Midnight Hour (Shadow Falls: After Dark #4)(40)

“But couldn’t she just fudge a little. Would it kill her to…”

“Lie?” Emotions played a game of bumper cars in Miranda’s chest. “That’s wrong, Tabitha.”

“And Anthony getting sent back to Paris, or going to jail, isn’t wrong?” Tabitha asked. “He didn’t do anything!”

Miranda chased a few words around her brain, trying to find something to say that wouldn’t make her sister mad. Then something suddenly dawned

on her. Tabitha’s argument had changed. She no longer claimed Anthony wasn’t at the house. Why?

“He told you he was there, didn’t he? He was at the house?”

“If he was, he wasn’t doing anything wrong … I told you he’s a good guy.”

“Then why can’t he just tell the truth? If he tells Burnett what happened then—”

“This isn’t a perfect world.” Tabitha clenched her hands.

“But lying is wrong. If he was there—”

“I didn’t say he was there!” Tabitha snagged the pillow from behind her back and crammed it in her lap.

She didn’t have to say it. It was implied. For Goddess’ sakes! What had Anthony gotten himself into? As much as Miranda liked Anthony, her

main concern was for her sister.

Tabitha hugged the pillow so tight the stuffing appeared about to explode. “I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?” Miranda attempted to choose her words carefully.

“You know what she’s going to say, don’t you?”

“What who’s gonna say?” Miranda felt lost in the conversation.

“My mom. I can hear her. ‘You are high priestess and you can’t do this.’ Do you know how many times I’ve heard her say that? She tells me

I have an image to maintain. My hair has to be perfect. I can’t wear a tight skirt. What would the Wicca Council think? Now I’m tied to a

drug house.”

“You didn’t do anything for them to get mad about.” Miranda wanted to go to her sister but wasn’t sure if she should crowd her right now.

Tabitha tossed the pillow across the room. It landed with a soft thud against the wall. “Well, I can’t be high priestess if I’m not here.”

“Why would you not … be here?”

Tabitha bent her legs, hugged her knees, and then buried her face on top of them. She spoke without looking up. “I’m sorry, I just can’t. I

shouldn’t hold the rank anyway. You’re the special one. And I can’t … can’t do it anymore.”

Miranda crawled off the bed and went to stand beside her sister’s bed. She put her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “What’s going on,

Tabitha?”

Her sister lifted her face but stared at the ceiling. One tear spilled from her lashes and slipped down her cheek. Then she met Miranda’s

gaze.

Tabitha appeared ready to say something, maybe even confess, but her eyes widened with fear. “Crap.”

“What?” Miranda asked, slightly exasperated with her sister’s crazy conversation.

“Your tattoo. It’s … it’s crawling up your neck.”

Miranda felt the spider-on-you kind of tickle on her neck and slapped at it, as if she could knock it off.

Swinging around, she ran into the bathroom. Stopping in front of the mirror, she grasped onto the sink with both hands.

The first thing she spotted were her eyes. Wide and round with fear. How could she not be afraid, when she didn’t have a freaking clue what

was happening? Slowly, she forced herself to look at her neck.

“Oh, damn!” The swirly pattern was crawling up to the arch of her neck—almost to her ear.

“What’s happening to me?” Miranda squealed.

“I’m sorry. All of this is my fault. You and Anthony. It’s on me.”

Miranda’s gaze, still locked on the mirror, shifted to her sister behind her. She looked truly remorseful.

The sound of the hospital-room door swooshing open echoed. Voices followed, but Miranda’s focus stayed on the tattoo moving past her ear.

A gulp of air filled her lungs. One vine-like tendril of the tattoo worked its way over her jaw bone, to her cheek. “No. Not my face. Not. My.

Face.”

She put her hand over it as if that could stop it.

Voices echoed behind her.

“Daddy,” Tabitha said, her voice sounding splintered.

“Where’s Miranda?” her mom’s voice called out.

“As if my daughter is chopped liver?” Tabitha’s mom commented next.

“Are you okay, Tabitha?” she heard her father ask.

“Can you stop hugging her long enough to find out where your other daughter is?” her mother screeched.

Then her mom and Tabitha’s mom started talking over each other, their voices growing louder. Louder.

“Don’t start this,” her father’s voice boomed.

Miranda looked at the tattoo, the dusty pink vine-like pattern crawling up her temple to her forehead. “Go away!”

“Miranda,” her mom yelled.

Miranda’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, mother cracker.”