Chapter 1
Two Months Before
The Hermit and Death reversed. Awesome.
Feeling lost and isolated but resisting change…
yeah, sounded about right. I stared at the two ominous cards on my car dash, afraid to reach out and tuck them into my worn tarot deck in fear they might rear back and bite me like a damn viper.
I rubbed my swollen eyes. The universe could be so sassy at times, I swear.
Rain pelted the windshield, and a break in the clouds seeped morning light through the pooled droplets, casting blurry shadows across the tarot figures’ faces as if to say: Nothing changes unless something changes.
I heaved a sigh, rolled my neck, and turned my attention toward an even more intimidating sight: my parents’ sprawling two-story Victorian home.
Every light in the house was on despite it being midday—tell me you’ve got money without telling me you’ve got money—presenting the notion that I was welcome.
Come in, stay a while, I could almost hear Glenda say.
You’re always welcome here, Fey, she’d insist.
An irrefutable lie.
I slid the cards off the scratched-to-shit pleather, setting them on top of the deck for an in-depth reading later, which I would one thousand percent need after today.
Coming home was always a challenge. Coming home and asking for help?
Soul crushing. Flicking the edge of the cards, I considered leaving.
Running. Finding my way out of my shitstorm of a situation, but …
this time, I had to accept the god-awful truth.
I needed their help. One more favor, one more try, and I could be free of it all.
With shaky hands, I swiveled the rearview mirror and dabbed concealer under my eyes. “You can do this. Get in. Ask. Get out.”
But even my reflection mocked me as I heaved my car door open with a screech, the sound ricocheting through the pine trees lining the cul-de-sac.
Nothing was ever simple when Glenda and Jack were involved.
They’d have requirements and stipulations, as always.
Expectations. And expectations were a bitch when I had the habitual nature of never measuring up to them.
As I ascended the front steps, the moist air stuck to me like a second skin. Mary—the only woman who’d lasted longer than a year in service to the Masterson household—greeted me with a wide smile upon my entrance.
“There she is,” she cooed, wrapping me in a warm hug.
“Hey, Miss Mary, how are you?” I laughed into her shoulder.
“Oh, you know me, sweetheart. Just chugging along while these old bones still let me.” She pulled back but didn’t remove her grasp on my shoulders. “Looks like those bruises are finally starting to heal. How are you feeling?”
“I … I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s all right?” Lord knows my nerves were already frayed enough. No need to go digging up more personal failures, however recent they might be.
“Of course, say no more.” She locked her lips with an invisible key and threw it over her shoulder. “I just worry, honey, that’s all. But as long as you’re okay, I’m okay.”
My chest tightened, words evading me. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth: that the nightmares were back, along with my sleep aversion.
Not after she’d gone to such lengths to save me from myself after my little incident.
No, telling her the truth would only cause her needless worry, and—given I still had an eight-hour drive home—I couldn’t risk her persuading me to stay the night.
She’d brew me a cup of her famous sleepy tea, and I’d be done for.
I’d never been able to say no to her. “I’m okay. Really, Mar.”
She squinted, the lines around her eyes deepening. “Feyanna Masterson, now don’t you go lying to me. You know you’ve never been any good at that.”
“I’m not, I promise. I’m sleeping just fine. Classes and work are never-ending, that’s all. College life, you know?”
“Hmm … if you say so.”
She reached for my jacket, her hand brushing against my wrapped wrist, and I hissed. Mary pulled my sleeve up, tracing a gentle touch along my palm. Renewed concern swirled in her eyes, but she dismissed it with a huff, trying again to take my coat.
“Leave it,” I pleaded. “I’m not ready to talk to them about it.”
“Honey, you’re going to have to tell them sometime. I know they can be a bit … abrasive, but they care about you.”
“And I will. Just … not yet.”
If I’d learned anything in my years in the Masterson home, the greatest lesson was that sometimes silence was the best option.
The less painful option. Those looks of pity—the very same one Mary gave me—I …
I couldn’t stomach them. Couldn’t handle the helpless prying hidden behind their wide eyes, pressing me to talk and open up.
Realistically, there wasn’t anything to talk about. My mind was broken. Simple.
“Don’t you worry about me,” I said with a forced smile. “I’m sure you have enough on your plate dealing with you-know-who. In fact, I think you deserve a reward for your efforts.”
