by R. L. King
“Fair enough,” she says, but she still seems chillier than before.
Once again, I regret going along with this.
Nick’s never been to my place, so I direct him off the freeway and through the maze of streets. “Ah, you’re not too far from your shop,” he says. “Must be nice.”
It has been, especially over the last month when I had no desire to interact with anybody. I point at the rambling, three-story Victorian at the end of a narrow cul-de-sac. “There it is,”
“Wow,” Twyla says. “That bookstore of yours must be pretty successful if you can afford a place like that.”
I snort. “Yeah, I wish. It used to be an old actors’ home, of all things. It went bankrupt in the Fifties and they carved it up into apartments. I’ve got one of the two on the top floor.”
Nick pulls into the driveway, gets out, and opens the trunk. “Okay,” he says, pulling Twyla’s bags out. “Here we are. I’m gonna clear out and let you guys have your reunion, unless you need help dragging the bags upstairs.”
“No, Nick, I think we fragile females can manage without a big strong man,” I say with an arch smile. “You’re welcome to come up if you want, though. I owe you for the ride.”
Fortunately, he picks up on what I’m not saying. “That’s okay. Take me out to lunch sometime and we’ll call it square. It was nice meeting you, Twyla.” He shoots her a look that suggests he’d like to get to know her better, but doesn’t push it. “Have a nice weekend, you two.”
We watch him pull back out and drive off. “I like him,” Twyla says. “You sure you two aren’t—”
“Absolutely certain,” I say firmly. “Come on—let’s go in.”
She doesn’t move. She’s still watching the street, even though Nick’s car has already disappeared around a corner. “Something weird, though…”
“What’s that?”
“His aura. I was trying to check it out, but it was like it…fluctuated. Switched on and off. I know you don’t do that stuff anymore,” she adds hastily, “but I do, so take my word for it.”
“Yyyeeahh…” I sigh. I knew there was no way around this—Twyla uses magic as commonly as mundanes breathe, so asking her to stop it because of me isn’t practical, or even fair.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Is there a story here?”
I grab her bigger bag and trudge up the driveway toward the house. “Nick’s…unusual.”
“Yeah, I got that. But I’ve never seen an aura like that.”
The elevator’s out of order again, so we have to walk up all three floors. My apartment’s in the rear. I don’t say anything else until I open the door and wave her in. “Welcome to my humble abode. It’s not much, but it’s home.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“You’re right—I am. I don’t want to talk about Nick right now, if that’s okay with you. Let’s talk about us. Come on—let me show you your room.”
Rory picks that moment to stroll out from the kitchen, and Twyla immediately brightens. “Oh, you didn’t tell me you have a kitty! She’s beautiful!” She abandons her bag and crouches down, offering her hand.
Good timing, furball. I watch Rory regard her with wary interest, ready to dart away again if she makes any sudden moves. “Her name is Aurora, Rory for short.”
“Aww, I love her.” She waggles her hand. “Come on, baby. I won’t hurt you.”
Rory glances at me, then almost seems to make a resigned kitty shrug and pads over to her. A few seconds later she’s purring away like they’ve known each other for the last twenty years. Typical. Twyla and cats have always gotten along like that.
“You’re lucky you like cats,” I tell her. “You’ll have a hell of a time keeping her out of your room at night.”
“Why would I want to do that?” She picks up Rory, who surprisingly doesn’t seem to mind, and keeps petting her.
I lead them to the guest room. “I’ve only got one bath so we’ll have to share. You want me to leave you alone so you can settle in?”
“I don’t have a lot of settling. I should call home and let people know I got in okay, but after that, I’ll do whatever you want.” She pauses in the doorway after dropping off her bags just inside. “But seriously—I know you said you don’t want to talk about Nick, but that aura of his has got me curious. Can you at least tell me why it’s weird? Is he…one of us?”
I rankle at her choice of wording. “There isn’t an ‘us,’ Twy. Is he like you? Sort of. He’s a wild talent.”
