spoon with you?” She asks me, her tongue running over her bottom lip.
I pick up my satchel. Feeling around inside the bag, my fingers finally snag the plastic color-changing spoon I once found in a cereal box and hand it to Alectra. There’s truly nothing lucky about it, the spoon was more of an inside joke between Electra and me when we’d initially begun dating. I’m not sure why I still keep it in my satchel.
Alectra brings the spoon to the nearest candle and cackles. “It looks so ghetto now. So faded.”
“Then you should keep it,” I say, stubbing my cigarette out on the carpet. “Sounds like it’s better suited to you than me.”
She shrugs off my comment and scoops a spoonful of crushed flower from the mortar. Alectra taps the powder out onto the table, pushing and shaping it until it resembles a line of cocaine. Placing the plastic spoon to one side, she presses her index finger against her left nostril, shutting it tight, then bends down and inhales the flower dust in one foul snort.
Once she’s had her fill, Alectra collapses to her chair and shivers. She coughs and splutters, sinking her nails into the wood of the table. Hair falls over her face and she recites an archaic mantra with a groan as her body jitters and shakes.
Suddenly, Alectra slams her head into the table once. Twice. Three times, leaving behind a bloody mess. She arches her back and her bones snap, her face angled at the ceiling. Her hair falls away to reveal both her eyes bulging wide and frightened. Her lazy eye has gone milky white.
Without removing her gaze from whatever invisible abyss lurks above our heads, the fingers of her right hand shoot out and dip into the blood on the table. They dance along the wood, crafting, and shaping letters nearly indecipherable.
Eager for a better look at what she’s writing, I lean forward and squint against the candle light but it’s no use. I take my phone out of my satchel and open the camera. With the flash on, I snap a picture of Alectra’s untidy scribble and she freezes with a pained gasp.
When I realize why, it dawns on me that assuming magic would allow me to perform a successful tracker spell was nothing compared to the fuck-up I’ve just made at the Three Blind Mice.
“Alectra,” I say, doing the best I can to keep my voice level and calm. “Stay with me. Please.”
But when Electra’s voice escapes her lips instead, I know she has begun to front.
“Faces… Why do I see faces everywhere?” She sounds tired and confused. “Eyes hollow and staring. Unblinking… Faces in walls and in shop fronts. And flowers…” Confusion gives way to fear. “So many flowers.”
The lid of Alectra’s lazy eye rises. The obscure angle at which she is holding her body loosens and crumples into the chair. Eyes closed, her forehead creases and she goes limp. Nothing more than the frail little bird she was the day I left.
“Electra.” My voice is barely an decibel above a whisper. I want to reach out and place a hand on her shoulder, give her a shake and ask if she’s alright, but I know that will only make this premature fronting worse.
The creases on her forehead deepen and she brings her hands to her face. “Delphi?”
Just hearing her say my name brings memories to the surface that I’ve yearned to forget. Lips upon mouths. Consuming. Tongues searching, exploring contours of flesh. Teeth biting. Heat. Our fingers inside one another. Sweat and ecstasy.
It’s all too much.
I stumble into my chair and it clatters to the carpet. Electra flinches, drops her hands and opens her eyes. I can’t believe I’ve forgotten how beautiful hers are — one a rich hazel, the other ocean blue.
“I’m in two places, aren’t I?” She asks, staring down at the words Alectra left behind in her blood. “Why do I see it? The place with the flowers?”
I make an effort to string a coherent sentence together, but my brain has gone fuzzy. “You fronted while Alectra was tracking something for me. It might be why you’re seeing a vision right now.”
Electra shakes her head. “How did I front? That’s not possible, Alectra and Olectra always ask permission first.”
I slide my phone into the back pocket of my jeans. “Alectra must have pulled you to the front by mistake. You know how clumsy she is.”
I pick up my satchel and head for the curtain leading