Chapter 5
Come Home. The Kids Miss You.
IRIS
I wake to the sound of the bell tower chiming and the midday sun streaming through my window. The bright light beams across my eyes, and I cringe as my temples throb.
Hells, I feel like I was run over.
Every part of me is brimming with pain. My eyes are puffy, the bump on my head is tender, and my legs feel practically boneless as I drag myself out of bed. Even my fingernails hurt.
I haven’t felt this awful since my first Fright Night, after which I swore I never would again. But it seems Oliver St. Grey has made a liar out of me.
Elsie isn’t home when I pad out into the living room. I only know that because there’s no hot water boiling on the stove and no music coming from under her bedroom door.
She takes her Sunday routine very seriously.
It usually involves yanking all the windows open at an unreasonable hour, cleaning every surface until her enchanted duster attempts to unionize, and blasting music until the sun sets.
She calls it her reset button. There are only two things known to keep her from it.
One: a visit from her mother.
Two: a man.
Seeing as how I don’t see Theresa Rosewater’s signature pumps by the door, I can only assume.
I make a mental note to hunt her down if she isn’t home in the next few hours, and in the meantime, I try to imitate her Sunday schedule. Minus the dusting, of course. I would if I could hold an enchantment long enough. But I’ve never been very good at them. Not nearly as good as Elsie.
She once enchanted an entire house when we were eight. It got up and walked right off, with her father and brother still inside. They found it a few days later, sitting in the middle of the forest, lost.
That little trick probably would have earned her a dampener if it weren’t for the fact that Elsie was the only person strong enough to put the house back.
I crank the music up, choosing something loud and soulful that she would approve of, and jimmy the old windows open just enough to feel a breeze.
The fresh air smells faintly of flowers, and as I spot a few faeries lounging in the sunlight in the courtyard below, I have a feeling it’s going to be a beautiful day.
I start in the kitchen, which only takes about ten minutes since we hardly ever use it. After that, I tackle my bedroom, gathering the failed outfits off the floor and stuffing them, somewhat neatly, back in my closet.
I decide to leave the living room for last. It still has remnants of Elsie’s at-home salon scattered around, along with a few empty chip bags and a couple stray bundles of hair. It will need more attention than the rest, so I take my time cleaning the bathroom before braving the storm.
Elsie should be picking this up, I think to myself as I collect the random strand of hair off the floor. I told her to stop tossing them around whenever she got frustrated, but she’s too hardheaded to take sound advice. Now look at me.
As I crane over to pick up what feels like the hundredth strand of hair, a stiff wind rushes through the window, filling the room with the sweet, dewy scent of wet grass and the mineral-tinted aroma of oncoming rain.
You greedy bitch!
My body stiffens as Grey’s words hit me, and the music fades into muddled tones, ringing deftly in my ears.
All of you! Never satisfied!
I blink, and his body is lying before me, his eyes wide and watching, his blood seeping into the old woolen rug.
I watch the crimson color pool across the floor, staring blankly as it stops an inch from my feet.
You think anybody gives a fuck about—
“Iris?”
“Hells!”
I jolt as the front door slams shut.
“What are you doing?” Elsie asks, standing just inside the threshold.
“Uh…” I try to wipe the shiver off my skin, but the sensation is quickly forgotten as I look down to see the rug free of my monstrosity. “I think a better question is, what have you been doing?”
Elsie cringes, ducking in the bright light and pressing a hand to her ear.
Looks like I’m not the only one who had a rough night.
I laugh.
“Reset button isn’t so fun when you’re on the other side, is it?”
“Ugh,” she groans. “Turn it down, my head hurts.”
She waves a hand, and the volume lowers.
“Yeah,” I say, crossing my arms. “Getting your back blown out will do that to you sometimes.”
She squints at me.
“I wasn’t—”
“Ah, ah.” I hold up a hand. “Before you lie to me, I’d like to remind you that I was there the day Mrs. McCubrey found you in the alchemy lab with Mikey Freeman. I know what your lying face looks like. And I know what sex smells like.” I sniff the air, scrunching up my face. “And you, ma’am, reek.”
Elsie’s face warms, her deep coloring flushing ever so slightly as she starts to giggle. But she recovers quickly, dishing it out as well as she can take it.
“Says the woman holed up with Elliot Cross.”
She passes me a pointed stare, cocking her head in challenge.
Oh, that’s low.
“I was not holed up with him!”
