Read Online The Zodiac Collector by Laura Diamond - Free Book Online

it hit a transformer.”
    There. A logical explanation. It has nothing to do with the spell.
    â€œYou excited for your birthday?” Dad pours himself a glass of milk and sits at the head of the table.
    I join him. “Yeah.”
    â€œWhat are you and Mary going to do?” He drinks half the glass in one gulp.
    I inhale, ready to tell him…and my brain flashes the blue screen of death. There’s no sense in telling him about our bloated wishes of a birthday blowout to end all birthday blowouts, because, well, he’s Dad. “I dunno.”
    â€œYou could see a movie with William, or hang out at the faire.” He finishes his milk and gets up to pour another glass.
    I rest my case. He doesn’t get it. “Yeah.”
    Mary joins Dad and me for dinner. Mom doesn’t. Her empty place setting is a stark reminder of what it’s like when she’s manic. I stuff down tears of anger and sneak a glance at Mary. She cuts the crust off her bread and nibbles on a clean edge like a squirrel.
    I push the chips toward her.
    â€œNo, thanks.” She takes a sip of water.
    Dad shovels three sandwiches down his gullet in a matter of minutes. He’d give the funnel-cake-eating contest competitors a run for their shillings. Bits of crumbs and mini-globules of jelly litter his bushy moustache. He wipes his mouth on a discount paper napkin, finishes off his glass of milk, and belches. It used to make us laugh. “Thanks, girls. Great dinner. I’ll be in my workshop. I’ll also see if I can get the generator going so your mom can work through the night. How ‘bout you? Got your costumes ready for the faire?”
    We nod.
    â€œIt helps your mom’s business when you wear her gowns, you know.” His hooded emerald eyes volley between Mary and me. He always looks so much older when Mom is manic. It’s as if she drains his energy to accelerate hers.
    I bite my tongue. I hate being a walking advertisement, but that’s what Mary and I are. Every year, we parade around in her creations and never get to explore or enjoy the faire on our own.
    Mary smiles. “We know, Dad.”
    He carries his dishes to the sink, then heads to the fridge and drags out a six-pack. “Tell your mom I’ll have the power on soon. That should cheer her up.”
    â€œRight.” I grimace behind his back. Why can’t he tell her?
    He cradles the beer and leaves.
    I put the leftover food away while Mary clears and wipes the table.
    As we work, the lights flicker to life and a happy “Whoop!” echoes from Mom’s studio all way to the kitchen.
    â€œWe should see if she’s ready for us to try on dresses now, while she’s in a good mood.” Mary shakes the dishtowel out over the trash can and folds it over the bar mounted onto the cabinet door under the sink.
    â€œGood idea.” I suck in a puff of my asthma medicine. If I go in without pre-medicating, I’ll end up in a full-blown attack within a minute.
    Mom’s rocking out to her favorite band while she irons. Her hips sway left to right and her hair bounces around her head like a lion shaking out its mane.
    I slip into the living room and Mary stays close beside me. “Hi, Mom. Hungry?”
    She whirls, a lopsided grin on her face and a cigarette tucked into the corner of her mouth. “Girls! You’re just in time. The lights came back on. Now I have proper lighting to finish your dresses.” She sashays to two dress forms by the bay window. Both gowns are green—one is dark emerald, and the other reminds me of light grass.
    â€œThese are really pretty, Mom.” Mary tracks around the edge of the room to Mom.
    â€œI think you should wear this one, Mary. Anne should wear the jewel-toned one.” She removes the lighter-colored dress from its form and holds it up to Mary, who stands as still as a statue. After a short inspection, she says, “Yes, this one. Go put it