Her eyes narrow. “What kind of wild talent?”
“I don’t want to go into it. Let’s just say it’s probably best if you stay away from him. His talent doesn’t play well with others.”
Her gaze sharpens, and I can see the wheels turning in her head as she tries to figure out what that means. She’s about to say something else when suddenly the TV switches on again. This time it’s playing an old Jerry Springer show. Two groups of people are screaming and hurling chairs at each other across the stage while Jerry scrambles out of the way.
Twyla jumps. “What the hell—?”
“Oh. Sorry.” I chuckle and hurry out to the living room to turn it off. “I guess I should introduce you to my other roommate.”
“You have another roommate?” She looks around. “Am I kicking somebody out of their room?”
“No, don’t worry about that. She doesn’t take up much space. Her name is Alice.”
She’s still looking confused, glancing around like she’s trying to spot somebody hiding behind the furniture.
“She’s an echo. A poltergeist. And she has a bizarre sense of humor.”
The TV flips off, and the stereo comes on. It’s playing “Witchy Woman” by the Eagles. I have no idea how Alice always seems to find something appropriate playing—it’s a talent, I guess.
“You have a poltergeist living in your apartment.” Twyla looks intrigued, and immediately adopts the thousand-yard stare that tells me she’s shifted to magical sight.
“Well…I can’t very well kick her out. She was here first. And I get a little knocked off the rent for being willing to live in the haunted apartment.” I drift to the kitchen and fix a couple glasses of iced tea, then bring them back and plop down on the couch. “Remember I told you this place used to be an old actors’ home back in the Fifties?”
“Yeah. Oh, I get it. She’s an old actor?”
“Actress. She died in the late Forties, and she’s very proper—when she’s not being an asshole, anyway.”
My iced tea, which I’d set down on the coffee table, slides to the edge and topples over, spreading liquid and ice all over the rug.
I sigh. “Sorry, Alice!” To Twyla, I add, “she hates it when I swear.”
Twyla laughs as I hurry out to the kitchen to grab a rag. “I’m guessing that means you lose a lot of drinks.” She shakes her head. “A cat and a poltergeist. Leave it to you to find the most interesting roommates.”
I try not to think about when she and I used to be roommates. All it does is make me sad.
It’s your own fault, so don’t cry about it now.
“So,” I say, to change the subject before my mind goes places I don’t want it to—and not just because she’s sure to notice. “Tell me about this nonprofit thing you’re involved with.”
“Oh—right. I’m working with disadvantaged kids. You know—homeless, foster kids, street kids, that kind of thing. It’s kind of a family project. Grandma Inez got involved, and several of us joined in.”
“Ah, should have guessed.” Grandma Inez is another member of our extended “family” who isn’t actually related to anybody. She’s been around as long as I remember, and as long as my mother remembers—I don’t think anybody but maybe Nana and Grandma Akiko recall where she came from. “So what’s that got to do with why you’re out here?”
“I’m meeting a guy who might be producing some fundraising videos for us. Selene found him and suggested Nana ask me to come out and ta
lk to him, since I’m the ‘creative’ one.” She puts finger quotes around “creative,” but she doesn’t need to. She’s always been seriously artistic.
“And you couldn’t just call him on the phone?”
She shrugs. “I could, I guess. But I think somebody—I’m not sure if it’s Selene or Nana or both—feels like it’s time you and I talked to each other again.”
“Yeah.” I stare at my lap. “I’ve missed you, Twy.”
She swallows. “I’ve missed you too. I wish you hadn’t taken off and come all the way out here. Everybody misses you.” She raises her hand when I start to answer, and adds, “No, I get it. I know why you did it. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
I don’t bother reminding her she’s the main reason I did do it. I’m sure she knows that, and dredging up old, bad memories probably isn’t the best thing I could do right now. “This is really awkward.”
“Yeah, I get that too. I almost didn’t agree to come.”
“So why did you?”
