17. Circling Vulture
Circling Vulture
T he silence and tension on the elevator was heavy and thick as we rode back down to the main level.
Maisie stared forward, her eyes locked on the doors. Her spine was ramrod straight, her whole body stock-still. Her arms were crossed in front of her, but her hands shook as if she was trying to contain her energy and keep it bottled inside of herself. She was mostly succeeding. Yet, dark purple mixed with the brown in her eyes, her magic kept within reach but not at the forefront. Simone and I glanced at each other behind Maisie, sharing a look of concern.
As soon as the elevator doors opened, Maisie briskly walked out and down the stairs to the main level with me and Simone close behind. The Archive was still as empty of patrons as when I arrived this morning. Journee’s coffee shop though was far more packed with a line going out near the tables. When we approached, Rhois looked up from the computer behind the circulation desk. She took us in and immediately stood up with a frown, especially as she took in Maisie and my deathgrip on the book—the grimoire, my grimoire—still in my arms.
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day, mo wee hen?” She held her hand up to stop me just as I opened my mouth. “Now, none of that. It’s Monday. We are not busy today. We never are. You all clearly went through a lot upstairs, and you seem emotionally hungover. So, how about you take today to rest and recover?”
“Rhois, I think you are doing your job wrong. You are my boss, and you are supposed to be an Overlord of Capitalism who doesn’t care about my emotional wellbeing and just tells me to get back to work instead.” I smiled.
Rhois shook her head and passed my backpack purse and coat to me over the circulation desk’s counter. “That absurd humor never gets old. Get out of here, babe. I will see you bright and early tomorrow, yeah?”
I nodded. My boss was the coolest one out there, and I loved her dearly. I made a mental note to get her favorite bloody velvet cake from Key Foods before tomorrow as just the tiniest sign of my gratitude. I put on my coat and placed the book back into my purse before tossing it over my shoulders. I blew her a kiss goodbye as we left.
The three of us piled into Maisie’s car. We agreed on Maisie taking us to her house, and then Simone and I would take a teleportation spell later, after we knew she was okay. Maisie had wordlessly nodded. She was quiet as she drove. She had both hands on the steering wheel, her hold white-knuckled. Her eyes were forward and focused, just like in the elevator. She had a set jaw, and she drove fast out of the University. Maisie’s rage was palpable as it came off of her in waves. I turned to the backseat to share another look with Simone.
I toyed with my obsidian pendant, looking between the road and Maisie. I knew my best friend. The three of us knew each other better than we knew ourselves at times. When Maisie was stressed, her magic went haywire, creating massive purple insects that destroyed everything in sight. When she was happy, her jokes were never-ending because she loved to spread her joy. When she was sad, she absolutely hated it. She would watch Downton Abbey or some historical romance that she had seen a million times because they forced her to focus on anything that wasn’t what made her sad. But when Maisie was angry? She was a force to be reckoned with. She would fume in her irateness for only a brief moment. Then she got an idea. She developed this focus, and the only thing that mattered to her or that could assuage her rage was completing whatever she felt she had to do against whoever or whatever wronged her. There was no talking her out of it. There was no changing her mind. There was no stopping her. We supported her always, and she meant well. But Maisie’s anger could leave a trail of fire in her wake. All that could be done was to contain the fallout as much as possible.
It wasn’t long before Maisie pulled into her driveway. Maisie rented a house in north Little Salem. All the neighborhoods there gave strong Halloweentown vibes, but make it Southern. A few were full of multi-story antebellum or eastlake-style homes that looked closer to mansions, but most, including the neighborhood where Maisie lived, had cozy, colorful bungalows lining the streets with fenced-in yards and vibrant gardens in the front. No two houses looked the same, Maisie’s especially. The house she rented was a minty green single-story craftsman with large windows, a wraparound porch, and a white-picket fence enclosing her backyard. Herbs and spices grew verdantly in front of her porch. It was just as homey inside as it was outside. Maisie filled it with used furniture from various yard and estate sales, thrift stores, and more. Combined with some random pieces from Target and Michael’s, as well as plants and witchcraft books everywhere, I truly felt her house was what mine would look like.
Maisie quickly got out of the car with her bag. She was already up the stairs on the side of the house before Simone and I had a chance to grab our bags. She waved her hand at the door using her magic to unlock and open it at the same time. She hurried inside. Simone and I took the steps in two leaps to follow. We caught her in the laundry and mudroom you meet as soon as you enter. She was taking off her last shoe and tossing it near the door.
