And you can close the curtains on the window by pressing the button there.” He points to a silvery button on the door panel beside me.
Jesus, I’ve never been in something so luxurious and high-tech in my life.
“I’m, uh. I’m good.” Glancing around, I notice 1 of 25 stitched into the leather seat beside me. “What’s one of twenty-five?”
“This car is one of only twenty-five in the United States.”
“Seriously?” This thing must have cost a fortune. Thousands of dollars on wheels. “I’m surprised Mr. Blackthorne allows it to be used to transport his employees.”
“Not all employees, Miss. Only you. Master Blackthorne insisted that you be comfortable on the ride home.”
He insisted? Why? “I’m very comfortable. Thank you.”
“Good.” He closes the door, shutting me inside, and I glance up at the empty window of Lucian’s office. Devil of Bonesalt.
The ride home seems almost too short, having killed the time watching Ever After on the tablet’s Netflix app. Movies aren’t usually my thing, but it was that, or dodging glances from Makaio in the rearview mirror and having him ask if I needed something every ten minutes. Besides, the movie was fitting for a visit home, as Aunt Midge and I used to love watching it when I was younger.
Admittedly, I’ve kind of missed the crotchety old woman.
We roll to a stop at the curb, and I nab the duffle from beside me and reach for the handle of the car door. It swings open before I can, and Makaio stands waiting to help me out. Out of courtesy, I take his hand, otherwise the gesture feels strange to me.
Once I’m free of the vehicle, he bends forward, slipping his hand through the strap of my duffle, while he closes the door behind me.
“It’s okay. It’s not …”
He swipes up the duffle, leaving me to carry nothing more than my cellphone.
With a huff, I lead the way through the fenced-in lot, toward the broken-down house where I’ve grown up for the last nine years. Empty pots of dead flowers lay tipped on the front porch as we climb the stairs to the entrance, but whereas the gardens at the Blackthorne’s simply look unkempt and neglected, here, they’re just a failed attempt to polish another rundown house on the block.
A swing to the left, old with cracked paint, reminds me of the times Aunt Midge and I would sit out talking for hours, on balmy summer nights. As much as it’s an added eyesore, I can’t imagine it not being there.
The exterior of the house could also use some new paint, but that doesn’t even hold a candle to what the interior needs, so I halt at the door and reach for my bag. “I’m good here.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Thanks for the ride.” I refuse to open the door, seeing as the Blackthorne’s garden shed is in better shape than this place.
“I’ll be back Sunday night to pick you up.”
“You sure? I mean, Aunt Midge can probably drive me.”
“Master Blackthorne insisted I drop you off and pick you up.”
It’s hard to imagine a man like him thinking me important enough to make such a demand. “Okay. If that’s what he insists.”
“It is. Have a nice weekend. Stay out of trouble.”
A curtain of familiarity hits me as I step inside the house and lock the door behind me, as usual. Aunt Midge calls me paranoid for checking locks, the stove, and closing curtains, but growing up half my life in abandoned places taught me not to be so quick to trust my fellow man, because sometimes he takes shit without asking.
The tired and broken-down furniture, which I imagine was probably purchased sometime in the eighties, the ugly brown paneling of the living room, and outdated wallpaper stained with nicotine throughout is still a comfort to me, in spite of its hideous appearance.
“Aunt Midge! You home?” I dump my duffle on the couch and make my way into the kitchen. The overwhelming scent of coffee and cigarettes clings to the air. That’s one thing I appreciate about the Blackthornes: aside from the occasional rich-cigar scent, there isn’t the stale smoky odor that sticks to the back of the throat, the way it does here. “Yo! Aunt Midge!”
The coffee pot is warm, not hot like she used it recently, but not cold like it’s been sitting for too long, either.
I peek inside her bedroom to find it empty, her bed unmade, nightclothes flung onto the floor. Maybe ran to the store, or something, seeing as she told