Drawn to Death Page 3

  “You’re so welcome,” I said.

  “Are you okay?” Just like Dark to worry about another when they had something this huge on their plate.

  “I’m fine,” I said, forced a smile, then a laugh. “Honest. All good.” Glanced back over my shoulder at the sight of Naomi and Tobias strolling past, chatting. Bit my lower lip. “I didn’t realize how intense this kind of thing can be.”

  Dark nodded, looking back from their own quick glance at the pair now disappearing behind a concrete pillar. “Poor Naomi,” they said, clearly misunderstanding (because I hadn’t actually told them anything) my meaning and sharing their own instead. “She was devastated when her partner died. Tamara and the gallery were everything to Naomi.” And suddenly her depth of grief made total sense to me. “I know she’s thrown herself into work since, but I worry about her.”

  “Of course, you do,” I said on impulse, hand on Dark’s arm. “That’s why we love you, you know. You care so much about everyone.”

  Dark blinked, smiled a little, didn’t comment as they looked away, shuffling their giant boots on the concrete floor while a growing sense of discomfort blossomed between us. I almost apologized for the awkward moment, but Dark beat me to it, turning suddenly and hugging me.

  “Thanks, Phoebe,” they whispered, voice hoarse, before they abruptly released me.

  Pickle joined us, not seeming to notice the softening of the odd moment, one I now realized had been Dark’s emotional overwhelm at a simple kind compliment feeding the discomfort and I promised myself to make sure I spoke up more often. Dark deserved to know how awesome they were.

  We all did.

  With the lighting to Dark’s satisfaction—and their gruff return to their normal indomitable Gothicness hiding further feelings they clearly didn’t want to show—our job was officially done.

  I could have left the ladder. Sighed over it where it stood nearby, as abandoned by Pickle as it had been by the last person to use it. Struggled with just leaving it be and finally slouched over to it, heaving it from the floor and heading back to where I found it with a wave to my friends to go on ahead without me.

  Not that I blamed my mother, Morgade, for the incredibly powerful sense of right and wrong, responsibility and duty she’d instilled in me from the moment I was conceived or anything, but sheesh.

  As I settled the ladder back in the same spot—not knowing where it was supposed to go and hoping leaving it there was the right choice, something to fret over later—I spun to head back to the exit and Dark’s waiting truck. Only to pause, not out of nosiness, I swear, but another trigger of embarrassment I’d stumbled over an unhappy conversation, waiting for the two who huddled on the far side of the pillar I’d almost emerged from to finish their little hissy fit.

  As it was, Brielle, while her voice was low enough I missed her contribution to the conversation, seemed eager enough to end it, her body language as I peeked around the corner almost in motion, shoulders turned away, feet spread wide as if a step was pending. But Tobias, the art critic, didn’t appear willing to let her go just yet, his arm out, blocking her exit, tone also low and expression darkly frustrated while she shook her head and finally pushed past him. I watched Brielle go, ducking back as Tobias turned toward me, and hid while the sound of his footsteps retreated. Not that it mattered if they knew I’d been here, I suppose, but I was uncomfortable enough with the whole situation I’d been bouncing around in—from argument to shouting match to chastisement—I really didn’t want to draw any more attention to myself.

  It was with a big sigh of relief, then, that I finished crossing the main room—at a near run, but not quite—and found myself in the back hallway, the glowing red EXIT sign summoning me as much as any spell to the alley and my ultimate getaway.

  Wouldn’t you know, luck wasn’t done with me yet? I tripped over something I’d missed in my haste, tumbling forward to my hands and knees, the sharp pain of the concrete making me gasp. It took a second to recover, forcing myself back on my haunches, checking the denim of my jeans for damage, brushing dust from the stinging palms of my hands, tears stinging the corners of my eyes and choking me just a little.

  Come on, really? Bad enough I had to live with this kind of thing when I used my power to benefit others. Did I really need to have it happen when I hadn’t even let out a whisper of magic? And, seriously, was this emotional overload really necessary?