“Maisie? Are you okay?” Simone asked, starting on her boots while I locked the door and started kicking off my own boots.
“Oh, I’m peachy,” Maisie said, the first words she had said since we had left Izzy at the Archive. She headed to the kitchen, tossing her bag on the tiny dining room table before going into the living room. Simone and I were close at her heels.
“What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Simone questioned.
“Cleo, summon my mother,” Maisie said to her smart crystal ball sitting on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. Her Cleo was a small version of the large model in my bedroom at home. Since Maisie was a spellcaster, her Cleo was more powerful than mine and could do more.
White smoke filled the crystal globe for just a moment before clearing. “Copy that! Summoning your mother. She should be on soon.”
Cleo’s smoke returned, but was yellow this time as we waited for Maisie’s mother to answer. Simone and I shared the oversized loveseat while Maisie crossed her arms, standing between the coffee table and the couches. Her hands clenched and unclenched with sparks of her purple magic flying out as she opened her fists. Simone and I kept exchanging worried glances within her impatient silence.
We weren’t waiting long, thankfully. Cleo’s smoke changed to green, and she announced. “Okay! She’s coming on now.”
A stream of rainbow light shot out of Cleo’s crystal like light beaming through a prism. On the other side of the crystal, the table, and Maisie, a form began to materialize. It was transparent at first with few discernible features. Then it filled with color and took more shape. Soon, we all saw a woman sitting in a chair with her legs crossed at the knee. Ms. Annabeth Repond was white and looked to be in her thirties, but was closer to fifty in reality. Maisie’s mom was tall when standing—the source of Maisie’s height—with long dark brown hair that went past her shoulders. Today, it was braided back with a few strands left out. There were crow’s feet on the side of her eyes and laugh lines beginning to etch on either side of her mouth. Worry lines were prominent on her face already, the only sign of her age. She was very conventionally pretty in a timeless Sarah Crawford sort of way. Maisie took most of her appearance from her mom, with both of them having the same dark-almost-black eyes, high cheekbones, and pouty lips, but that was where their resemblance stopped.
Simone and I had met Maisie’s mom a number of times. She had always been gentle and kind to us, taking us in like the sisters Maisie always wanted. You could tell she loved Maisie dearly and doted on her and us by proxy. She always gave us a warm smile and tenderness that reminded me of my own Mom and how much I missed her. It made my heart ache, but I also was so grateful for Ms. Repond’s presence.
As she came into view, I could see Ms. Repond pulling at strands of the end of her braid. She looked distant for a moment before the summoning call fully connected, and she was able to see her daughter. Some of the concern left her eyes then.
“Maisie-Daisie! My beautiful baby!” Ms. Repond greeted with a smile. As she was fretting over her braid, I could see her fingers twitching toward her daughter, like she wanted to reach through the magical connection they were sharing to touch her. Every time Maisie’s mom saw her, she always examined her from head to toe to ensure she was real, healthy, and uninjured. She would place her hands everywhere she could: her shoulders, arms, face, wherever. It was like she needed to touch her to truly verify what her eyes were seeing. “How are you, baby? Is everything alright?”
“Everything is not all right, Momma,” Maisie said. Her voice was cold and hard.
The concern flared in Ms. Repond’s eyes, and it was more than enough to make my heart squeeze. She uncrossed her legs and sat straighter. Maisie’s Mom rattled off questions. “What do you mean, Marceline? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“Yes, Momma. Something did happen. Why didn’t you tell me I was a witch-fae?”
Ms. Repond’s eyes widened. When she spoke, her voice was so low I struggled to hear it. “Wh-what did you just say?”
“Why didn’t you tell me I was a witch-fae?” Maisie repeated through gritted teeth.
“Well, I-I—” Her Mom stuttered.
“I had to find out today at almost thirty years old that I was fucking half-witch half-fairy. I found out what I was today. Not from you. Not from Granny. But from a stranger. A kind one who I really vibe with, but a fucking stranger ?—”
“You watch your tone, Marceline Jade Repond,” Maisie’s Mom interrupted, pointing a finger at her daughter as if she was a teenager.
