Chapter 15
Fifteen
-GRAYSON-
I’m tapping my fingers on the base of my wineglass. It’s on the kitchen counter. I’ve lost all desire to drink but I can’t move my hand away. Now I’m feeling its stem. It’s so thin, it’s a wonder how something so delicate hasn’t cracked by now. I’ve owned this set of glasses for a while.
That lump in my throat returns. The one I keep ignoring with alcohol.
This isn’t healthy and I know it, ruminating on a romance which only just begun. Or a mother I suspect is a zombie.
Milo won’t talk to me.
I’ll be okay. I have magic powers. I can conjure an adonis.
But that adonis won’t be Milo.
“Meh. I dodged a bullet.” I sip. “Love is for losers.”
Looking up Summer’s socials for that video of me as a cat will only darken my already dismal mood, yet I do anyway. The footage hasn’t been posted. She got her wish. Milo and I are kaput.
I couldn’t convince him that Amelia’s appearance, whether ugly or radiant, had nothing to do with magic, once I woke from passing out.
And lying to him created a stench worse than a garbage collector’s truck.
I had to leave Amelia’s place because of it.
Well, that and the fact Milo didn’t want me there.
That was several days ago.
I check if he’s texted, even though I already know there’s no reply. Milo probably blocked my number by now.
Penelope hasn’t been around. Heaven knows where she is, or how drunk she is. Her promise to support me is as empty as my mother’s love.
People throw me out, rip me off, or keep me at bay. What use am I?
I grab my wine and sit on the sofa. It’s Monday afternoon and I haven’t been to work. And even though I showered and dressed this morning, I didn’t ring my boss to say I wouldn’t be in. He rung instead but I didn’t return his call. I planned to but now the workday is nearly over. What’s the point?
I take another swig and Summer re-enters my mind. Why?
I’m having one of those realisations that begins as a tiny spark and intensifies until the truth is known. I check Summer’s Instagram again.
Strange. She hasn’t posted anything for twenty-four hours. She can’t go a day without at least five posts, according to Milo.
Is she consoling Milo? Nah. She’s probably celebrating at some lavish bar drinking fancy cocktails with him, both glad to be rid of me.
But if that’s true, there would be a post.
I check Milo’s Instagram. There’s a picture of him, upset. He has used the hashtag, missing Summer, and has written about her absence. I search that hashtag.
Summer’s followers are all talking about how she hasn’t posted today. Some of them are frantic, as if it’s criminal not to even publish a good morning message. What’s with these people? Haven’t they got lives?
Who am I to talk? Until recently I didn’t have a life either. Hell, I don’t have a life now.
Or have I?
I text Milo, saying I’ve heard about Summer’s disappearance. I even use the ‘missing Summer’ hashtag, then regret it after sending. I wait.
My stomach churns. Anxiety rises. I take a sip as if wine will settle my queasy tummy.
A puff of smoke emerges on my kitchen counter, and when it clears, Hugo is here. He shares an innocent smile and gazes at me with his big bright eyes.
I think he’s my mystical mascot because my luck changed the last time he showed up, albeit briefly.
With one more blast of smoke, he vanishes. Then an invisible chorus of female voices sing, “Penelope.”
“Hello,” says Penelope, wandering into the loungeroom. She’s sober. “Did you like my entrance music?”
I grin. She hasn’t let me down.
“I thought I needed a theme so I don’t scare you every time I show up,” she explains. “But a fanfare is too over the top.”
“True. It’s not your style. I’m not sure choral singing is either.”
“What do you suggest?”
I want to come up with a witty response but I’m too ecstatic. Penelope is here. For me. In a short skirt covered in a pink houndstooth pattern. I put down my wine. “Hugo was just here,” I say.
“I know. He likes you, and he’s as worried about you as I am.”
“Milo dumped me.”
“I know that too.”
“Summer’s gone missing and I thought I could cheer him up but he hasn’t replied to my text.”
She lowers her head.
“Penelope, what is it? Is Summer really missing? The internet seems to think so.”
“Grayson, you and Milo should be thinking about your court case. Summer has been missing for a day so she’s not really missing.”
There’s an odour similar to vomit. She pretends she can’t smell it so I know if I seek clarity, Penelope won’t answer.
“What happened to Amelia when we were at her place, discussing the case?” I ask instead.
“She fell.”
“But you did a spell, then gave me an odd look while we waited for an ambulance.”
“Grayson, we really should be talking legal strategy.”
I show her my phone. “We can’t. Milo’s not talking to me. Is it because his mum is a zombie?”
She glares, not saying a thing.
“You’re not talking because you know there’ll be another smell if you lie.”
Penelope twirls, showing off her outfit. “I’m not dressed for serious conversation.”
“But you just said we should talk about the case.”
“Screw the case. It’s time to...” She snaps her fingers.