In the meantime, we were slowly draining my college fund to pay for our life. I wasn’t super happy about that, but it was what it was, and we’d started talking about bringing Mom home again. To save money, obviously, but also because that was something we wanted.
Cassandra and I were back on Returns, and I daresay we were kind of nailing it. We could now scout, battle, and Return a demon in less time than it took most people to floss their teeth. I’d been babysitting every chance I got, and Cassandra got a job too. But not babysitting—at the fro-yo place. She loved it, mainly because no one wanted fro-yo the week before Christmas, so she didn’t have to do anything.
Cassandra and I didn’t talk about it, because we didn’t talk about that kind of stuff, but I was pretty sure she talked to Ruby every day, and I’d never seen her so happy. In fact, I’d never even seen Cassandra happy, and I was happy for her, but also, I admit, a little sad. It kinda made me wonder when I was going to fall for someone who didn’t turn out to be a total loser. Or a bird.
So yeah, things were working out in a lot of ways. And they weren’t working out in some major ways. Mom was still cursed. And Pig was still gone.
“Here ya go, miss.” The copy shop guy snapped me out of my head as he slid my stack of flyers across the counter. “You can put one up in the window here if you want. I hope you find your dog. She looks like a real good girl.”
“Thanks,” I said. “She was. I mean, is.” I took the flyers and went outside. This was the third bunch I’d put up around town. We’d gotten a few calls, and last weekend, Dad and I drove out to the county shelter because someone had brought in a white female pittie. She was sweet, but she wasn’t Pig. Not even close.
I ripped a piece off my roll of hot pink duct tape and wrapped it around a lamppost to hold up the flyer. It had started to snow last week, so the flyers weren’t lasting long. I was ripping off a second piece of tape when I heard someone say hi behind me. I turned around with the tape still in my mouth and jumped when I saw who it was: Stacey Wasser, mouth full of Funyuns, an open bag in hand. I’d spent much of my high school career avoiding Stacey Wasser, except for that time I saved her life, which she of course didn’t remember. She looked at me and chewed, and I wondered what was coming next. There was no sporting equipment in sight, so she’d have to get creative if she wanted to throw something at me. But she just stood there and chewed, a John Waters mustache of onion dust on her top lip.
“You lost your dog?” she asked. I nodded. “That sucks,” she said, then held out her free hand. “Gimme one.” I handed her a flyer, half expecting her to crumple it up into a ball and throw it in the gutter. Instead, she read it. “Her name’s Pig?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said sadly. “She snores a lot.”
Stacey laughed, and sprayed Funyuns on the flyer. “A dog named Pig,” she said. Then she shoved the flyer in her pocket. “I’ll look for her.”
“Thanks,” I said. “My number is there, if you do see her.”
She nodded, then held the bag out to me. “Want one?”
I hated Funyuns, but Stacey clearly loved them, and I took it that this was her making some sort of peace offering, even if she didn’t really understand why, so I nodded and reached into the bag.
“Thanks again,” I said.
“I love dogs,” Stacey said. “I hope you find her. See you at school.” Then she turned and walked away. I put the Funyun in my mouth, and I was surprised. It wasn’t as bad as I remembered.
* * *
—
I was putting up another flyer at the library when my phone rang with a FaceTime call. It was Amirah, who had called me every day since she’d gone back home. Even though she never asked me a single question, I knew this was her way of seeing how I was doing. I clicked Accept and was greeted by a ceiling. Then Amirah’s face popped into the screen on one side, and Ji-A was leaning over from the other. It was early evening in New York, and they were getting ready to go out. Amirah modeled her outfit, which included crystal-studded stiletto boots, while Ji-A was wearing a draped, one-shoulder velvet minidress that was probably Balenciaga. She’d paired it with a dirty pair of black Converse All Star high-tops. “I wish you were here,” she said, and the image shook as she flopped onto the bed.
“Me too,” I said. The sentiment was true, though I had a hard time mustering much emotion for it. “What are you guys doing tonight?”
“There’s a party at the McDonald’s in the East Village,” Amirah called from offscreen.
“A party at the McDonald’s?” I asked, not sure I’d heard right.
“Yeah, it’ll last like ten mins max before everyone gets kicked out.”
“I’m getting a McFlurry,” Ji-A said wistfully. “With extra Oreos.”
Ugh. I had to admit that a party at McDonald’s sounded like more fun than anything I had ever done in my entire life.
Amirah took the phone from Ji-A. “So, we’re booking tickets back to Spring River for Presidents’ Day weekend!”
“Ha, really?” I asked, totally confused. This was the first time I’d heard about such a plan. “I don’t think I even know when Presidents’ Day weekend is.”
“It’s basically Valentine’s Day,” Amirah said.
“Excuse me,” Ji-A said. “Galentine’s Day!”
“Of course, of course,” I said.
“Anyway, we get a day off school,” Amirah continued, “and our Counsel said New York will be a dead zone that weekend because all the demons will be lying low ’cause they hate romance.”