Maisie shook her head and crossed her arms defiantly. Her magic sparked in her eyes alongside her rage. The house rumbled softly like a low-level earthquake. Books bumped against each other. In the kitchen close by, I could hear dishes clattering in the shaking cabinet doors. Plants swayed in their pots near the windows with their sheer curtains. Simone clung tightly to my arm.
“Are you fucking shitting me?” Maisie exclaimed. “You are keeping secrets from me, and you care about if I’m fucking cursing right now?”
“I’m still your mother, Marceline. Even if you are upset, you will still show me respect.”
“Oh, like how you showed me respect by not telling me that I was a fitch my whole life?”
Simone and I sucked in a breath through our teeth at the same time.
“I just wanted to keep you safe?—”
“ Safe ? When were you going to tell me something? On your deathbed? Or mine ?”
“N-no, I was going to tell you. I just—I didn’t want you hurt?—”
“Too damn fucking late for that. You kept this from me. You kept this from me my whole life. I’m feeling mighty godsdamn hurt and betrayed right now.”
“That wasn’t my intention?—”
“I don’t fucking care about your intentions !” Maisie yelled. Simone and I both jumped as books clattered to the floor and the coffee table threatened to flip with the wave of Maisie’s power. Maisie’s Cleo rocked on the table until it settled back down. A book fell through the image of Ms. Repond, making it waver slightly before returning to normal. Still, she appeared just as taken aback at Maisie’s outburst just now as if she was actually sitting in the room. Given the amazing clarity of the summoning call, I could see her eyes begin to glisten with tears.
Despite her anger, Maise saw it, too. She shook her head and turned away. She pinched the bridge of her nose before taking a breath. The fallen books righted themselves and returned to the shelves in swirls of neon purple magic. The coffee table straightened itself to its original place. Maisie took another breath before finally looking at her Mom again.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell like that. That is rude, and I’m so sorry. But I don’t know how else to get through to you, Momma. I can’t talk to you. You don’t talk to me. I don’t know what else to say or do. You just… You never told me this no matter how many times I asked. Instead, you lied to me. You told me I was one thing when I wasn’t. You did that my whole life. That shit bothers me. I understand you intended to keep me safe. I get that. This is your way of protecting me, and you thought it was the best way. Cool. Great. Fine. But this… this just… this wasn’t it, Momma. I should not have found out this way. This is just so… fucked .”
“Marceline, I’m so sorry. I really am. I never intended—I didn’t mean—I didn’t know you felt this way. I’m so sorry.”
“I mean, what if I had lost control, Momma? What if I hurt you or my friends or some strangers all because I was improperly trained? What then? When has keeping a secret like this ever worked? Have you ever seen a show based on a YA novel?”
“I-I-I don’t know.” Ms. Repond’s tears spilled over. “Marceline, I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry. Parents don’t have all the answers. We do what we think will be best in the moment. Sometimes, it works and everything is okay. Others… I’m just so sorry, Marceline. I never meant to hurt you. I just thought that it was the best way to keep you safe since there was so little I could do.”
Maisie was quiet for a while. She looked down at her bare, black-tipped toes. I could see her thoughts going across her face. She looked back up and toward her mother, but it was more like she was looking past her—and not just because she was a 4K hologram.
After a few more beats, Maisie inhaled and said, “Do you remember that really shitty day I came home from Little Hazel’s Coventry Academy? I think I was, like, seven or eight. I burst through the doors of the house, though, and I was in tears that day. The kids had found out about you having few to no powers and that I didn’t have a grimoire in the family. They had teased me so bad. When I cried to you about it, you started to cry. You cried even harder than I did. I had to comfort you that night, and… it broke my heart. It still breaks my heart every day when I think about it,” Maisie sniffled, her eyes glistening. She continued. “I always knew you were a worrywart. Remember how I used to joke about it? I would tease you about how you never had split-ends because you pull them out constantly or how you would be on the brink of tears just watching me leave the house. I thought that’s what moms did. They worry. That night made me realize how much you worried about me, how you stressed about me, how bad it was, how you struggled to breathe knowing that I could be hurt at any moment and there was nothing you could do. I didn’t want to ever add to it, to this burden you carried on your back like Atlas. I hated that I was adding to it that day by talking about some kids doing what kids do and being mean to me. So, I made a secret promise that I fulfilled starting the next day when I cursed the shit out of those kids and almost got suspended.”
