Cackle(75)

It’s all too much.

I crack.

I text Sam.

Do you think I’m the kind of person who would participate in the Peoples Temple Agricultural Project?

As soon as I hit SEND, I remember it’s still Valentine’s Day. I realize he’s probably with her. Shannon.

“This is the longest day of my life!” I shout into a pillow.

I need to put myself to bed. I shovel a few more forkfuls of chocolate cake into my mouth and take another swig of whiskey.

When I’m setting the bottle down, my phone brightens.

Jonestown?

Yeah, I type. Would I drink the Kool-Aid?

It was grape Flavor Aid.

Grape?!?!

You wouldn’t have drunk it because it was grape & we’re leery of people who choose grape.

Why have grape when you could have cherry?

I’m looking it up now. Flavor Aid had cherry, raspberry, tropical punch, pink lemonade, orange-pineapple, strawberry, mango, kiwi-watermelon . . .

MANGO?

Mango and they chose to go out with grape.

No, thank you!

See? You’re fine.

Thanks, I type.

It’s the longest interaction we’ve had in months. It feels so good to talk to someone who knows me. It feels so good to talk to him. Sam.

Also, it’s Valentine’s Day, and he texted me back right away. Maybe he’s not with Shannon. Maybe they’re not together anymore. Maybe.

My stomach flips.

What if?

I miss you, I tell him.

A minute passes. It’s a bleak minute.

Then,

I miss you, too.





SOME DECEPTION


I pass out on the couch, cake crumbs crusting my mouth, my phone clutched to my chest. I wake up there to the sound of a door shutting. I blink into the morning.

“Annie, darling?” I hear, followed by the distinct click of the dead bolt turning. The knob twists, and the door swings open.

Sophie stands there dressed in all black. Feathers and velvet and lace and fur. Her hood covers her eyes and casts a shadow over the rest of her face.

I look up at her, at this hooded figure, and feel an extraordinary, suffocating fear I’ve experienced only since I came to Rowan.

This fear is interrupted by the pitter-patter of many tiny legs clambering in from the bedroom.

Ralph.

Sophie removes her hood.

She’s beautiful, smiling. Amber eyes electric.

“Hello, little friend,” she says to Ralph. She lowers herself to the floor and pats his head with a long elegant finger. He shimmies with satisfaction.

“Annie,” Sophie says, turning to me, “I was worried.”

Panic sits on my chest.

Worried about what?

I prop myself up on the couch, my hangover announcing itself with some feral yelling.

“What do you mean?” I ask, releasing a cloud of my breath. I suspect someone could get drunk from merely smelling it.

She stares at me. “It’s Saturday. You always come over on Saturdays, pet. I thought something might have happened to you.”

“Oh,” I say. “No, no, I’m fine. Just . . . overslept.”

I follow her eyes to the half-empty bottle of whiskey, to the small remaining mound of chocolate cake.

She opens her palm and Ralph climbs into her hand. He cuddles her thumb.

“Annie,” she says, still smiling, “I know that’s not true.”

My throat constricts.

“I . . . It is. I didn’t . . . I mean, I did. I overslept.”

She settles herself next to me on the couch. She smells like violets. “I’m not angry with you. I’m concerned.”

She begins to stroke my hair with her free hand, Ralph still in the other. My hair snags on one of her rings. I whimper. “So sorry, darling.”

She doesn’t sound sorry.

“I have to pee!” I blurt out.

I bolt into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I need a minute to think, to collect myself. Also, I really do have to pee.

I sit on the toilet, self-conscious because of the trickling sound despite knowing I have bigger, more pressing concerns.

I can’t forget about last night, what I overheard. When it comes to Sophie, I’ve always been keen to let certain things slide for the sake of our friendship, but it’s at the point now where I can no longer ignore my mounting distrust.

There’s also the issue of Sam.

I broke my promise. I told her that I was done with him, but then I went and told him that I missed him.

And he said it back.

He misses me.

If there’s a chance that Sam and I can make things work, that I can go back to him and my magnificently normal, uncomplicated life, that I can escape this Grimm-worthy mess I currently find myself in, isn’t that a chance I have to take?

I need to get rid of Sophie. I’ve got too much to figure out. I can’t have her here.

But I can’t risk pissing her off. She has magic.

A voice speaks quietly from somewhere inside me. Yes, it whispers. But you have some, too.

I flush, wash my hands with an emphatic lather and take a series of deep breaths.

When I open the door, Sophie’s gone. So are the cake, the bottle of whiskey . . .

“Sophie?”

I find her in the kitchen washing the dishes.