It took more than a little convincing to get Amma to let me go to Savannah Snow’s party. And it wasn’t like she wouldn’t notice if I tried to sneak out. Amma never went anywhere anymore. She hadn’t gone home to Wader’s Creek once since she pulled the tarot spread that sent her into a voodoo queen’s crypt. She wouldn’t admit it, but when I asked her why she never went back home anymore, she got defensive.
“You think I can leave the Sisters to keep an eye on themselves? You know Thelma hasn’t been the least bit clear herself, since the accident.”
“Oh, Miss Amma. Quit your fussin’. I only get the eensiest bit confused, now an’ again,” Thelma called from the next room, where she was straightening the couches just so. Aunt Mercy liked one pillow and two blankets. Aunt Grace liked two pillows and one blanket. Aunt Mercy didn’t like used blankets, which meant you had to wash them before she’d let them near her. Aunt Grace didn’t like pillows that smelled like hair, even if it was her own. The sad thing was, since “the accident” I knew more about their pillow preferences and hiding places for coffee ice cream than I ever wanted to know.
The accident.
“The accident” used to mean my mom’s car crash. Now it was polite Southern code for Aunt Prue’s condition. I didn’t know if it made me feel better or worse, but once Amma started invoking “the accident,” there was no getting her to change her mind.
Still, I tried. “They don’t stay up past eight o’clock. How about we all hang out and play Scrabble together, and then I’ll go out once everyone is asleep?”
Amma shook her head as she pulled trays of cookies in and out of the oven. Snickerdoodles. Molasses. Shortbread. Cookies, not pie. Cookies were for delivery. She never fed cookies to the Greats. I don’t know why, but the Greats weren’t much for cookies. Which meant she still wasn’t talking to them.
“Who are you baking for tonight, Amma?”
“What, you’re too good for my cookies now?”
“No, but you took the paper doilies out, which means these aren’t for me.”
Amma started arranging the cookies on the tray. “Well, aren’t you a smart one. Takin’ these down to County Care. Thought those nice nurses might want a cookie or two to keep ’em company, these long nights.”
“So, can I go?”
“You’re simpler than I thought, if you’re thinkin’ Savannah Snow wants you anywhere near her place.”
“It’s just a regular old high school party.”
She lowered her voice. “There’s no such thing as a regular old high school party when you’re takin’ a Caster and an Incubus and a worn-out Siren with you.” Turns out, Amma could even whisper a pretty fierce scolding. Then she slammed the oven door and stood there with an oven-mitted hand on each hip.
“Quarter Incubus,” I whispered back. Like that changed anything. “It’s at the Snows’ house. You know what they’re like.” I did my best impression of Reverend Blackwell. “Fine, God-fearin’ folk. Keep a Bi-ah-ble right next to the bed.” Amma glared at me. I gave it up. “Nothing’s gonna happen.”
“If I had a nickel for every time you’ve said that, I’d be livin’ in a castle.” Amma covered the cookies in plastic wrap. “If the party’s at the Snows’ house, why are you goin’ anyhow? Didn’t even invite you last year, as I recollect.”
“I know. But I thought it would be fun.”
I met Lena on the corner of Dove Street because she’d had even less luck with her uncle and ended up sneaking out of her house. She was so afraid Amma would see her and send her back home that she parked the hearse a block away. Not like her car was hard to miss.
Macon had made it clear no one was going to any parties, not while the Order was still broken—especially not at the Snows’. Ridley had made it equally clear she was going. How did they expect her to fit in as a Mortal if she wasn’t allowed to do normal things with her new Mortal friends? Things were thrown. In the end, Aunt Del caved, even if Macon didn’t.
So Ridley had walked right out the front door, while Lena was left to find a way to sneak out.
“He thinks I’m in my room, sulking because he wouldn’t let me go out.” Lena sighed. “Which is where I was until I figured out my exit strategy.”
“How did you get out?” I asked.
“I had to use, like, fifteen different Casts: Hiding, Blinding, Forgetting, Disguising, Duplicating.”
“Duplicating? You mean you cloned yourself?” That was a new one.
“Just my scent. Anyone who Casts a Revelation on the house might be fooled, for a minute or two.” She sighed. “But there’s no fooling Uncle Macon. I’m dead when he finds out I’m gone. You think it’s bad living with a Seer? All Uncle Macon wants to do is practice his Mindhunting skills.”