does a ton for me and my sister. She’s a good person.” I think of how she’s slaved to take care of us over the years without much help from my dad. “She’s a great person.”
“I never said she wasn’t,” Knox says slowly.
“She can’t be an alcoholic. She only drinks on the weekends.”
Knox rests his head against the wall, his eyes still pinned on me. “When she drinks … can she stop at one drink? Or does that first drink always lead to drunk?”
Always to drunk, and the muscles in my neck tighten and my shoulders roll back as I push off the wall. As if his questions are fighting words. “My mom isn’t an alcoholic.”
Knox tosses his hands in the air. “My bad, my brother. What do you say we go get some food? My treat.”
I shove my hands hard into my jeans pockets. I don’t want to go get food. In fact, I’d tear off my left arm if that meant he’d drive to a quarry so I could jump. The longer it takes to answer him, the more I’m aware that he can read my mind and knows what I long to do—which is why he’s offering food.
“I’m thirsty,” I say, my attempt to speak in terms he’d understand.
“So am I,” he says. “Sometimes we don’t get hamburgers to help you. Sometimes we do it to help me.”
Yeah. I guess that’s the point. Not saying anything else, we both leave feeling parched.
VERONICA
It’s Saturday, nine in the evening, and I’m on the hunt for more EVPs by slowing down and speeding up the frequency of the audio we took at the cemetery. Sawyer was here earlier, but he left at five as he had a meeting at work and then has to help clean the pool areas of the Y.
Mom has moved from the piano to the window seat and she’s intently watching me work. Dad’s lounging on the couch, the remote is on his chest, football is on the television, and he’s sound asleep.
My cell vibrates with a text. Glory: Please be careful. An angel has warned me that something is moving downstairs.
I raise an eyebrow: What does moving mean?
Glory: It means be careful. Did you visit someplace new in your search for spirits? If so, where? I’m scared you’ve brought something dangerous home.
I tap my fingers against the desk, weighing how I should answer. We went to the cemetery on Mitchell Hill.
She takes longer than I like to reply. Have you been avoiding the downstairs?
My lips squish to the side, as I’ve been spending time there with Sawyer … making out.
Glory: V?
Me: I haven’t spent a lot of time there.
I can practically feel her sigh even though she’s miles away. I can only imagine the reprimand playing out in her head—I’m a magnet, I make things worse, the zombie apocalypse is going to happen if I’m downstairs.
Glory: I’m out of town for a festival, otherwise I’d be there. I’m worried, V. You’re in danger. You should stay with Jesse or Nazareth until I return.
I glance over at Dad again. I can’t. Dad just returned from a trip. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in five days.
Glory knows Dad doesn’t believe in anything supernatural so she understands why I can’t leave. Please be careful.
Me: I will be and I think you’re overreacting. I’m fine.
I put down my phone, and while I’m used to Glory’s constant concern about me and this house, this particular warning unsettles me. I tap my fingers against the desk again then stand and move to the window. I flip on the outside light and the backyard is illuminated. Sawyer’s car is gone and so is his mom’s, which means the downstairs is currently empty.
Empty and dark. Neither is good, and the combination for spirits is inviting. If we really did bring something new home, it’s probably moving around the downstairs, curious about its new surroundings. Growing in strength.
Movement in the back of the yard causes me to flinch—the hammock. It swings. My heart stalls. A moment of frozen fear. A ghost? But then as it moves again, I make out a figure. A tiny shadow with a mermaid doll. This is all wrong.
I’m out our door, down the stairs, out the front, then call her name as I go around the back. “Lucy!”
She sits up on the hammock, holding her mermaid doll tightly to her chest. I slow my stride as I approach and force a smile on my face. “Hey.”