  “I’m telling you,” a familiar voice said, approaching footfalls stopping just under the red light’s glow, Lydia’s angry face twisting and demonic with that shade’s influence only barely enhancing her already unhappy expression, “she’s a fraud, Sothram. I have a full show I can share with you right now, while she plays at pretending she’s produced anything in the last six months.”

  The tall agent simply shrugged inside his pale suit, though I noticed he did hand her a card before striding off into the gallery, fortunately away from me. And Lydia, a satisfied and celebratory smirk replacing her anger, spun and went back the way she’d come, which meant I could retreat without having to encounter either one of them.

  Praise the elements and stars for that little miracle.

  ***

  Chapter Four

  It was a quiet ride back to Lofty Aspirations, though Dark and Pickle’s chatter uplifted me sufficiently when I hopped down the excessive distance from the running board of the giant black truck, I felt refreshed and my positivity renewed. I really did have the best friends ever and while they’d never know how much being themselves helped me recognize I’d allowed myself to be unduly influenced by others, I would remain super grateful for the lesson.

  I pondered the fact I’d lost some of my resilience since leaving home and my family, wondering if the physical—not to mention mental and emotional—distance from those who knew me better than I knew myself was part of the problem. And the solution, actually, I realized as I walked down the long, narrow corridor toward my door, skylights punctuating the steel ceiling overhead, revealing the soaring wood beam and metal rooftop high above the entire warehouse complex Dark had named Earthhome. This awareness I’d embedded my identity and the stability of myself in the three women I loved more than life was a bit of a surprise. After all, I’d longed for an existence of my own, on my own, since I was a teenager if only to find out who I could be without the rather impressive weight of the triunity looming over me. Only to discover, to my chagrin, I’d given up far too much of myself despite my desires for independence and, walking that warm and quiet hallway, I came to the understanding I was trying to trade my family’s presence for my friends and this community in which I’d found myself.

  I paused at the tall window between apartments, looking out over the vast, interior green space, inhaling slowly before letting it out, breath and emotion and all, finding my reflection smiling back at me from the glass. While building a life here was a dream I’d only imagined I could step into for real, and having those I could love and trust and count on was an integral part of a happy life, standing on my own two feet, owning my strength and taking on the full responsibility for my joy was a tall order I couldn’t wait to fill.

  Now that I knew I’d been failing to fill it.

  Still grinning to myself, I opened my apartment door, the black WELCOME, QUEEN mat Pickle gave me as a housewarming gift glinting with a sparkly silver crown reminding me I was, in fact, and had everything I needed.

  Except, as I stepped across the threshold, something red, white and furry flung itself at me, the humming happy half-purr, half-complaint of the wriggling fox I wrapped my arms around bringing the tears I’d shoved aside for the last little while (wait, how long, Phoebe? Honesty and best policies, Queen) suddenly burst out without permission as I collapsed to the floor and hugged Jinks.

  “What are you doing here?” I leaned back, laughing and weeping and kissing his dear face as he licked me and continued his endless wriggling delight, full tail swishing back and forth in my lap, black
paws batting at my cheeks as he carried on his full conversation of chastisement for leaving him behind and utter joy at welcoming me home.

  All right, no, he didn’t actually speak or tell me so on any kind of level that would be considered paranormal or sentient. Except, I’d known him since he was a kit, rescued him when his mother died in an accident, raised him by hand, with love, as had the rest of my family. That meant I was fairly certain I could read him as well as anyone I knew and, from his satisfaction at my greeting that ended with him on his back next to me, chattering away and waving his little paws in the air while he thudded me with his tail, I knew he was happy to see me.

  And I was never so happy to see him.

  “You’re supposed to be home with Mom and Selene,” I sniffled, rubbing his belly, Jinks whining at me that had been a torturous experience and why had I left him behind with those people? “The Heathenry is your home, Jinks.” And this was now his home, it seemed since he rolled over at my words and stood, shaking all over, cascade of red and white hairs falling to the hardwood floor before he spun and leaped for the kitchen counter, looking down at me with his black triangle ears perked and a sharp bark of command for good measure asking me why was it I was kneeling on the floor and not feeding him immediately?

