Chapter 7 #3
Yet even so, the little kindled interest still flickered low in her belly.
She shouldn’t be looking forward to Maxim returning to her house.
Everything about him, from his shining shoes to his college dreams of dramatic embroidery, proved that she should be sending him on his way instead of inviting him in for more.
Pippa let her head drop onto one of the couch’s armrests.
She had made a mistake. She had been caught up in the draw of returning a favor, distracted by muscled forearms and tousled hair and the firm grip of nitrile-covered hands on her bare skin.
She had let him in more than she ever expected, and now he was probably looking forward to the hundreds of questions he would ask that, because she’d made a promise when she was bloodied and delirious, she felt obligated to answer.
Pippa took a deep breath against the upholstery, inhaling dust and the lingering aroma of burnt sage from when she’d tried and failed to make herself a hasty dinner last night, back when her biggest problems were a sadly unfinished meal paid for by her employer, a broken car, and a man whose blood took far too long to wash off her hands.
So caught up in worries about tow truck costs and how likely it was that Maxim might zip from office to office with the tale of his alley adventure, she hadn’t paid attention as she stirred the sauce.
When her attention returned to her kitchen, a brown sludge coated the bottom of the pan.
She inhaled the fabric again. Not just sage: burnt garlic, burnt cream, a bitter dash of burnt butter.
Truly awful scents, but magnificent for the sole reason that she was alive to smell them.
She was here, on her scratchy couch in her lonely apartment instead of existing as a smear at the base of an elevator shaft.
Pippa’s phone vibrated from within the front pocket of her sweater.
At first relieved it had managed to stay with her during everything, she let loose another sigh.
She’d call back whoever it was later. It was probably Jules, asking why she hadn’t come back from her coffee break, or her mother, wanting to finish their conversation from yesterday, and Pippa was much too tired to make any meaningful conversation.
But . . . oh shit, she’d left the office and then the elevator had practically exploded. If she didn’t respond to a text soon, Jules would probably report her missing, or dead.
Pippa fumbled her phone, then brushed aside the notifications of sixteen missed calls and thirty-seven unopened texts.
I’m fine, she sent. I’m home. Then for good measure, she added a poop emoji.
She tossed her phone onto the couch cushion and watched the reflection in the screen shift as it wobbled on the edge of a pillow.
Fine. She’d been using that word so many times lately. She turned it over and around in her thoughts as if it were a smooth, heavy pebble she was trying to memorize the feel of.
The more she fiddled with it, the more it rang false.
Her stomach lurched as she realized that, no, she was not fine. Not at all.
She didn’t know why it took so long for it to settle. Shock, probably. Wasn’t that how it worked? Adrenaline kept her running hard and high until the chaos paused long enough for the brutal truth of what happened to hit her fully.
Her magic had left her. She had always considered it to be immovable, as reliable and constant as her own heartbeat.
It was what made her special, powerful. Strong.
But it had been taken from her, ripped out of her chest and flung far away, and all that remained was a shell that was brutalized and lost and useless.
A roiling sensation surged up through Pippa’s throat and burst out of her as a harsh, racking sob. Tears tracked down her cheeks and she dug her fingernails into the padded armrest.
Don’t fail, Pippa.
Be better, Pippa.
The phrases she’d once taken and twisted into inspiration to be stronger, more resilient, now swarmed around her like a flock of vultures—each one stabbed at her and reminded her how close she’d come to that awful, ultimate failure.
What you’ve done hasn’t been enough. You haven’t been enough.
The memory of the Ash Coven’s recent words sunk deep and brought forth another heaving sob. The fabric beneath her face was damp as she pressed her forehead into the armrest.
Then magic brushed her fingertips, nuzzling her like an animal.
Though she was exhausted, she pulled it close, taking comfort in the warm, sparkling feel of it.
Her breathing steadied and her grip on the armrest relaxed as she floated in the reassurance it provided.
Even if she couldn’t access it, it would always be around her. It would always be there.
Pippa pushed herself upright and swiped her sleeve over her eyes. Wallowing was easy. She took one last lung-filling breath, stood, and made for the kitchen. She was hungry and filled with a blossoming determination. If she could conquer one thing today, she could at least make it edible.