Chapter 17
seventeen
. . .
“What do you mean, you don’t know what you’re doing here?
” Gloria asked, sounding irritable and not her usual mystic self.
She was draped over the lime green velvet lounge wearing a matching floral kimono.
Her house was currently surrounded by more demons than you could shake a stick at.
Although how many times you shook a stick shouldn’t be limited to the number against you. Shake that stick! Or not. Whatever.
Dorian had dropped me on the lounge and then left.
Fine, he’d settled me down carefully, pressed the sweetest kiss to my forehead, glared at Gloria for a good five seconds, and then left.
It felt like all those times I’d been thrown out of foster homes because I was too weird, too quiet, too afraid.
“I was lying in Dorian’s bed, lacking the will to live, and then he interrupted that moment to dump me here.
It’s like old times. But also completely different.
There’s actually a Mad Hatter.” My throat tightened up and my tear ducts started filling my eyes.
I blinked rapidly so they wouldn’t overflow. Happily, that worked. For now.
Gloria narrowed her eyes at me, making the effort to raise her head on her long neck to peer at me like a vindictive goose. “Purple skin, dark eyes, stupid hat?”
I shrugged. “What am I doing with my life? Why couldn’t I save him? He was right. I should have been working on my knife skills, not biting people and hoping everything would just work out. But I’m an idiot. And weak. And incapable. And so blind.”
Her narrow nose wrinkled like she smelled something bad. “So much self-pity. Where’s the rage?”
I scowled at her. “I told you that I was pathetic. Obviously I’d be whiny if I’m pathetic, but what else can I be?
I could offer to trade my life for his, but I’m not sure Wilkie can survive if I’m dead, and I have no idea how to arrange that kind of thing.
It’s not like I wouldn’t trade my life for him a million times, it just didn’t work that way.
The Mad Hatter got Wilkie, and I got more layers of complexity to my monster arm.
I’m not in the right head space to be a good visitor.
So why am I here?” I had a sudden thought that had me sitting up and leaning forward.
“Are you okay? Did the Zombie Queen do something to you?”
She shuddered, left eye twitching. “Did the Zombie Queen do something to me? Not much unless you consider being possessed as something.”
I held very still while the horror sank in. “How did you get un-possessed?”
She pointed a narrow finger at me. “That’s not a word. Lucy’s husband took care of it, like he de-zombified you.”
I frowned at her. “Also not a word. Does he know the Mad Hatter?”
She peered around the room. “Why is everything so dull?”
“Are you okay? Is everything all right with the immortal slayer?”
That should set her off on a long spiel about her hot immortal slayer, but instead she threw an arm over her eyes and said, “He thinks I’m pregnant, so I’m not drinking.
I’ve forgotten how to exist without the glow of alcohol, which means I’m probably an alcoholic.
There’s nothing mystical about being an out-of-control addict. ”
“You’re pregnant?” I sat up and leaned towards her, looking for signs of it. “That’s wonderful!” For a second my own misery was eclipsed by my happiness for her.
She sighed heavily. “Isn’t it though? Hard to be excited through the constant nausea.
Anyway, since I’m not drinking, my brain keeps showing me a vision.
Over and over and over. That’s why you’re here, so I can tell you my vision and get it out of my head so it will stop cycling.
Then you can go back to your pitiable existence, and I can go back to mine. ”
“A vision? Like, a real one?”
She actually snarled at me. Right. Don’t question the mystic about her vision. I raised my hands trying to diffuse her wrath. She was more cranky than I’d ever seen her before.
“So, what’s the vision?” I asked.
She shook her head. “We’re waiting for the others. I can’t tell the same vision twice.”
“Others?”
“Lucy and Honey. I want to get Prissy. She’s so agonizingly logical, she’d probably be the best at unpacking the mystical threads, but she’d spend the whole time telling us that there are no mystical threads.”
“Catharine is logical,” I offered. I hadn’t seen Prissy for years. It was hard to imagine that she’d stayed in touch with Gloria when she’d always been so dismissive of Gloria’s mystical aura.
“Catharine is dealing with memory issues. She doesn’t remember going to the club at all. I mean, she remembers we were there, but she doesn’t remember anything supernatural. Either she’s incredibly susceptible to Drigo’s glamour, or her mind just won’t accept what she can’t explain.”
