The Price Guide to the Occult(43)

Nor listened to the crunching of footsteps on the gravel outside the basement window and to the low murmurs of Pike and Sena Crowe talking quietly at the top of the stairs. Bijou curled up on Nor’s pillow. Nor rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Though she may have been safer here, she wanted to be in her own room. She wanted to be able to see the moon. All she could see here was a water stain that looked to Nor like a knife. She fiddled with the crow’s claw, slid it back and forth along its chain, and tried to remember a time when she’d felt more alone.





What are you doing?” Gage asked, his voice thick with ennui. The two of them stood facing each other at opposite ends of a training mat set up in a secluded spot at the edge of the compound. They’d been at it for hours. Sweat dripped down Nor’s back. The sun was setting low over the horizon, and Nor envied its chance at a reprieve. Gage’s arms were crossed. “I keep telling you. You have to plant your feet.”

Nor looked down. “I did,” she insisted.

“No, you didn’t. If your feet were planted, your attacker wouldn’t be able to do this.” And with that, he stepped forward, grabbed her wrist, spun her around, and stepped on the back of her knee. She yelped and dropped to the ground with a thud. By the time Nor had gotten her bearings, Gage already had a fistful of her hair clutched in one hand and a knife against her throat.

Asking Gage to spend any time with her was asking for more grief than Nor needed. But this morning when he had said he doubted Nor could defend herself against a Jack Russell terrier — to use his words — Nor had insisted on proving him wrong.

It was a decision she regretted now more than anything.

It had been almost three weeks since Nor had moved onto the compound. She was allowed to leave only if she had an escort — namely Pike or the taciturn Sena Crowe — with her. She’d barely seen Judd or Apothia and barely spoken to Savvy. Reed thought she was spending time with family. Nor hated lying to him, but what was she supposed to say? Oh, you know, just your typical family drama — I’m pretty sure my mom wants to kill me, so I’m just hiding out for a bit. At least when she talked to Savvy she could tell the truth.

Nor pulled herself up and assessed herself for injuries. She had fresh bruises on her knees, but most of the damage had been to her ego.

Gage sighed. “You’re fine. That’s what the mat’s for.” He spun his knife on the tip of his finger by its point.

Nor cursed him silently. “I didn’t know you had a knife.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he scoffed. “I’m sure whoever you’re defending yourself against will be sure to tell you exactly what weapons they’re carrying. But okay. Let’s try a different tactic. You take the knife.” He flipped the blade easily in his hand and handed it to her, hilt first.

Nor gawped at it. “I — I don’t want it,” she insisted. Her fingertips itched to grasp the hilt, to touch the coolness of the blade. Apothia had been right to keep the knives hidden.

“Just take it.”

“No,” she said, backing up. She stared at the gleaming knife, her heart pounding too fast and too hard in her chest.

“Jesus, Nor. Take the damn knife!”

She grabbed the knife from him and immediately threw it to the ground. “I don’t want it!” Tears welled up in her eyes. She swiped at them angrily. “Fine! You win, all right?” she screamed at Gage. “I’m no good at this!”

Gage spat and snatched the weapon from the ground. He stabbed the knife into the leg of one of the statues, then stalked off. Blood welled up from the slice Nor had cut into her palm.

Later that night, Nor lay on the couch in Dauphine’s basement. The occasional murmur of voices from upstairs drifted over her. The old house creaked and moaned. Bijou, curled up on her pillow, shifted in his sleep. The tiniest tip of tongue stuck out from between his teeth.

Nor scrolled through her phone mindlessly before tossing it to the side with a sigh. No one had seen Fern anywhere even close to the archipelago, not since her visit to the Tower to see Nor. In fact, no one had seen her anywhere lately. The sales of The Price Guide to the Occult had skyrocketed, her seminars were sold out all over the country, and yet the woman herself hadn’t been seen in weeks. Then there was that event in Chicago: people were alarmed at Fern Blackburn’s inability to cast one of her own spells. Instead of being relieved at this turn, Nor felt more frightened than before; while their encounter at the Tower had clearly weakened her mother, Nor could feel her magic raging like a wildfire under her skin.

She gently prodded the bruises on her face and fiddled with the gauze wrapped around her hand. She hadn’t been able to heal her own injuries, as minor as they were. Part of her wondered if that was because she didn’t want them to heal. She thought about the cold steel blade of Gage’s knife. For Nor, cutting had been a habit, a routine solution she’d reached for every time she felt afraid. No matter how many times she’d tried to let it go, it still somehow remained, a final resort she struggled to resist. How can I expect to defend myself against other people, she wondered, when I’m so busy trying to protect myself — from myself?

When Nor finally fell asleep, she dreamed she was back at the Tower. Reed was waiting for her downstairs, but the only thing hanging in her closet was that black bustier dress. She put it on and found not Reed, but Gage waiting in the kitchen with Savvy.