“Right.” Her eyes roll. “Then what were you doing all night exactly?”
I open my mouth, prepared to defend myself against such a heinous accusation, before I remember Elliot’s direction and his very clear instructions to Bloodsoe.
All night.
I smile and shrug, doing my best to look embarrassed. Which, honestly, isn’t that difficult.
“Okay, maybe I was holed up. But sue me, the man tastes good.”
Elsie laughs, kicking off her shoes and wandering into her room.
“Good enough to keep?” she calls out.
“I wouldn’t go that far!” I call back.
There’s a moment of silence as I listen to her rustling around, and when she returns, she’s no longer wearing the little red dress she’d stepped out in last night. Instead, she’s swapped it for a pretty yellow skirt and a soft blouse.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“To the library. I told Kitty I’d help with her enchantments essay.”
She sighs as if it’s a heavy burden, and I nod, though I’m now frowning.
“Oh, okay, tell her I said hi.”
She mutters some form of acknowledgment as she wrestles with her sneakers, but all I catch is “Bye!” before the door shuts and she’s gone again.
I try my best to keep my eyes off the rug as I sink onto the sofa.
Elsie just lied to me. And I’m not sure why.
She never lies to me. I know everything, every secret, from the name of her first crush to the real reason she tutors on Tuesdays. What could possibly be so serious as to warrant lying?
I sit frowning at the black TV screen until the sky turns a pinky shade of orange, and the pit in my stomach is so gaping I feel like it might swallow me whole from the inside out.
I consider calling Elliot. He’ll answer; he always does. But after what he did for me last night, I can’t bring myself to trouble him again. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve had a good hunt.
I used to hate hunting. Mostly because my mother never taught me how.
She took a more “respectable” approach to satisfying her hunger, relying on men’s generosity to offer themselves, rather than seeking what she needed. She assumed I would do the same.
For a while, I did. But I was naive then. And there’s nothing like the honest truth of the matter to show you just how naive you are.
Sometimes I wonder what she would say if she saw me now.
She probably wouldn’t approve of my methods or my tastes.
I don’t even think she’d approve of my hunger. Not that she ever did.
Her cravings were modest by comparison. A fact she always saw fit to remind me.
“Iris,” she’d whine. “You have such an appetite for a young lady, it’s unbecoming.”
Fate forbid I ever brought a boy home, I never heard the end of it.
Of course, she never commented on Isaac and the constant stream of men and women he kept in rotation.
Everything I know about hunting, I learned from Isaac. He wasn’t shy about teaching me. He made sure I knew where to look, what to do, how to turn it on, when to turn it off. And most importantly, what to expect.
He knew my hunger wasn’t the same as his, nor would it be treated the same by Mother or anyone else. But he refused to leave my life in the hands of fate. So when he told me to prepare myself for the ego of man and the insecurities that come with it, I listened.
And thank heavens I did, or I wouldn’t be standing here.
I slip into my favorite skirt and heels, opting for a low-cut sweater that flatters my modest chest a bit, before tying a pink scarf around my neck to hide the bruising. It’ll be gone in a couple of days, but until then, I like to look my best.
Isaac’s approach to hunting can be summed up in six words.
Have fun.
Look good.
Don’t die.
Strictly, in that order.
Took me a while to get used to that first one. For a long time, it felt more embarrassing than anything else, like I was begging for scraps. But I’ve never had a problem with the other two.
I check my reflection in the mirror by the door and decide to add a layer of lip gloss before stepping out.
Looking good isn’t strictly necessary. My magic will draw them in regardless, but a little confidence goes a long way toward shaking off the embarrassment. But I’m not embarrassed anymore. These days, they’re the ones begging.
I head to the tea house at the edge of campus, the one with the enchanted ceiling and signature wolfsbane and elderflower milk tea.
It’s not the most popular in town, but it’s the closest to campus, so it’s guaranteed to have a steady flow of customers all afternoon.
Which means I’ll have more than my fair share of options.
I order a cup of my favorite tea and a basket of fries from the sweet troll at the counter, and try not to trip over myself looking at the storm clouds on the ceiling.
They seem ready to erupt at any moment, and I hurry toward a table in the far right corner just in time to duck under the umbrella before the misty rain comes down.
“Oh, damn it!” A young wolf curses aloud, spreading his arms over the open books on the table, trying to save them from the downpour.
I watch for a moment, assessing him.