our wares and offer readings and guidance as needed, but living in this apartment is a choice, and I’m not ready to commit to it yet.
I search for the small skeleton key that I know fits into the lock of the drawer on the bedside table. With a click, I pull it open, holding my breath as I wait for the grimoire to come into view. Puzzlement flashes through me as I fully open the drawer.
“It’s not here,” I mutter, shocked, turning to Rogan. “The grimoire isn’t here.”
His steps clomp closer to me as he moves to survey the empty velvet-lined drawer that I’m gesturing to like some vacant-eyed game show model.
“Are you sure it should be here? Is there somewhere else she would have put it?”
“No, she was always very careful with it.” I look around the room as though the answers to the missing magical book will be there. My gaze stops on the made bed, just as Rogan holds up a long strand of red hair. I narrow my eyes at the sight and let out an irritated growl. “I know who took it,” I announce, and then I stomp out of the room and head right for the stairs.
If those bitches think I won’t curse them to the ends of this earth just because they’re family, then they’re dumber than I thought. Looks like it’s finally time to play a much anticipated game of whack-a-snob.
6
The tires of my ancient Nissan Pathfinder squeal in objection as I take a turn just a little too fast. I probably just scraped the last of the remaining tread off of them, but it’s for a worthy cause. Rogan reaches up for the oh shit handle to steady himself, and the hand he has wrapped around Hoot in his lap tightens. Wisely, he keeps his mouth shut as I rage-drive us over to my aunt’s house.
I turn my attention back to the road, but I don’t miss the tic of irritation in his jaw. He’s not a fan of this detour. If it were my brother missing, I wouldn’t be either, but without the grimoire, I’m not going to be much help, and Rogan made it clear that I’m his last hope. Or Grammy Ruby was. I’d feel bad, but I just can’t find it in me right now, I’m too pissed.
I’m pissed at the bones and at my entitled family for stealing something that they have no business touching. I’m pissed at Rogan, and most irritating of all...I’m pissed at myself. I never took any of this seriously, and now here I am, chillin’ in a pot of water like a frog that doesn’t know it’s about to be boiled to death. I don’t like feeling stupid, and what’s worse is I’m the one making myself look stupid.
I pick up my phone and open my contacts, I hit the speaker button as I take another sharp turn, and a shrill ringing fills the car.
“Hey, Lennard, you at the shop? Ma and I were thinking of bringing some lunch over,” Tad tells me distractedly, the sounds of him starting his dryer in the background.
“Osseous family beatdown commencing in T minus ten minutes,” I inform him on a growl, slamming my brakes as the light in front of me blinks from green to yellow to red much too quickly for me to safely shoot through it.
“Oooh, what did they do now?” he asks, eagerly.
“They stole the grimoire.”
“Those rat-faced... Maaaaa! Get in the car, we gotta go!”
I hang up before Tad can say anything else.
“You,” I snap, turning to eye Rogan in the passenger seat. “Tell me what I need to know about your brother and whatever you think happened.”
He holds Hoot a little tighter. “I’ll tell you everything, just watch the road while I do!” he orders, panic ringing in his voice.
I change lanes to pass a slow moving car and wait for Rogan to get to it.
“It started when Elon didn’t show up for a standing monthly appointment we have with a client. He doesn’t do that...ever, so I knew something was wrong. We talk every day. I had spoken to him the night before to have him bring me some things from his garden, and I knew if something had come up that morning, he would have called me.
“I finished up with the appointment as best I could without him and then drove straight to his house. I called, but his phone went right to voicemail every time. When I