She sips her tea. “It’s been five years, Bron. That’s a long time, even considering what happened.”
“Doesn’t change anything, though.” I still don’t look at her.
“I’m not so sure that’s true. Holding on to something like this for so long—it can’t be healthy.”
I snap my head up, unable to dance around the subject any longer as long-walled-off emotions begin to rise. “I got your mother killed, Twy. It was my fault. There’s no denying that. And that’s not very healthy either.”
She ducks her gaze, refusing to look at me. “Listen,” she says, “maybe you’re right—I do need to unpack and I’ve got a headache. Do you mind if I go lie down for a little while?”
“Uh—no, of course not. I actually should go to the shop for a bit, to check on things. Will you be okay if I leave you here for a couple hours? We can go get some dinner when I get back, or order pizza in, or…” I trail off, suddenly at a loss for words.
“That sounds good.” She sounds relieved, but also still seems troubled. Not angry, just like she has something on her mind.
Before I can ask her about it, she turns away. “Stay as long as you need to—I don’t want to disrupt your life. Rory will keep me company, won’t you, sweetie?”
Rory twines herself around Twyla’s legs, purring.
“Or maybe I’ll see if I can get Alice to talk to me.”
“Good luck with that. She’s more a woman of action.”
Chapter Four
I have a hard time getting to sleep that night.
We end up calling out for pizza, since Twyla says she doesn’t feel like going out. After spending a couple hours trying to talk about “safe” topics—Twyla updating me on some of the funny things various family members have done, and me telling her stories about my customers at the shop—we both eventually realize it isn’t working.
“Hey,” she says, getting up and gathering the pizza crusts into the box as Rory watches her with laser-focused interest, “I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, so I think I’m going to head to bed early and try to get a good night’s sleep. Is that okay?”
“Of course it’s okay. I know how much you love flying on airplanes.” Like most of our family, Twyla prefers traveling via teleportation portals whenever she can, but the closest one in California is up in the Bay Area. I’ve never been sure why the L.A. area doesn’t have its own, given its size, but I suppose it doesn’t matter since I wouldn’t use it anyway. “I wish I could offer to drive you around tomorrow, but—”
“But motorcycle. I get it. Not a problem—I’ll take a cab to a car-rental place. Unless your friend Nick isn’t busy…” She waggles her eyebrows.
I can tell she’s kidding, which is a good thing. “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll drop everything he’s doing so he can drive somebody he barely knows all over Los Angeles. He’s probably sitting next to his phone waiting. I’ll give him a call right away.”
She laughs. “I’d forgotten how much of a smartass you can be. Don’t worry about it—I’ve got plenty of time. Though I wouldn’t mind if you invited him to have dinner with us tomorrow night.”
“You’re serious.”
“Well…yeah. He’s not bad looking, and I still want to find out about these weird circumstances of your meeting. Not to mention how somebody who’s sworn completely off magic comes to have a wild talent as a close enough friend that she can call him to pick a stranger up at the airport.”
I suppose there’s no real way around it without being a jerk. Maybe this is Twyla’s way of trying to start healing—and I guess I can’t avoid her forever. “Fine. I’ll text him and see if he wants to hang out with us tomorrow night. Happy?”
“Happy,” she says, though I’m still picking up a vaguely uneasy, troubled vibe from her.
“You okay, Twy?”
“Yeah, sure. Why?”
I shrug. “I dunno. You just seem like you’ve got something on your mind. Want to talk about it?”
For an instant she hesitates, and then she waves me off. “Nah, it’s nothing. I’m just nervous about the meeting tomorrow. This guy is kind of a big deal, and this project is important to Nana and Grandma Inez. I don’t want to screw it up.”
I snort. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll do fine.” I’m sure she will, too. She’s always had all that extroverted charm that I lack, and never had any trouble getting anybody and everybody to like her, while I was the one hanging out in the corner at parties, talking to the cat—assuming I even went to the parties at all. Occasionally I envied her that when we were growing up, but these days I think I’d find it tiring. We’re different people, and that’s okay.
