Page 25
And becoming something impossible.
I’m dead on my feet by the time Monday circles back around, the morning anxiety like a vulture plucking at my nerves.
When I arrive at work, Sunday is a no-show. In fact, a whole week and a half passes without him. Part of me is relieved; I don’t need to worry about running into him and having more awkward interactions.
Wednesday mornings are reserved for our department meeting, which feels unnecessary considering there are only three of us.
I expect certain things from meetings. Rooms that are too warm and make my eyes droop. Boring talk about projections and HR policies. Crappy coffee and stale cookies.
Instead, I’m cajoled into giving Lara and Séverin tarot readings. Best. Meeting. Ever.
Spreading out a black-and-gold tarot deck, I explain about the different suits.
“So, we have cups, which are a water element; they rule emotions.” I push a card toward each of them. “Wands are a fire element; they rule passion and creativity.”
Lara’s smile is wide as she tilts the card this way and that, likely marveling at the gold gilding. Séverin inspects his card with great care, as if he’s afraid to sully it with his touch.
“Swords are the air element; they rule your mind, your inner life.” I splay my hands on my chest. “And then there’s pentacles. They are—"
The meeting-room door bangs open, and I’m immediately hit with a wall of aggravated energy before Sunday enters the room. He scrapes his chair across the ground before throwing himself into it.
“Morning,” he grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.
Lara doesn’t waste any time. “Would you like to walk out and try that again?” She throws him a withering look, which he ignores.
“No.”
“What is your problem?” she fires back.
“Oh gee, I don’t know, Lara. Maybe it’s because I’ve been shitting myself in the shower for the better part of a week, all I’ve eaten is dry-ass fuckin’ toast, and I keep losing my stuff all over the place.” Sunday’s tone is downright venomous, his discomfort rolling off him in waves.
Lara hadn’t mentioned anything about him being off sick, but I suppose it’s none of my business.
Sunday takes one look at Lara’s expression, huffs, then scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry,” he mutters, shoulders slumping under the weight of Lara’s blazing gaze.
“Right. Go stick your hand up a badger or whatever it is you do,” she scolds him, waving a hand in dismissal.
Laughter bursts out of me before I can stop it, and I slap my hand over my mouth.
Sunday rises out of his seat, sending his plastic chair crashing to the floor, and fixes a predatory glare on me.
A ringing sound starts in my left ear. I tilt my head, leaning into the sound. It’s like a precursor, this ringing. The left ear usually means a warning, that I need to pay attention.
He tilts his head in the opposite direction from mine, tension creeping into his shoulders as he turns to leave.
My magic flares, unprompted. It does this sometimes when too much accumulates in my veins. It pulses out like sunlight to a dying flower—the flower being Sunday’s visible bad mood. He’s gone before it can reach him.
Lara sighs, muttering under her breath before getting up and following Sunday out of the room.
“Has he always been such an asshole?” Séverin grumbles, clutching his bottle of water.
The benefit of having a nosy spirit guide is that Delphine has all but confirmed my suspicions. He’s definitely paranormal, most likely a vampire, given his lack of fang control. I’ve never seen him eat anything, and he only drinks water…
I sigh. “Not always, no.”
Sure, he had his moody days back in college. But they were quickly fixed with wandering hands or sugar. Most of the time he was—
“Hard to believe. He’s a temperamental bastard.”