  I stood, only then noticing someone shoved a note under my door, sprawling black letters explaining one of the other artists found Jinks lurking outside my apartment and let him in when he wouldn’t stop pawing at my door. I set the note aside, giving him another hug, knowing scooting him off the counter would end in him jumping up again, and opened the fridge door to offer him some chicken I was saving for dinner. Jinks took it delicately between his bright, sharp teeth, black eyes glinting and ears twitching as I spoke to him.

  “I wanted to bring you,” I said, wiping at the last of the tears. “I swear I did. I just thought you’d be happier at home. That’s all.” He nipped my fingers gently, then licked them, tail wagging hard enough he almost knocked over a bunch of bananas. I scrambled to catch them, then swung him off the counter, hugging him while I sprawled on the nearby sofa, the square first-floor living space overlooking the interior garden, bright and cheery and filled with a random selection of furry pillows, art from my new friends and soft furniture for lounging, my lack of a table a personal choice, instead rimming the entire space with seating, a low coffee table the perfect place to eat. I loved how unconventional it felt, the metal spiral staircase to the second floor and my ensuite, how open and unusual the apartment was, just like me.

  Jinks seemed to love it immediately, freeing himself from my arms to burrow under a throw blanket, head down on his paws almost instantly. I stroked his soft fur, fighting a few more tears, but happy ones this time, and reached for Mom.

  Jinks is here, I sent to her, feeling the connection with her swell as she embraced my mind, the scent of chocolate and cinnamon making me drool as I caught a glimpse of her working in the huge, modern kitchen she loved so much.

  I was wondering when that scamp would find you, she sent. He’s been pining for you, Phoebe, so I spelled him with your location and a protection ward in case he decided to go looking for you.

  Thanks, Mom. I hugged her mentally, sighed without meaning to.

  Are you all right, sweetie? She paused in the spell she was casting, massive magic of the Mother behind her, waiting to carry on. That was my mom, though. No matter what she was doing, what was happening, she always took time for me.

  Part of the issue I was addressing, right? I’m fine, I sent. I didn’t realize Jinks was unhappy or I would have brought him with me.

  He’s been positively moping, Mom sent. Kind of like your sister. Not meant as an admonishment or to make me feel bad, I knew but did the job anyway.

  Whether Selene heard Mom or fate was just that good (trust me, the latter), my sister chose that exact moment to leap into our conversation with all the familiar exuberance and enthusiasm she was so well known for. Gorgeously blonde, tall, vivacious, the ultimate feminine, the host of the Maiden’s voluptuousness didn’t stop at her body but encompassed everything about her. Including her mental connection that I actually flinched from. Amazing what a couple of weeks away could do to reduce my acclimatization to my sister and her power.

  BeeBee! She practically sang in my head. Oh, Beebs, can we do a sleepover soon? I miss my sissy.

  I miss you too, I sent back, heart hurting. Soon, I promise.

  Tonight? Nothing wistful about that request, was there? Yeah, right.

  I’m sorry, Selene, I sent, not wanting her to think I was making an excuse while I was, in fact. Dark is in a show and I’m going with them for moral support. Pickle, too.

  Selene’s disappointment only lasted a flicker as she smothered it. I wasn’t the only one who could do that, it seemed.

  How fun, she sent. Wish them the best for me. And then she was gone, and I found myself reaching for her even as Mom gently hugged me and let me go.

  She’s adjusting, she sent, soft and kind. We all are.

  How’s Isolde? I hesitated to reach out to my grandmother and shut down the idea when Mom lovingly but firmly blocked me.

  We love you, Phoebe, Mom sent, her own mental voice full of emotion she wasn’t sharing. And we miss you. But we are so proud of you. Come for Sunday dinner, my darling girl. Then, like Selene, Mom was gone.

