Chapter 13
thirteen
LIZZY
Not to toot my own horn, but… toot toot, motherfuckers!
I made breakfast. A real feat after yesterday’s shit-kicker of a day, believe me.
Between Helena’s doom-and-gloom tea party and Dr. Sutherland putting me on house arrest while he skipped on down to Hell without me, I was pretty much feeling like a used tampon.
Anyway. Bacon cures all woes, so I’ve got a little more pep in my step today.
Okay, when I say I made breakfast, what I mean is that I wished for it out loud, in a really nice way, and suddenly the dining room was set up like a B only a sadness.
God.
I’m probably going to regret this, but…
“There’s a cemetery,” I offer. “Out in the back woods. I kind of… came across it on a walk the other night.”
“Hawthorn Cemetery? That’s still there?” Kate smiles, breaking a bit of the tension. Tipping her glass toward Rachel, she says, “Big sis used to party back there.”
I gasp. My strait-laced, tightwad sister used to party in a graveyard? “She did not!”
“She did! Back when she was trying to be Cool Goth Girl in middle school.”
This is a new revelation. One Rachel clearly does not appreciate being revelated.
“I was twelve. I was trying to be a lot of things. Mostly to impress Danny Pullman.”
“Her bad-boy phase,” Kate says, and the two of them snicker.
Once again, I feel like the odd man out. I don’t remember this place. It’s easy to forget that my sisters do. That they have actual memories from here—maybe even good ones. They had a childhood here, complete with making mischief and sneaking out with boys and all the things normal kids get up to.
But we were never normal kids. We were the witch’s daughters. We’re still the witch’s daughters. They just don’t want to admit it.
Calista glides over to the end of the table. Takes a seat across from Rachel, right next to Kate. My sisters are completely oblivious.
Guess innate powers don’t run in families.
“I don’t think they bury people there anymore,” Kate says. “That place is ancient.”
“All of our ancestors are buried there,” I say. “If there’s anywhere the remains belong, it’s with them.”
“What ancestors?” Rachel asks.
“The ones you partied with, apparently,” I say.
“I mean… I’ve never actually been in there, in there.
Cool Goth Girl wasn’t exactly brave.” She laughs.
“Stupid-ass kids. We’d all go out there with our fruity wine coolers and stolen cigarettes and dare each other to run up and touch the gate.
That was about as wild as we got. How do you know so much about it, anyway? ”
Calista smirks at me, elbows on the table, like, don’t be such a chicken shit!
But I can’t tell them. Not until I’ve got a better handle on my magic… and they open up to the possibility that it even exists.
“Walked by the headstones,” I say. “Bonnivarde—not the most common name. They have to be related, right?”
Rachel nibbles on a slice of bacon. “Mom never talked about relatives, even when I asked. It was like her past never existed.”
I think about the vision of my mother at Calista’s grave. The flowers. The tenderness.
God, this shit is so confusing.
“I just… Look, I’m not defending her,” I say. “I still think she’s awful for what she did to us. But that doesn’t mean we should just… I don’t know. She deserves to be respected in death, even if she didn’t respect us in life. That’s all I’m saying.”
Go me, with the mature attitude! I deserve another mimosa.
While I’m mixing the drink, Rachel and Kate clear the dishes. The house would’ve taken care of it, but… no sense getting anyone worked up about that.
When everything’s back to neutral, Rachel says, “I guess we don’t have to decide on her final resting place just yet. I do need to pick up the urn today, though, and settle the bill. We’ll have to find a temporary place for her somewhere in the house.”
“The basement,” I say. “There’s a room down there with all her witchy stuff. Tarot cards, candles. It’s nice. I think she spent a lot of time down there.”
Summoning demons, but we’ll leave that extraneous detail out.
“Fine by me.” Rachel gathers up her coat and purse. “Oh, will you be here all day, Lizzy?”
Dr. Sexy is still on his field trip to Hell, and I have no friends in this town, and no cash, so… “Yep! Sorting and boxing, that’s my jam.”
“Great. The lawyer is supposed to drop by later to talk about the antiques, see if there’s anything that might be worth putting up for auction. I should be back in time, but if not, will you let him in?”
“Isn’t he on the no-fly list?”
“He’s completely fine. The background check came back clear. The auction’s legit too—apparently, he has a number of associates interested in historic preservation. They do a gala every year. Some of the proceeds go to preservation charities.”
“Guess we’re all good, then.”
“No red flags, no mistakes, no witchy woo-woo weirdness.” She nods her head firmly, as if she’s still trying to convince herself.
Then, with that tight little laugh she does when she’s nervous, “Well, other than Helena’s conspiracy theories.
” The laugh again. A quick jerk of her coat zipper. “Witches. Can you even imagine?”
“Um,” I say, and she laughs again and off she goes.
She doesn’t even notice that the door opens and closes for her of its own accord.