be embarrassed by my emotional weakness.
She came over and crouched at my knee. “Yeah, I know.” She looked over her shoulder for Aunt Evelyn. “I’m scared too. But I’m here, and I’ll do my whatever it takes to help you. Not only because it’s my duty, but because you’re my best friend.”
Aunt Evelyn breezed back in with my favorite dessert: strawberry trifle, heavy on the whipped cream. You’d think after the glaze, I’d want nothing more to do with sugar, but trifle… I couldn’t let that pass.
“Grace, after dinner I have something to show you,” Aunt Evelyn said, scooping out my humongous portion with a giant soup ladle. I couldn’t fault her attempt to use the syrupy confection as a device to make me forget the shit that was now called my life.
And things were okay, because for a few moments—as I savored every bite of that spongy sugar high—I did forget.
Chapter Eleven
Am I my brother’s keeper?
—Cain
J ames had suffered through it all day. A desperate nagging stuck in his diaphragm. One of those aches that always seemed to herald the arrival of something.
The feeling was momentarily interrupted by a phone call. Henry Dodson, a barely functioning heroin fiend, was on the other end. James had learned years ago that if you wanted to live incognito, you had to enlist the services of many unsavory characters along the way. This was because even though a magical ability was a gift, it came with limitations.
James was aware that, like humans, witches were confined to the material world—which was ruled by the laws of space, time, and matter. And it took a tremendous amount of supernatural energy to transcend these laws. Some magical workings required so much force that performing them could result in the witch’s death. Physical and ethereal recovery were real issues no matter how great or small the conjure was. So James always employed mundane efforts, whenever possible, to achieve his goals—even if those actions were felonious.
The Bolingbroke siblings had racked up an impressive list of underworld mortal connections—dirty vice cops, venereal-disease-ravaged prostitutes, hired killers, closeted politicians, and hardcore drug addicts. These were the types of people who got them what they needed without all the scrutiny and paper trails that came with legal methods. James preferred the addicts because he found them to be the least likely to become turncoats…as long as the drugs kept coming in.
Henry was James’s current snitch. Henry basically lived at a hopping nightspot called Club Entice, way over in Chesapeake. He always gave James the heads-up whenever Adrian somehow managed to escape the confines of the Southern Shores house. James didn’t care if Adrian thought the clubs around the OBX were dull compared to the big city ones. He had given Adrian explicit orders to remain low-key. But Adrian somehow always managed to travel the 120 miles to party and act like a raunchy hot-dogger at Club Entice.
“James, man, your brother is down here acting all rowdy and loud. I think he’s had way too much to drink, and he’s drawing a pretty big crowd,” Henry said. James could hear his excessive yawning, an early symptom of heroin withdrawal.
“Damn it!” James said, not wanting to deal with Adrian’s shenanigans once again. He stormed toward Adrian’s room rubbing his twinging stomach. “How long has he been there?” “Not long,” Henry said, sounding jittery. “Hey, uh, if you’re coming by, some cash would be appreciated. Even if it’s just a little.”
James was barely paying attention to Henry. “Sure, whatever.” He was more interested in getting to Adrian’s room at the end of the hall, and just hung up on Henry.
James hated going into Adrian’s room. The vibration in there was frigid and hollow, just like Adrian. The four walls enclosed a lifeless space void of décor. The only furniture was a king-sized bed covered with a lonely, black fitted sheet that
She came over and crouched at my knee. “Yeah, I know.” She looked over her shoulder for Aunt Evelyn. “I’m scared too. But I’m here, and I’ll do my whatever it takes to help you. Not only because it’s my duty, but because you’re my best friend.”
Aunt Evelyn breezed back in with my favorite dessert: strawberry trifle, heavy on the whipped cream. You’d think after the glaze, I’d want nothing more to do with sugar, but trifle… I couldn’t let that pass.
“Grace, after dinner I have something to show you,” Aunt Evelyn said, scooping out my humongous portion with a giant soup ladle. I couldn’t fault her attempt to use the syrupy confection as a device to make me forget the shit that was now called my life.
And things were okay, because for a few moments—as I savored every bite of that spongy sugar high—I did forget.
Chapter Eleven
Am I my brother’s keeper?
—Cain
J ames had suffered through it all day. A desperate nagging stuck in his diaphragm. One of those aches that always seemed to herald the arrival of something.
The feeling was momentarily interrupted by a phone call. Henry Dodson, a barely functioning heroin fiend, was on the other end. James had learned years ago that if you wanted to live incognito, you had to enlist the services of many unsavory characters along the way. This was because even though a magical ability was a gift, it came with limitations.
James was aware that, like humans, witches were confined to the material world—which was ruled by the laws of space, time, and matter. And it took a tremendous amount of supernatural energy to transcend these laws. Some magical workings required so much force that performing them could result in the witch’s death. Physical and ethereal recovery were real issues no matter how great or small the conjure was. So James always employed mundane efforts, whenever possible, to achieve his goals—even if those actions were felonious.
The Bolingbroke siblings had racked up an impressive list of underworld mortal connections—dirty vice cops, venereal-disease-ravaged prostitutes, hired killers, closeted politicians, and hardcore drug addicts. These were the types of people who got them what they needed without all the scrutiny and paper trails that came with legal methods. James preferred the addicts because he found them to be the least likely to become turncoats…as long as the drugs kept coming in.
Henry was James’s current snitch. Henry basically lived at a hopping nightspot called Club Entice, way over in Chesapeake. He always gave James the heads-up whenever Adrian somehow managed to escape the confines of the Southern Shores house. James didn’t care if Adrian thought the clubs around the OBX were dull compared to the big city ones. He had given Adrian explicit orders to remain low-key. But Adrian somehow always managed to travel the 120 miles to party and act like a raunchy hot-dogger at Club Entice.
“James, man, your brother is down here acting all rowdy and loud. I think he’s had way too much to drink, and he’s drawing a pretty big crowd,” Henry said. James could hear his excessive yawning, an early symptom of heroin withdrawal.
“Damn it!” James said, not wanting to deal with Adrian’s shenanigans once again. He stormed toward Adrian’s room rubbing his twinging stomach. “How long has he been there?” “Not long,” Henry said, sounding jittery. “Hey, uh, if you’re coming by, some cash would be appreciated. Even if it’s just a little.”
James was barely paying attention to Henry. “Sure, whatever.” He was more interested in getting to Adrian’s room at the end of the hall, and just hung up on Henry.
James hated going into Adrian’s room. The vibration in there was frigid and hollow, just like Adrian. The four walls enclosed a lifeless space void of décor. The only furniture was a king-sized bed covered with a lonely, black fitted sheet that
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