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Sure enough, three dots appear on the phone a second later.
I felt bad for hexing you, but now I don’t. You mutherfuckin deserve it.
What’s this now?
I don’t want to fuck your mother, no, but thanks for asking. What are you talking about with the hex???
Byron?
I told you, payback’s a bitch.
An uncomfortable feeling skitters down my spine. I don’t believe in hexes, obviously, but he’s acting erratic. Unreasonable. Kind of…scary.
And when I try to text him back three question marks and the middle finger emoji, it says message undelivered, so the asshole blocked me.
“He’s just trying to wig you out,” I say, and the sound of my own voice wigsmeout. It doesn’t help that I’ve been sitting around all day with nothing to do but overthink everything.
Sighing, I enter my group chat with Delia and Shauna. It’s still titled the Evans Sisters Want the Goods from when Shauna first started her relationship with Leonard.
I tap my finger on the side of the phone, then tell them about Byron’s weird-ass messages.
Me:You think he really tried to curse me?
Me:Danny and I DID just get stuck in an elevator for two hours. And there’s the whole ankle thing to consider.
Shauna: I want more details about the elevator. Stat.
Shauna:Also, I know a psychic we can ask about the hex.
Me:Yes, please.
Shauna:I’ll see if I can get us an appointment. We can also get one of the guys to pay this dude a visit. Show him you’re well protected. Hell, I can pay him a visit if you’d like. I know at least fifteen different ways to make a man cry.
Me:Tempting, but no. I don’t want him to think he rattled me.
Delia:OMG. I just saw this. Are you okay? Is Danny okay?
Me:Aren’t you going to ask if the elevator’s okay?
Delia:That was coming last.
We fill her in on everything, including our perspective visit to the psychic. When I set my phone down a few minutes later, I notice the woman across the way is staring at me again. This time she holds my gaze for a solid thirty seconds before looking away.
Fuck, did I just become paranoid?
ChapterEight
Danny
The day passes in a blur.
I can still smell Mira, taste her. See that image of her from after the lights blinked on inside the box we were stuck in.
When I found out that she was moving in, I figured life as I knew it was over. I was right, just not in the way I thought, and now I’m confused, wrapped up in my mind like a pretzel.
I called Burke earlier and informed him of what happened. He’s going to call the building management, but he agrees the incident was probably caused by an electrical short, which also left every clock in our apartment blinking.
He ended our conversation by asking, “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
