; even the air seemed easier to breathe.
“You paid online,” the team leader said. “So we’re finished unless you’d like to schedule regular appointments?”
“I can’t afford that,” she admitted. “Sorry if—”
“No, it’s fine. We often do one-shot visits when houses are changing hands. Good luck!” With that, the crew headed out, getting into the van with the anthropomorphized vacuum cleaner stenciled on the side.
After that, Iris sent a few requests for quotes to various home reno sites and shuddered when they called her back. “Yes, this is Iris Collins.”
“What’s your renovation budget?” a deep-voiced contractor asked.
“Eh, I was hoping to find out how much it would cost,” she hedged.
“To turn your old Victorian into a B and B? I’d have to do a walkthrough, but you’re looking at a minimum of 50K.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Did you want to set a time for me to come out and take a look at your property?”
How much wouldthatcost?