Ms. Repond’s mouth was agape. She shook her head in shock. “Those kids still struggle to cast spells to this day. They always backfire back on them. Most of them don’t even practice out of safety. You always told me it was an accident and you didn’t mean to do it.”
Maisie shrugged. “I kind of didn’t. But I also kind of did. I was too young to have any real control of my powers back then. But… I think I’ve always known the power of intention when it comes to magic. I don’t know… I wanted to be strong for the both of us and keep us safe?—”
“You are the child, Marceline. You shouldn’t have?—”
“It doesn’t matter now, Momma?—”
“It does though?—”
Maisie’s eyes met her mom’s matching ones. “Tell me about my father.”
“Do not change the subject, Marceline Jade.”
“I’m not. I’m procrastinating, if anything.”
“What does that?—?”
“That isn’t why I called you, okay, Momma? We can have the whole therapy session where we talk about our feelings and how great of a mom you were and whatever else later. That isn’t important right now, though. Right now, I want to know about Father. Not because I care about the fucking prick but because of my doctorate and…” Maisie hesitated, quickly glancing at me sitting just out of eyesight of her mom’s projection. She returned her eyes to her mom. “For Byrd.”
“For Byrd?” Ms. Repond’s eyebrows furrowed with concern for me. It made my heart break. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, Momma. But I—I can’t get into it all right now. Later, okay? After I have this all figured out?”
Maisie’s Mom was quiet. Her mouth was set into a thin line as she considered her daughter. Maisie returned her stare without relenting. While her mother’s glare had the unwavering hardness of a parent, Maisie’s eyes held the stubborn, fierce fire of a teenager ever still. I was ready to believe that Ms. Repond’s parental discipline was going to win when her eyes softened ever so slightly. Ms. Repond would give her daughter the world if she asked. It reminded me so much of my own parents, their unconditional love that drove everything they did. There was a pang of pain deep within me that I did my best to ignore as Ms. Repond’s shoulders sank with exhaustion.
Maisie pressed. “You never talked about him. I get that you didn’t want me to know I was a witch-fae to keep me safe. But you never had to tell me about my father being a fairy. You could have told me about him: who he was, how you met, what happened to him. You could have said all of that without mentioning he was fae. But you didn’t. So, I want to know now. Please .”
Maisie’s Mom shook her head. “Why now? After all this time, all these years?”
Maisie shrugged halfheartedly. “I don’t have any other leads honestly. I don’t know what else to do.”
Suddenly, Ms. Repond just looked tired and worn down. I noticed, now, the extra bags under her eyes and more wrinkles around her face that I had missed before. She sighed. Her eyes looked faraway and distant as she spoke.
“Your father is a very, very powerful fairy. He is cunning, tenacious, and bold. But he’s also a sleazy, manipulative, narcissistic parasite. He’s a con-man and will do anything and everything he can to get what he wants. Once he wants something, he’s relentless in getting it. He’s like an unstoppable freight train, plowing through everything to just gain more speed and get to his destination.”
Maisie’s Mom sighed, her eyes teary. “I loved him once. It’s so stupid. I knew I couldn’t change him. I knew he would never give me what I needed most. Yet, I imagined us getting married, building a life together. I wanted him to make me happy and be happy with me. I just thought—” She shook her head. “Well, that doesn’t matter now. When I got pregnant with you, he knew immediately that you were going to be a witch-fae and he wanted to use you to gain more status and power. He didn’t see you as a person. He saw you as a means to an end. I realized that’s how he saw me, too.”
“Momma—” Maisie started.
“Aran.”
“What?”
“Your father. His name is Aran Hiro Kikumoto. You can use his name to find him. Just… Be careful, Maisie-Daisie. Your father is bad news, but you have the best parts of him. You always did like to touch the stove instead of listening to me. You never grew out of that. You always had to learn everything yourself. But I always respected that about you. It was one of the many things that made you the best of me.” Ms. Repond smiled fondly at her daughter.
“Momma,” Maisie’s voice broke as a sob racked through her body. “I wish you were here. I love you so much. Thank you.”
“I hope you can forgive me one day. I truly didn’t?—”
“I know, Momma, I know. I love you so much.”
“I love you more, my baby girl. Good luck with him. Give Simone and Byrd my love. Tell them next time you both visit. I will make them their favorite scone pizza.”
