Page 109 of Veil of Blood and Bone

“Helene!”

Audra suffers my neurosis with the kind of sisterly indulgence she pairs with irritation. She twists her hands in the loops of one of the first things I ever quilted, and her head falls back.

“Isn’t it better to admit magic is real? It’s exactly what we’ve been missing.”

“No.” Now it’s my turn not to look at her. “It’s what we’ve been running from. It's the reason our mother was so fucked up and probably why we have both Mommy and Daddy issues.”

At least Audra's dad is out there. Somewhere. I think.

Mine never even gave a name.

“Come you. You don’t think Mom knew about your three mates, do you? Because if she did, I guarantee she would have run into their arms instead of out.”

It’s called a Mare.

My mouth goes dry. “Don’t call them that.”

“What?” she asks, false innocence. “Your mates?”

“This isn’t a romance novel.” I strangle the box of baking soda and give the same treatment to the cocoa powder. “This is real life.”

“And reality can’t have a foursome in it?”

What a yummy prospect.

“Not when it comes with murderous trolls and...and prophecies.” I turn to her. “You didn’t see yourself, kid. You didn’t see what you went through on the couch. I was terrified.”

I clasp the cocoa to my chest.

“I never want to see anything like that happen to you again.”

Despite her youthful face, those freckles we both got from mom, Audra’s eyes have seen too much to be young. “You will, though.”

I scoff. “Not if I can help it.”

She’s right. There isn’t a damn thing I can do to keep her from seizing again, whether it’s at the whim of something more commanding than fate doing the talking...or her disease.

Audra drifts, her head resting against a pillow and her arms folded over her chest.

She’s fallen asleep too quickly, my mind argues. Too fast to be natural, she’s usually such a light sleeper, but there are no shadows in the room and nothing to knock her unconscious magically. All lights are off except one because fuck my electric bill.

But I’ll feel better with this place lit up like Christmas.

I grab a bowl, scanning the recipe on the side of the cocoa powder. Easy enough. A substitution here and there will get us a batch of brownies in forty minutes if the oven sensor decides to work.

How?

How do I process this?

Jaw still clenched, I snatch eggs from the fridge. In the past two days, someone upended the table of my life and sent the pieces scattering.

Gods are real. Myths are real. So are monsters. And if I believe a word Wren said, I’m one of them. A myth. A story.

Loved to obsession.

I went from single and celibate for the last year and a half to making out with two men, one right after the other. Consecutive.

“I’m a hussy,” I mutter.