  Which had me sitting back, my now snoring house fox beside me, staring at the closet where I kept my cleaning supplies. And the black, silver and sapphire besom my grandmother made for me. I hadn’t had reason to fly in the last few weeks, felt less like the witch I was and more a normal—well, as normal as I got—young woman than ever. Maybe Mom and Selene sensed it. And perhaps it was the reason Isolde was avoiding me. At least Jinks didn’t hold it against me, though, so there was that.

  Besides, I had to take this step, find out who I really was, even if it ultimately meant I chose a normal life over that of the Monday family.

  Right?

  ***

  Chapter Five

  I accepted the small glass of champagne offered by the smiling, black-clad server, her tray laden with more flutes as she carried on to deliver them to other guests. It was hard not to hover and feel uncomfortable, though I knew I mostly blended in with my carefully chosen plain black dress, my dark bob caught back in a headband, minimal makeup and the silver moon pendant necklace that had been a gift from Cooper at Christmas my only adornment. I touched it with a hesitant fingertip, sighing over the choice to wear it when the adorable young officer himself no longer trusted me or wanted me in his life. Had made that perfectly obvious while I allowed him that choice. I’d hesitated over donning the slender silver chain and lovely tribute to my last name, but no matter what happened between Coop and myself, I never seemed able to completely let go.

  Besides, the necklace was my favorite, so I should wear it, shouldn’t I?

  I dropped my hand, the tiny velvet drawstring bag with my ID and a little cash firmly strapped to my wrist, holding the champagne glass in front of me like a shield. While I’d never really have called myself a wallflower, being the fourth in the Monday family had always lent itself to encouraging me to step back, though my mother, sister and grandmother would be horrified to know I’d always felt that way. They wanted me out in front with them, I was positive of that. Still, it had seemed simpler and less problematic for them—and me, let’s be honest about it—to simply fade into the background somewhat and let them have the limelight their adopted powers shone on them so brightly. Not to mention they all seemed natural at the whole mingling thing, if unaccepting of any attempt ever made in my presence to fit into the mold others of their status appeared so self-conscious of. Which meant I not only admired and adored my family, I wanted to be them when I grew up.

  Except, if I ever had that opportunity presented to me, it would mean the loss of one of them and I simply couldn’t conceive of that.

  I ducked my head as Dark joined me
, looming next to me though with their broad shoulders rounded somewhat forward, their normal kilt, boots and denim jacket traded for an impressive Gothic gown I’d never seen before, black velvet split down the front from the waist to showcase skin-tight black leather pants riveted with tiny skulls in a diamond pattern that dazzled when they moved. The pentagram cutout in the center of their back paired with the long, flowing sleeves gave Dark a witchy appearance that always made me smile, even now. Here I was the real thing and I had to admit I looked more like one of the servers than anyone with power.

  Yes, on purpose, though I was now accepting not just because I needed to hide who I was from others, but out of a lifelong leaning toward wanting to fit in with those who weren’t like me. Go figure.

  Dark’s right hand lifted to push back a black corkscrew curl carefully shaped and flat ironed hanging against their cheek, their fingers trembling inside the fitted and fully articulated metal armor encasing each digit. I understood their nerves and while there wasn’t much I could say to make them feel better, I did my best to linger close for physical support.

  Pickle, on the other hand, had chosen to meander, his enthusiastic and charismatic personality instantly gratifying him to everyone he met. I caught sight of him, hard to miss, really, especially in this crowd with their seemingly universal penchant for gray and black (I fit in, I really did), dressed as he was in a tight-fitting green satin pantsuit slashed open across his chest, the halter style allowing the long, emerald extensions he’d added to his dark hair to cascade over his perfectly shaped shoulders. How he’d learned to walk in those impressive heels he adored I had no idea, but I envied his grace as much as his extroverted ease and confidence.

  “Thanks for letting Jinks stay,” I said, realizing I hadn’t expressed my gratitude to Dark for their shrug and smile when I’d asked just an hour ago.