“I get that,” I said, since I was pretty sure I hated romance too. “But what do you guys want to do in Kansas?”
“We want to go thrifting!” Amirah squealed. “I just got off the phone with Janis. She said we can stay with her.” Ji-A stuck her head in front of the camera and nodded emphatically.
“I want to find, like, a hilarious T-shirt,” she said. “From a softball team or something.”
I laughed. “We have those,” I said.
They were both quiet for a minute.
“Are you still looking for Pig?” Ji-A asked, and I nodded.
“I’m sorry, Esme,” Amirah said. “But I do have someone here who wants to say hi.” She flipped the phone around and focused on a corner of her room. The chickens, who clearly did not want to say hi and couldn’t give a flying frig about a FaceTime screen, were sitting comfortably on a pillow.
“How’s that whole thing going?” I asked.
“Amazing!” Amirah beamed. “Everyone thinks it’s hilarious that I have chickens in my apartment. I started an account for them: at city underscore chicks. You should follow!”
“I will,” I said. I wanted to say something else, but I didn’t have much in me for conversation.
“Okay,” Amirah said. “We just wanted to call and see what you were up to. Excited to hang when we come back.”
“Yeah, me too,” I said, and I meant it, even though I wasn’t exactly doing backflips to prove it. Then they both waved and hung up.
* * *
—
I finished hanging up the flyers, then bought myself a coffee for the walk home. The barista seemed incredulous, and asked me three times to make sure I wanted an iced black coffee, and not a hot peppermint mocha, but I held my ground, frozen fingers and all. When I got to the house, Brian’s Ford Explorer was parked in the driveway. I went inside and my dad and Brian were sitting in the kitchen, drinking beer. I stuck my head in and said hello before heading to my room. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. I expected it to be Dad, asking me what I wanted for dinner, but instead it was Brian.
“Oh, hi,” I said. “Come on in.” I stepped aside, and Brian got a good look at the mess behind me and gave a visible shudder.
“Hey,” I said. “It’s called punk shui. You should look it up on Pinterest.”
He smiled. “I’m glad to see your sense of humor has returned,” he said.
“I’m only operating at about fifteen percent,” I said.
He nodded. “I’m sorry, Esme. Your dad said you were having a tough time.”
I bit my lip and nodded. “Do you want to come in?” I asked.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I have to get going. But I wanted to tell you something.”
“About Mom?”
He shook his head. “About your dog.”
“Did someone see her?” I asked, practically jumping down his throat.
“No,” he said. “But I’ve been doing some research, and I got to catch up with Clarissa last night, and she confirmed that she’d never heard of such a thing either.”
“Of what such a thing?” I asked.
“I haven’t been able to find a single other instance where an animal has successfully taken part in a Coven ritual,” he said. “It’s unheard of.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it seems it’s not for lack of trying. There are a lot of recorded instances of Sitters attempting to use animals to form Covens, but it’s never worked.”
“That’s weird,” I said, my mind flashing back to Halloween, when I’d successfully cobbled together a last-minute Coven of myself, Janis, Mom, and Pig.
Brian shook his head. “I don’t think so. The purpose of some rituals requiring a Coven of other Sitters, preferably, but at least of other humans is a safety precaution of sorts. Otherwise, our most important rituals could be conducted with one Sitter and a few pigeons. The ritual you did on Halloween, with Pig, shouldn’t have worked.”
“Well, it did,” I said.
“I know,” Brian said. “And I’m trying to find out why, because it seems like that means there’s something unusual about you.”
“Or Pig,” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “Or Pig. We will find her.”
“I know,” I said, nodding, trying to convince myself of that very thing. “How’s everything going?” I asked, half because I wanted to know, half because I wanted to change the subject. Brian hadn’t flat out said so, but I got the feeling that the events at the Summit had bumped him a few rungs up the Sitterhood ladder.
“It’s proceeding,” he said. “Janine, Deirdre, and Ana have all been installed in their new lives.”
I nodded. From what Brian told me, it had been decided that Wanda’s punishment would be to stay where I put her—in the Negative—but the rest of the Synod had been stripped of their powers and most of their Sitter knowledge. Deirdre had apparently been working closest with Wanda, and now she was substitute teaching in a middle school somewhere in Alabama. I hadn’t heard, nor did I really care, where Janine and Ana ended up.
“Nominations for the next Synod will likely happen in the next few months and the election later in the spring,” Brian continued. “In the meantime, the interim has been doing a very good job, and they are getting lots of things cleaned up.”
“That all sounds good,” I said.
“I’d better get going,” he said, “but see you tomorrow for training?”
I nodded. Then Brian surprised me and did something he’d never done before. He reached out and gave me a hug before he turned and headed back down the hall.
* * *
—
I heard his car start in the driveway, and then there was another knock on my door. It wasn’t Dad this time either; when I opened my door, Cassandra was standing there. She was wearing an old zip-up hoodie over a monogrammed khaki-colored polo shirt, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail under a matching khaki visor, a few short bits sticking out from where Wanda had hacked off a handful.