Maybe that’s what they call adulthood. I’m not sure.
“Hey,” she says. “Thanks for letting me stay with you. I know it wasn’t an easy decision for you, and I want you to know I appreciate it. Night, Bron.”
Before I can answer, she disappears into her room and closes the door softly behind her. Rory stares hopefully at it for a few seconds as if trying to determine whether it’s going to open again, then pads sadly away.
“Sorry, kid,” I tell her. “I guess you’re stuck with me tonight.”
A soft knock on my doorframe, followed by Rory’s back paws in my face as she leaps off the bed, startles me awake.
“Huh?” I mumble. “Somebody there?” I roll over and pull the pillow over my head, annoyed, figuring it has to be a dream. Either that, or Alice is getting up to something again.
“Bron?”
The whispered voice comes from the doorway. I hadn’t closed the door—I don’t normally close it, because Rory claws at it if I try—but it takes me a few seconds to get my sleep-fogged brain firing enough to remember I have a guest.
I sit up fast, throwing the pillow off, and immediately spot a tall, shadowy figure in a long gown backlit in the faint moonlight. “Twy? Is that you? Is something wrong?”
She hesitates there in the doorway long enough that I swing my legs around and face her. “Twyla? What’s wrong?” I grab my phone from the nightstand and glance at the time. “It’s three-thirty in the morning.”
“Yeah…I know. I’m sorry I woke you up. Can I come in?” There’s a strange quality to her voice now. She sounds like a little kid who’s scared to tell her parents that she did something terrible.
“Uh—yeah. Sure. Come on in.” I scoot over to make room and pat the bed next to me.
She drifts in. I can’t see her very well because it’s mostly dark in here, but she’s wearing a gauzy, pale nightgown and her long hair hangs down her back. She stops for a second when she reaches me, then lowers herself down to the spot. Rory shoves between us and settles in.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Are you okay?”
She doesn’t look at me. “I’m sorry to bother you, Bron. But—I’ve been trying to sleep, and I can’t.”
“Why not? Still nervous about the meeting?”
“No. That isn’t it. I—” She lets out
a loud breath. Her hands are in her lap, and she’s staring down at them.
“Come on—whatever it is, tell me. Maybe I can help.” I feel weird about this whole thing—Twyla was always so confident. She’d never admit she’s upset about anything. Selene, her mentor, was always big on that kind of thing: never let them see you sweat. But now she looks like she’s falling apart right in front of my eyes, and I haven’t got a clue how to deal with it.
“I…I have to tell you something, and I don’t know how to do it.”
“Just—spit it out, whatever it is.” Normally, I’d be impatient with this routine. I’ve always been a straightforward person, and I get frustrated with the way many women—and some men—can’t seem to get to the point because they’re too afraid they’ll hurt somebody’s feelings. More than one person has told me I’m too blunt. But right now, I’m more confused than anything else.
Twyla leaps up off the bed, startling Rory, and begins pacing around. Then, without warning, she throws herself across the bottom of it and buries her head in her hands. “I…don’t even know how to start,” she mumbles.
“Just start somewhere. Come on, Twy—how bad can it be?”
She rolls over, now staring up at the ceiling. “I…think…it might be possible…that what happened to my mom wasn’t your fault.”
Chapter Five
“What?”
I’m not even sure I’ve heard her right. I twist around to face her. “What are you talking about?”
She rolls back over and buries her face so she doesn’t have to look at me. “I don’t even know. I don’t even know if I’m right.”
My heart is pounding, and my body feels like something wants to jump out of it and run off into the night. I grab her shoulder and shake her hard. “You can’t just say something like that and not tell me what’s going on! Of course it was my fault. I was the one who screwed up the ritual because I wasn’t paying attention! I was the one who froze up and let that…thing tear your mom to pieces. It was all me, Twyla!”
