poster and slid to the floor. “Push pins melt.”
“Good to know. Remember, I’m only a call or text away because I’m so totally sick you’re going to miss me like crazy.” She closed her hand around his knee. The skin under her fingers was just on the edge of scorching. “Pretty much the way I’m going to miss you.”
He had enough white showing around the gold to make the eye roll obvious. “You won’t miss . . .”
“Call me a liar again, and I will use the charm of disgusting backney I created for my sisters.”
“Gross.”
“Exactly.” She shook his leg. “We good?”
“I guess,” he admitted reluctantly. He stood when she did, kicking a stack of old comics under the bed.
“If those are Graham’s, I’d be a little more careful. He doesn’t carry them anymore, but he didn’t actually get rid of his weapons. Now, come’re.” Dragging Jack into a hug, she found his skin had cooled to as close to Human body temperature as it got. Always a good sign.
“If you just drew a charm on my back, I’m telling Auntie Gwen who ate that rhubarb pie,” he snarled, jerking away.
“You shared it.”
“You cut it. And I’m just a kid, remember? You led me astray.”
“That’s part of my job.” Reaching behind her for the doorknob, she sobered. “Be careful with the sorcery. I know it usually just happens,” she cut off his protest. “But that’s part of the problem. The aunties think you have no control.”
“Yeah, but they don’t want me to do it on purpose or practice.” Jack scratched at the old crescent scar on his cheek. It looked like a hockey scar but had probably been a near miss by one of his uncles. “They say practicing accumulates power. They can’t have it both ways.”
“How long have you been here?The aunties have it any way they want it.” She opened the door about two centimeters then closed it again. “Keep an eye on Allie for me, would you? Graham’s cool, but he’s not blood.”
Her reflection in the mirror was so close to how she actually looked—jeans, sneakers, tank, gray eyes, short blonde hair, three gold rings in her left ear, one in the right—that it took her a moment to find the changes. Change. Probably.
Just in case, she checked her gig bag. Guitar tucked safely away, mandolin case piggybacking, small pockets on both cases stuffed with the essentials—nothing matched the image in the mirror where something was struggling to get out.
“I hope you’re telling me to free the music,” she murmured patting the edge of the frame. “Because if my underwear were any freer, it’d be illegal.”
She had to put her knee to the door to get it open. Given that Auntie Gwen was in the window of the loft, glaring down into the courtyard, it was possible that the weight of her gaze had been holding it closed.
Charlie waved, then laughed delightedly, as Auntie Gwen flipped her off. If they’d wanted her to cross, if that’s what all the we have to talk eyebrow waggling had been about, it wasn’t going to happen now. She didn’t look up to see if Jack was standing by his window, he’d only be embarrassed to be caught. There was no reason to look for Allie and Graham because she knew damned well they were watching.
The shrubs leaned toward her, leaves quivering.
“Hang on, kids.” Freeing her guitar, she hung the gig bag on her back then settled the guitar strap over her shoulders and checked the tuning. A flat G had once resulted in a detour through a bed of decorative plantings at the Illinois State Fair and a fast dive for cover while she figured out what had gone wrong. Like many celebrities, the Budweiser Clydesdales were shorter up close. She’d had to throw out her shoes. And socks.
Tuned and ready, Charlie gave her assembled audience her best Ahn-old . . . “Ah’ll be back.” . . . started the melody line that would take her to Mark, and stepped into the shrubbery . . .
. . . and stepped out again in a fringe of trees
“Good to know. Remember, I’m only a call or text away because I’m so totally sick you’re going to miss me like crazy.” She closed her hand around his knee. The skin under her fingers was just on the edge of scorching. “Pretty much the way I’m going to miss you.”
He had enough white showing around the gold to make the eye roll obvious. “You won’t miss . . .”
“Call me a liar again, and I will use the charm of disgusting backney I created for my sisters.”
“Gross.”
“Exactly.” She shook his leg. “We good?”
“I guess,” he admitted reluctantly. He stood when she did, kicking a stack of old comics under the bed.
“If those are Graham’s, I’d be a little more careful. He doesn’t carry them anymore, but he didn’t actually get rid of his weapons. Now, come’re.” Dragging Jack into a hug, she found his skin had cooled to as close to Human body temperature as it got. Always a good sign.
“If you just drew a charm on my back, I’m telling Auntie Gwen who ate that rhubarb pie,” he snarled, jerking away.
“You shared it.”
“You cut it. And I’m just a kid, remember? You led me astray.”
“That’s part of my job.” Reaching behind her for the doorknob, she sobered. “Be careful with the sorcery. I know it usually just happens,” she cut off his protest. “But that’s part of the problem. The aunties think you have no control.”
“Yeah, but they don’t want me to do it on purpose or practice.” Jack scratched at the old crescent scar on his cheek. It looked like a hockey scar but had probably been a near miss by one of his uncles. “They say practicing accumulates power. They can’t have it both ways.”
“How long have you been here?The aunties have it any way they want it.” She opened the door about two centimeters then closed it again. “Keep an eye on Allie for me, would you? Graham’s cool, but he’s not blood.”
Her reflection in the mirror was so close to how she actually looked—jeans, sneakers, tank, gray eyes, short blonde hair, three gold rings in her left ear, one in the right—that it took her a moment to find the changes. Change. Probably.
Just in case, she checked her gig bag. Guitar tucked safely away, mandolin case piggybacking, small pockets on both cases stuffed with the essentials—nothing matched the image in the mirror where something was struggling to get out.
“I hope you’re telling me to free the music,” she murmured patting the edge of the frame. “Because if my underwear were any freer, it’d be illegal.”
She had to put her knee to the door to get it open. Given that Auntie Gwen was in the window of the loft, glaring down into the courtyard, it was possible that the weight of her gaze had been holding it closed.
Charlie waved, then laughed delightedly, as Auntie Gwen flipped her off. If they’d wanted her to cross, if that’s what all the we have to talk eyebrow waggling had been about, it wasn’t going to happen now. She didn’t look up to see if Jack was standing by his window, he’d only be embarrassed to be caught. There was no reason to look for Allie and Graham because she knew damned well they were watching.
The shrubs leaned toward her, leaves quivering.
“Hang on, kids.” Freeing her guitar, she hung the gig bag on her back then settled the guitar strap over her shoulders and checked the tuning. A flat G had once resulted in a detour through a bed of decorative plantings at the Illinois State Fair and a fast dive for cover while she figured out what had gone wrong. Like many celebrities, the Budweiser Clydesdales were shorter up close. She’d had to throw out her shoes. And socks.
Tuned and ready, Charlie gave her assembled audience her best Ahn-old . . . “Ah’ll be back.” . . . started the melody line that would take her to Mark, and stepped into the shrubbery . . .
. . . and stepped out again in a fringe of trees
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