I dug into my bag, my fingertips crunching against the cellophane. I pulled the mini care package out, extending the Froot Loops–covered donut from her favorite confection shop just outside state lines. “Ta-da.”
“You sweet child,” she giggled.
“Afraid it’s not the freshest, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to spoil my favorite—”
“You’re late,” a grating voice called from the second-story landing. “I thought I told you eleven o’clock.”
“Speak of the devil,” I whispered.
Mary squeezed my shoulders. “Chin up.”
With a final soft touch, she excused herself to the dining room.
I met Glenda’s stormy-blue gaze as she descended the stairs. “You did, I’m sorry. Traffic was awful.”
“Traffic in Tahoe?” She scoffed. “Please. Do not insult me by thinking I’m gullible enough to believe such a lazy lie. Come, your father is waiting in the dining room. You can explain to him why his brunch is cold.”
My hands clenched at my sides. An hour. One hour and you’ll be out of here. An hour won’t kill you. But according to my racing heart and the familiar brick in my gut?
It just might.
Jack cut off a massive chunk from his steak, the fatty bit wriggling as he shoved it into his mouth. He gnashed it between his teeth, pointing at my plate with his now empty fork. “Come now, that’s a grade A slab of beef right there. I had it imported from upstate.”
I looked over the bloody slab of flesh, holding back a gag. It didn’t surprise me that he’d chosen steak and eggs. He’d fought my choice to abstain since day one. “Dad, I’m a vegetarian. You know this.”
Three years. Three years I’d been, and still, he shriveled his nose at the word like a putrid smell permeated the room. Sadly, not surprising.
Nine years had passed since the ink on my adoption papers dried, and they were no closer to understanding me—or even wanting to—than the day I had set my bags on their shiny hardwood floors.
Twenty-one years old, and yet I remained a misguided child in their eyes, which wouldn’t help my cause much considering the weight of my incoming request.
“Still on that delusional bandwagon, huh?” He chuckled, the smile not reaching his eyes. He turned to Glenda. “That’s why she has those dark circles under her eyes. The girl doesn’t get enough protein.”
“That hair color isn’t doing her any favors either.” She motioned to my teal waves. “How do you expect to secure a good job looking like that?”
“Nobody is going to take you seriously with all those tattoos either, mind you. I warned you about that. But don’t worry, when you’re ready I know a guy who can zap them clean off,” he added, mimicking a laser and snapping his fingers.
Glenda nodded but didn’t respond, as usual.
I rolled my sleeve further down, hiding the floral designs on the tops of my hands.
Of course, they wouldn’t look close enough to see the truth behind the mask or the scars beneath the ink.
A small part of me hoped they’d notice the hidden pain one day, as Mary so easily did, but I knew better.
Vicious, gnashing teeth reflected in my memory, sending a shiver down my spine—the truth of my darkened eyes was far grimmer than my diet or hectic schedule.
But where Mary would seek to help, Jack and Glenda would only harm.
They didn’t, quote, buy into mental health rhetoric, as they’d coined it.
They’d never taken my diagnosis seriously. I cleared my throat.
“Not a food thing, more a studying at all hours of the night thing,” I lied through my teeth.
“I don’t buy it,” he said, cheek full. “If you don’t feed your body, your brain can’t function properly. These aren’t helpless little animals. You aren’t saving them. As long as there are cows and pigs, people will eat them. It’s the way of the world.”
“Right.” I pushed my plate away.
Jack swallowed his last bite whole, washed it down with whiskey, and snapped for Mary to retrieve his empty plate before pointing to me. “And wrap hers up to go. She’ll want it later, I’m sure.”
God help me. Liquor before noon: a classic red flag. I needed to hurry this up. I fixed my face a second too late, and Glenda threw invisible daggers at me.
“So,” she snarked. “You never did tell me the reason behind your impromptu visit.”
“Do I need a reason to have brunch with my parents?”
“No,” she responded. “But you usually do when you want something. So, explain then, what is it this time—”
“Glenda, darling,” Jack interjected, “cut the girl some slack, will you? No need to ice her out. She’s a woman making her way in the world, and a busy one at that. Our girl is prepping to become the biggest wolf of Wall Street the world has ever seen. Isn’t that right, Fey?”
“I … yeah.” I swallowed hard. Here it came, the word vomit. “About that …”
Glenda scoffed. “See? Didn’t I tell you, Jack? Always a hidden agenda with this one.”