My aunt studies her nails, the bowl smoking in front of her. “I just gave a little tug. A hard one. Just to wake her up a bit. She’ll be fine. You know the first time is always the trickiest.”
I cradle the unconscious familiar in my arms, not sure if I approve of my aunt’s actions or if I should strangle her. The girl—Reggie—feels so light in my arms that it worries me. I felt that intense tug my aunt gave her, felt the surge of magic. Reggie might be untested, but she’s a natural with a hefty reservoir of energy to pull from—energy that my aunt blew through in one fell swoop to teach her a lesson. I hold Reggie close as her lashes flutter, and my chest feels tight with . . . something.
“I’m taking her up to her room,” I tell my aunt. “You’re done for the day.”
“Oh, don’t be so grumpy, Caliban,” my aunt says, stirring her smoking potion. “You wanted me to break her in. Consider her broken in.”
I wanted Reggie to acknowledge that magic exists, not for her to be knocked out. But I keep this to myself, because my aunt wouldn’t understand my odd protectiveness. I’m not sure I understand it myself. All I know is that someone needs to look after Reggie, who’s far too trusting. She just put on the cuff that binds her to my aunt as if it were nothing. I shake my head at the thought. She’s a little fool who’s jumped into the deep end of our world, and it’s not my responsibility to look after her. She’s my aunt’s familiar, not mine.
Even so, I lift her slight form against me and carry her through the house and up the stairs. By the time we reach Reggie’s room, her lashes flutter again and she stirs. “Mmm . . . what . . .” Her voice is soft and full of exhaustion. “Did I . . .”
“My aunt drained you,” I say, keeping my tone gentle. I push her door open, and I’m not surprised to see that her room is in perfect order, the bed made with sharp, tight corners, the throw pillows arranged neatly in rows based on their varying sizes. I move to the side of the bed and gently set her down.
She rubs her face, disoriented. “Low blood sugar,” she murmurs. “I forgot to eat lunch. That must be it.”
I roll my eyes. “If you say so.”
“Shoes,” Reggie says, trying to sit up. “Need to . . . take off shoes . . .”
“I’ll do it. You rest.”
She flops back onto the pillows, her eyes closed, and I can only imagine how drained she is. I try to remember the first time I acted as a familiar for a stranger and how I felt as if a house had fallen atop me. It took me days to recover, and I was wary of my master after that, afraid he’d tap me too hard once more and kill me.
Aunt Dru would never kill Reggie. I remind myself that as I undo the laces on her battered pink sneakers and slide them off her feet. Her bright yellow-and-orange socks have a hole, one toe sticking out, and they look threadbare. Actually, a lot of her stuff does. No wonder she’s so desperate to keep the job.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to pass out.”
I look up, and she’s so pale and vulnerable. I reach out and brush a stray lock of hair off her face. “It’s fine. You’re . . . fine.”
There’s another buzz of her phone, and Reggie groans and pulls it out of her back pocket, tossing it down on the bed. It’s another photo from her boyfriend. My protective mood sours, and I toss her shoes down on the floor, leaving her behind.
That’s what I get for feeling sorry for the girl.
7
REGGIE
I wake up with my phone pressed against my face and my head throbbing. Somewhere outside, birds chirp, and I squint at the sunlight streaming into my room.
How is it morning?
Yawning, I sit up and wipe the drool off my phone case. Ugh, there are twenty messages from Nick. He must have gotten laid and wants back pats from his friends. I rub my eyes, because I don’t know what day or time it is. Did I miss Friday-night cards? A quick check of my phone shows that it’s Friday morning, so at least that’s something, but I feel exhausted and weak. If I’d woken up to find out that I’d slept for a week, I wouldn’t be surprised. I feel that crappy. I slept in my clothes, and as I ease out of bed, I notice my shoes tossed to the floor all haphazardly. The sight of it makes my soul ache, and I pick them up, slipping them onto my feet and tying the laces.
As I do, a vague memory flashes. Dru, going through her little song and dance about potions and magic. A chemical reaction on the mushed grasshoppers. Me getting dizzy.
Ben carrying me up the stairs to my room and touching my face, brushing his fingers over my skin in a tender caress.
I tap my cheek, heat flooding through my body. When was the last time someone touched me? Really touched me? That has to be why it has me in a tizzy, why my brain is short-circuiting over it and not the fact that I passed out. My parents were never touchy-feely. Nick is, but only with his boyfriends. The last time someone caressed me was . . . my last boyfriend. Three years ago. That’s why I’m thinking about it. Not because I find Ben attractive. I don’t. I wish he’d take a long walk off a short pier.
I wobble upright and then head for the stairs. My stomach is growling something fierce, and I could eat a horse. I make it to the kitchen, and there’s no reek of dead-bug potion, no bowl of smoking herbs. The counters are clean and bare, and on a cake plate, the iced lemon muffins we made yesterday are displayed. I grab one and shove it into my mouth, devouring it. Fuck my macros.
Dru wanders into the kitchen a moment later, wearing a fluttering gown of pale yellow crepe with sheer bell sleeves. She has a jaunty matching yellow bow in her curls. “Hello, darling. How are you feeling?”
“Awful,” I manage, raising a hand to my mouth to shield the flying crumbs. “I’m sorry. I guess I passed out.”
“Mmm,” Dru says with a nod. “Because I drained you.”
“Because of low blood sugar,” I correct gently and take another muffin. “I’ll be fine soon. I just need to eat.”
She sighs, a look of sorrow on her aged face. “Sure, darling. If you say so.” She unfolds a list. “Can you do me a favor and pick these components up today? We’ll be casting again later tonight, and I’ll need these things.”
“Of course.” I force myself to walk over to her, my feet like lead. “I’ll go after breakfast. Is it okay if I visit a friend tonight, Ms. Magnus? I normally play cards with him every Friday night.”
“After you pick up my components, I don’t see why not.” Dru beams at me. “And please call me Auntie Dru. We’re not formal around here. Every time you call me Ms. Magnus, I keep looking for someone else.”
I smile at her around a mouthful of lemon muffin. “All right. I’ll get on your list once I’ve finished eating.”
“Excellent.” She primps her curls. “There’s a few specialized things on there you won’t be able to find at the grocery store, and I wrote down the name of the business you can find them at.”
I nod. I can do that. I’ll go all over town if she needs me to. I don’t have Nick’s car like I did for my job interview, so I’ll just have to call an Uber or take the bus. It’s not a big deal. “I’ll handle it.”
“I know you will, dear.” Dru smiles at me. “You’re just what’s needed around here.”
“I’m not sure your nephew would agree.” I snatch up a third muffin, because I really am starving.
“He will,” Dru says confidently. “Wait and see.” She snaps her fingers and then moves to the counter. “Oh, and take this to my friend Doris, would you? We made the potion for her, after all.” She picks up a tiny glass bottle filled with what looks like a gummy, dark substance. “It’s the potion for her knee.”
And now comes the hard part of the job. Do I take this mess to Doris and let her drink grasshopper guts and bay leaves? Or do I pretend to deliver it and spare the poor woman? “I’ll get right on it,” I lie. Hopefully it’ll take me so long to get the grocery shopping done that I won’t have time to deliver the grossness to poor Doris. I move forward and take the bottle from Dru’s hand, and my knees get weak. I lean on the counter, panting.