“It’s really hard to accept the truth until it bites you in the butt. Or arm. Are you still in contact with Prissy? Did she marry a supernatural?”
She snorted. “Him? That self-righteous skeptic? Probably. It would serve her right if he was secretly an ogre.”
“Why do you still have contact with her? The two of you never got along.”
She sniffed. “Because she keeps in contact with me. She asks about everyone every time I see her, and I tell her that everyone’s doing so great so she doesn’t go and check on you herself.
You’re welcome. That’s my sacrifice for the greater good.
Do you remember the time she dressed up like a fortune teller and out-fortuned me?
That was just mean, but she really wanted me to understand that it wasn’t possible.
I understand it’s impossible, but that doesn’t stop me from having visions.
Unfortunately, they don’t make a lot of sense, and I have a hard time remembering them after they’ve come out.
” She made a face then shrugged, going limp on the lounge again.
“She’s much better at reading people and…
Maybe my visions are just hallucinations.
Maybe I’m just a drama queen. A drunk drama queen. ”
I poked her forehead. “Now who’s whiny? You are going to stop moping. If you’re actually pregnant, that’s so exciting! Who knew Old Tom had it in him?”
She said airily, “Tom’s as virile as they come.”
I shuddered. “Wow. I withdraw my question. We are absolutely not talking about Tom’s virility.”
“Too late!” She grinned at me and sat up. “We should make it a tea party.” She took off for the kitchen with more energy in her steps.
The Mad Hatter was always having tea parties. Was Wilkie okay?
The doorbell rang.
“Go get it, will you?” Gloria yelled from the bowels of her kitchen.
I went for the door, hesitating as I peered out the keyhole. Lucy? Who else had blue hair? I opened it, and there was Honey, right behind her.
There was a slight pause before Lucy gave me an awkward smile, flashing a bit of fang.
Shudder. “I’m sorry about trying to kill you the other day.
I’m also sorry that Hazen bullied you into forgiving me.
You don’t have to forgive me if you don’t want to.
I don’t deserve to be forgiven after I almost killed you.
I don’t know what came over me, it’s just that your blood was so compellingly rich and delicious, just like drinking from Hazen.
It felt so homey. That’s not an excuse, just a really weird explanation that you probably didn’t want to hear because now I sound like a complete psycho.
Which I am, because I almost killed you. ”
Honey bumped her shoulder as she walked forward, into the foyer. “She’s living with demons. Psycho is her new normal. Stop obsessing about your mistakes. And if you had drained all her blood, it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal to raise her as a vampire. Where’s Gloria?”
I smiled at my werewolf foster sister. Not a big deal to raise as a vampire? I guess psycho was also her new normal.
“She’s making tea,” I said, nodding at the kitchen.
“I’ll go help,” Lucy said, giving me another sheepish look before she hurried away.
“She still thinks you smell delicious,” Honey said, leaning forward and sniffing me. She shrugged. “I mean, you smell sweet, but too sweet, not tempting at all. You do remind me of her husband, though. Something about your blood kind of fizzes.”
I stared at her. Because I was an original, like Hazen?
“Lucy says you were in the dungeon talking to the White Rabbit. What was that about?”
Um. Should I just confess to everyone what I was?
Dorian hated angels. Me too. Me too. “He knows a lot about demons. I was asking him about that.” I grabbed her arm.
“The thing is that I am a demon, but not the usual kind. And if it’s common knowledge, everyone will try to kill me, including Dorian. Especially Dorian.”
She inhaled sharply, narrowing golden eyes.
“Then why are you telling me? Are you suicidal?” She was so dangerous.
How dangerous she was hit me for a second of gut-watering fear while her eyes shifted, glowed, then faded back out.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t care what kind of demon you are, you don’t need to be afraid of me.
But don’t go around telling people things that they don’t need to know.
I mean, I could be a demon glamoured as myself, you know?
Of course you know. Glamours are the demon deal.
” She looked pointedly at my outfit. “Or just weirdness.”
I looked down at the clothes I’d put on without realizing what they were. I had cloud printed tights beneath a puffed skirt of various shades of white. It almost went with my blue boned corset, laced with pink ribbons.
I sighed heavily and slumped back on the couch. “Just weirdness. I wish I was more lethal like you, but I’m just pathetic and weird.”
She raised a brow and cocked her head. “What really happened?”