Maisie wiped away a tear. “I will! Love you, Momma.”
Ms. Repond waved before Maisie tapped on the crystal ball to end the call. Her Mom’s form shimmered and faded away. Silence fell on us with her absence. I couldn’t speak for Simone, but I had no clue what to say. I was reeling from everything I had learned today, and this was just one part of that crazy pile. I think Maisie felt the same, as she just stared at where her mom had been sitting just a few moments before. She looked as emotionally exhausted as I felt.
“Maisie? You okay?” Simone quietly asked.
“You want to know something fucking hilarious about this whole thing?” Maisie shook her head softly, a hard-edged smile on her lips. “I always hated fairies. Even as a kid. I never understood everyone’s obsession with them in fairy tales and romances. They never interested me. I thought they were boring. I never learned anything about them beyond the tiny bits I had to learn to pass a test in elementary school. I never paid it any real attention. So, I know they are naturally, almost divinely, pretty. They have wings. They like to bargain and entice humans for their own gain for reasons they only know or whatever. But nothing else really. I know more about shifters and vampires than fae. Yet, today, I find out I’m half-fairy and I have to talk to my father who is a fairy.” Her chuckle is self-deprecating, harsh, and lacking any humor. “Kay, thanks, I hate it here.”
“Oh, no, Maisie,” Simone got up and took one of Maisie’s hands from her crossed arms. “I’m so sorry. This has been such a crazy day.”
“Seriously. And it isn’t even over.” Maisie turned to me. “Bee? How much of the lore about fae is true? Can you really control them with their name?”
I shook my head. “No, that’s a common misconception that the lore gets wrong. You can summon them with their name and some magic, but you cannot control them no more than you can control any creature. Magic or not.”
Maisie nodded. “I think I have a summoning spell somewhere for that.”
“Are you really going to summon him, Maze? I mean, your mom made it sound like it was a really, really bad idea,” Simone said.
“Yeah, I mean, why are you so interested in contacting him now? I know you have your doctorate, but that can’t be the only reason?—”
Maisie interrupted me. “You remember what Isidora said today? About grimoires?”
“She kind of said a lot about them…” I said.
“Grimoires aren’t specific to witches. Any supernatural can have them, and they can be passed down from one generation to the next. So, my mom may not have one?—”
Realization dawned on me. “But your father might.”
“Bingo.”
“But even if he does have one, how do we know he would be willing to give it to you? He sounds like a Grade A dick,” Simone said.
“Oh, I’m not worried about that. I can be very convincing when I want to be.” Maisie winked. She held out her hand toward her floating bookshelves on the far wall. A book wiggled itself free from in between the stack and landed in her open palm. She opened it to the middle and started to search the pages.
“Maisie?” I said as I watched her skim the pages.
“Hmm?”
“You know you don’t have to do this for me, right? We can find another way to understand the Archaic. I’m sure Isidora would be happy to help.”
Maisie looked up and smiled at me. “I know.” She looked back down at the book to continue looking through it. “But this may be faster than waiting for Isidora to try to translate it. The Archaic was made by a witch-fae. I know almost everything there is to know about witches to the point where I’m getting a literal PhD in it. So, if I can get my father’s grimoire, I might be able to combine what I learn from there about fairy magic with what I know already— in theory, at least. Even if it doesn’t work, the grimoire would give me a new perspective on my dissertation to explore.” Maisie shrugged.
“Fair enough.”
“Found it!” Maisie declared. “This is a basic spell, but it works to summon anyone to your location for a short period of time.”
“How short?” Simone asked, looking over Maisie’s shoulder.
“Looks like… between five and seven minutes.”
“Yikes.”
“I did say basic . For the spell to work on anyone, it can’t hold for long. A more complex spell would hold someone for longer, but it would take more time to prepare and require more of a price. This one is already requiring quite the price as is.”
“Magic is all about intention and cost,” I said, quoting something I had often heard from Maisie.
“I love that you have been paying attention during my late night study sessions,” Maisie joked. It made me smile seeing her return to something close to her normal self. Maisie closed the book and sent it back to its place on the shelves. She rubbed her hands together. “Okay! Let’s do this!”