“Not fired yet!” she said, and then held up a tub. “I brought you some fro-yo. Mango cappuccino swirl!”
“Oh, wow,” I said, not sure what else to say about a flavor profile that sounded so totally disgusting.
“I made up the combo myself,” Cassandra added. I took the lid off. It was orange and brown, all right.
“Bestseller?” I asked.
“No way,” she said. “But I do think it’s helping keep the customers away. The other handle we have right now is wasabi and peanut butter. Someone came in this afternoon asking for eggnog and peppermint, and I told them to put it in the suggestion box.”
“What do you do with the suggestion box?”
“I clean it out at the end of every shift and throw the suggestions in the garbage,” Cassandra said. “I was flushing them down the toilet, but apparently that isn’t very good for the pipes.” She came in and sat down on my bed. “I miss her,” she said. “I even miss her farts.”
“I know, me too,” I replied, knowing immediately whose farts she was talking about. Cassandra’s phone dinged with a text, and her face lit up when she looked at it. She typed something quickly and then shoved the phone back in her pocket.
“I have something to tell you,” she said, looking at me seriously.
“You and Ruby,” I said, “I know. I mean, I figured…” The glow returned to her face, but she shook her head.
“No, it’s not that,” she said, then took a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to my dad. Through the 8 Ball.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Certainly, the way Cassandra had prefaced the statement meant she totally expected me to disapprove and give her another lecture about doing something dangerous. And maybe, before the Summit, I would have. But now, I wasn’t so sure. After all, what did I know? Rules weren’t always right, and breaking them wasn’t always wrong.
“Wow. I didn’t know you had stayed in touch,” I said finally. I hadn’t forgotten what Cassandra had said about Red Magic—that she didn’t condone it, but she did understand why someone would use it—and so I wasn’t sure how to feel about her getting cozy with a Red Magician, even if he was her dad.
She shrugged. “He’s a sucky dad, but he’s the only one I’ve got, so I figured I might as well.”
“What do you guys talk about?” I asked carefully.
“Stuff,” Cassandra said. “We’re just getting to know each other. Taking it slow. I mean, like really slow. Having a conversation through an 8 Ball takes all night.” She laughed, and I smiled, and then she got serious again. “He doesn’t have any idea where my mom might be.”
“And you think he’s telling the truth?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “I think if he did know, he’d want me to find her. For selfish reasons, of course. He still wants out of there. He said he hasn’t seen Wanda, so wherever you sent her must be the bowels of the bowels, if you know what I mean.” I cringed at Cassandra’s metaphor but was happy to hear that wherever Wanda was, she wasn’t coming back. Anyway,” she continued, signaling she was done with the subject, “Janis and I put this together.” She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pants pocket and handed it to me.
I unfolded the paper. It was covered with frozen yogurt stains, and a massive list: marinara, spinach, cheese, lukewarm water, medicinal marijuana…Janis’s tiny writing covered the entire piece of paper in columns.
“What is this?” I asked, turning the paper over to see that the yogurt stains and the list continued on the back.
“It’s an inventory of everything that was in the room when my curse broke,” Cassandra said. “I’m sure we missed some stuff, but this was everything we could remember. Which means that some combination of some of these things will remove a curse. I figure if we don’t have any other options, we might as well start trying with your mom.”
I looked up from the list and smiled at her. I didn’t need to be a statistics major to know the chances were slim, but still, she was right. It was a start.
“Thanks,” I said. “This could definitely help.”
“Any word on Pig?” she asked. I shook
my head but then remembered what Brian had just told me. I was halfway through telling Cassandra when she started grinning from ear to ear. “It means that Pig isn’t a dog,” she said.
My own lips stretched into a smile, because that was exactly what I was thinking too. “What do you think she is, then?”
“No idea,” Cassandra answered. “But we can ask her as soon as she comes back. You know she’s going to come back, right?”
“I do,” I said, and realized I believed it more every time I said it. “Amirah and Ji-A are coming for Presidents’ Day,” I said. “Which I guess is also Galentine’s Day? You should have Ruby come too. You know, get the old gang back together.”
Cassandra nodded. “We’ve already talked about it,” she said, and I swear she blushed. Holy crap—was Cassandra the kind of person who cared about Valentine’s Day?
“Mallory’s coming too,” she quickly added.
Cassandra stood and zipped up her hoodie. “If you’re not going to eat your fro-yo, that’s okay. I’ll take it home to Dion.” Relieved to be free of the mango-capp, I handed the carton back to her.
“You bring Dion fro-yo?” I asked, because that did not seem like something Cassandra would do for her brother.
“No way,” she said, “I take home the empty containers and put them in the freezer so that he gets all excited when he sees them.” I nodded. Of course. That was totally something Cassandra would do.
“I found a Nintendo Switch box in our neighbor’s recycling,” she said, “so I’m going to wrap it up and give it to him for Christmas.”
For Better or Cursed Page 30