Maisie came around the coffee table. Simone followed behind her to stand on one side while I rose from the chaise to stand on her other side. Maisie lifted her right hand with the palm facing up toward the ceiling. She raised her other hand into the air above it. Then she said loudly into the living room. “Here you are not, but so shall you be. Aran Hiro Kikumoto, I summon thee.”
“I thought you didn’t need chants to do a spell,” Simone teased.
Maisie smiled at her with a joking look before she returned her eyes to her outstretched hand. Her eyes brightened to a neon purple as magic surrounded her left hand. She held her left in her right by her fingers and slid it against her palm. The magic cut through her skin easily, blood pooling above her wound. Still, just as quickly as the wound appeared, it magically sealed itself under the blood as if nothing had happened and someone had just poured the blood there.
“Holy shit, you didn’t say this required blood magic,” Simone said. “That is supposed to be forbidden.”
“It isn’t blood magic. Gods, far from it. Trust me, you would know blood magic if you saw it. This spell calls for something along with the name that is deeply tied to the person to call them forth. It mentioned hair or something they cherished deeply, but I have half of the bastard’s DNA and fairies hate spilling their blood so I figured this should work.”
“Is it safe, though?” Simone questioned.
“It’s perfectly safe, Simone, I promise. Once my blood connects with the ground, it will form a circle that he cannot leave. He won’t be able to do anything but answer my questions or die of boredom for several minutes. I don’t know much about fae, but I do know that boredom is to a fairy as sunlight is to a vampire. They aren’t big fans and most would rather die than deal with it.”
Simone bit her bottom lip in worry. Maisie playfully pushed her with her shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Sea. I promise.”
Finally, Simone nodded.
Maisie turned her hand, spilling the blood onto her hardwood floor. The droplets fell to the floor, but they moved with a mind all their own. The dark red became a large circle against the brown wood. Inside, I could make a symbol, a very simple rune.
“Looks like the spell worked and is summoning him here now. My blood is powerful shit, so we have seven minutes from the time he shows up,” Maisie noted, translating the rune. “Let’s hope he’s not too much of an asshole.”
I swallowed. I felt a massive pit in my stomach. Gods, please don’t this go wrong. Like, can we have something go right today?
Suddenly, the edges of the circle exploded upward in a ray of purple light entwined with dark red. It was solid, so I couldn’t see anything through its glowing walls. But soon, the walls came down to reveal a very tall and extraordinarily handsome man standing in the circle now. He was Japanese with thick brows and long, thick black hair that was pulled into a messy bun. He was lean but muscular under his t-shirt and jeans that oozed unnecessary luxury. He gave an air of pretentious cockiness, and the man immediately was rubbing me the wrong way before he had said a word. When he did speak, his voice was a deep baritone and so condescending I wanted to throw up.
“A summoning spell? How cute.”
Yeah, I was right to hate him off rip.
“Well, we all know this won’t hold me for long, so who are you and what the fuck do you want? Also, what could you possibly have that is powerful enough to summon me for…?” He looked down at the circle’s rune. The blood that made up the rune was slowly fading from the center as seconds ticked by. It was a signal of how much time we had left with this prick. “Fuck, a witch’s spell? How fucking asinine and trivial.”
“Seems to be enough to hold your dumbass, despite being so trivial ,” Maisie retorted, crossing her arms. “What a way to greet your daughter for the first time in almost thirty years , fucking dipshit.”
The man, Aran, looked up at Maisie and really looked at her. He raised one of his eyebrows, and his lips quirked up into a sickening smirk. “Ah, Annabeth’s brat. How is she? I bet she’s still keeping it as tight as ever.”
Maisie’s eyes flared purple for a brief second. Gods, what did Ms. Repond truly ever see in this douche canoe?
“She’s beautiful, no thanks to your sick dick. She’s absolutely thriving without you.”
“Oh, I doubt that. She still not practicing? Still weak and powerless? Seems like this—how’d you say it?— Sick dick is the reason for your powers. You should be thanking your old man.” Aran gave Maisie a full, shit-eating grin.
Maisie’s house started shaking again as her rage returned. I gripped her shoulder tightly to pull her attention away from her father. Her vibrant purple eyes locked with my chocolate brown ones. Whispering, I said. “Maisie, don’t let this asshat get to you. He wants to get under your skin to waste time. Don’t let him.”
Maisie nodded and took a breath to steady her nerves. The house quieted again, and the purple eased out of her eyes for the most part. She turned back to her father. When she did, though, he wasn’t looking at her anymore.
He was staring directly at me.
And he was incredulous.
Aran sniffed the air within the circle. He deepened his frown and sniffed again. His eyes narrowed as they bored holes into me. I felt like a rabbit in the crosshairs of a hawk just waiting to make me their dinner.
“The reason I called you here is to get your grimoire. Obviously, I have never asked you for anything since this is the first time we have even ever seen each other before. So, the least you can do is?—”
“It can’t be,” Aran interrupted his daughter.
“What can’t be?” Maisie asked.
“You,” He directed to me, eyes locked onto me as if I would disappear if he looked away. “You smell like one of them . It’s so strong I can practically taste it. But that can’t be. You were hunted to death. There’s no way you exist.”
My heart plummeted.
What in the fresh fuck was he talking about?
“What does any of that mean? Wh-what are you talking about?” I asked.
“As if you don’t know…” Aran rolled his eyes. Yet, when he looked back at my confused face, realization dawned on his face and I felt like I had immediately made some sort of mistake by showing my hand in a game where I didn’t know the rules. “Oh, you really don’t know, do you, child?”
“Hey! Leave her out of this. This is between me and you, Daddy Dumbass,” Maisie said, moving to stand in front of me to block his view of me.
When his eyes returned to his daughter, a smile crept across his face like a cat who caught a mouse. “Oh, this is so delicious. You working with her . I love it.”
“I’m not working with her. She’s my best friend.”
“How touching. And yet, so very grade school. Aren’t you too old to still be valuing your widdle playmates over money and power?”
“What in the fuckity fuck are you talking about, dick for brains?”
“Did Annabeth teach you nothing at all?”
“You need to keep my mother’s name out of your mouth if you value your jaw, my guy,” Maisie warned. I could feel the heat of her magic coming off of her, and I knew her eyes must be a brilliant shade of purple. “Besides, you should not be worried about my friend and you should be worried about giving me your grimoire.”
“My grimoire? What the fuck are you going on about?”
“Do you have one or not?”
“Even if I did have one of those useless collections of dead trees, I will let you in on a little secret since you are my only kid or whatever?—”
“Gods, I have had one-night stands more mature than you. What are you, a seventeen-year-old teen dad?” Maisie rolled her eyes.
Aran ignored her. “A grimoire wouldn’t help you.”
“What the fuck do you mean by that?”
“I mean, a grimoire would do nothing for you. Well, at least, mine wouldn’t do anything for you. Grimoires are made for those specific creatures they are connected to. So, my grimoire would be made for fae by fae. You are a fitch. My grimoire would be meaningless to you.
“I’m feeling generous today, so I will tell you something else, too. Fitches don’t even have grimoires most of the time. Your kind rarely live long enough to write down their secrets and create such trinkets, let alone pass them down to their freakshow babies. So, if you are looking for something in there, you are shit out of luck, Petunia?—”
“Please— Please —tell me you do not honestly think that that is my name.”
Aran shrugged. Gods, I had never met someone that I just wanted to punch in the face.
“I will give you an atomic wedgie until you fucking die,” Maisie fumed.
“I have no idea what that is. But I would like to know who this pink diamond is,” Aran said, turning back to me. “I know many a benefactor who would love to meet you?—”
Suddenly, the circle at his feet glowed and pulsed purple. The rune within it was completely gone.
His time was up.
And folks said the universe wasn’t kind.
“Tell me your name, girl. I would at least make your death easier and more profitable. I know many who would not do the same,” Aran hissed.
“What are you talking about? Why would anyone want me dead?”
His smile was venomous. “You are worth so much more dead than alive obviously. Your kind always has been.”
Something deep within me roared at that statement, even though I had no idea what he meant. I was furious and disgusted, but I was also terrified at the threat of death he mentioned. What did he mean? What could he mean?
“Please kindly fuck all the way off,” I said. I wanted my voice to be confident and sinister, but it wavered and I sounded closer to being on the brink of tears.
It wasn’t too far from the truth.
Purple light shot up from the circle and surrounded Aran, just as a beam of Maisie’s magic shot out from her hands aimed at where he stood before. The blast collided with the pillar of light that was teleporting Aran back to wherever he had come from. Aran’s chuckle echoed off the walls of the living room and into the snare of my fear long after he was gone.