The Cost of Living (ARC)

by Emilie Lucadamo

  “I’ll clean it up, I didn’t mean to, I just wasn’t looking—”

  He doesn’t realize Adam has rounded the counter until he feels him drop down next to him. Adam is so close Beck can feel the warmth radiating from him. It almost knocks him off his feet.

  “It’s okay,” Adam says. He starts to go for the porcelain before noticing the shards in Beck’s palms. He winds up ignoring the broken vase entirely, catching Beck’s hands to still them.

  “It’s not a big deal,” he insists, forcing Beck to meet his eyes. “It’s just fine. Wasn’t an expensive vase anyway. It ain’t anything to worry about.”

  Beck swallows and forces himself to exhale. “Right.”

  Nothing is settled that day. He leaves Adam’s shop with his sweatshirt, new cuts on the palms of his hands, and the sense that he’s let both himself and Adam down.

  Just under a week later, that feeling has not changed. He also hasn’t found another excuse to go back to Adam’s place, and isn’t sure he wants to. Whatever has gone awry between the two of them, Beck feels paralyzed by it. It’s not a sensation he likes. (He’s dead, for God’s sake! What is he so afraid of?)

  He tries searching Adam’s name on impulse, hoping his online presence might give him a clue to what Adam is all about. There’s nothing; no Twitter, no Facebook, not even an ancient Myspace profile. Not that he’d taken Adam for much of a social media guy, but there’s no trace of him online whatsoever. Lehexe’s Books doesn’t even have a website. Beck hadn’t known it was possible for someone to leave absolutely no virtual footprint. Once again, Adam is an enigma.

  It feels like he’s hit a dead end. The chance to make things right with Adam has come and gone. Beck is left with no way to figure out what the hell is going on with him—and the memory of Adam’s dark stare remains seared into his mind.

  HIS SECOND CHANCE shows up on his doorstep on a sunny Sunday morning, less than a week after Beck came back to life.

  The last thing he’s expecting at nine o’clock is for the chime of a doorbell to ring throughout the house. If he’s being honest, he’s a little annoyed. Most of their friends know that showing up at their house at any time before noon, for any reason, won’t go over well. They’re busy college students. Dragging them out of bed before they must be awake by necessity is as easy as moving mountains. Anyone who dares disturb them runs the risk of facing fire and brimstone for it. (Beck has witnessed Dana’s “running-on-nothing-but-three-hours-of- sleep-and-spite” wrath firsthand. The memory still makes him shudder.)

  Beck has no clue why their visitor is apparently ignorant of this fact, but he sure doesn’t enjoy dragging his sorry ass out of bed this early in the morning. His hair is a tangled ginger bird’s nest, his eyes are still crusty with sleep, he’s in his boxers, and he’s got morning breath strong enough to kill a cow. When he opens the door, he squints against the bright light.

  The last person he expects to find standing on their doorstep is a petite brunette with a wide smile and a canvas bag slung over her shoulder.

  “Good morning, Beck!” Sophie chirps. Her smile widens when she sees the realization dawn on Beck’s face. “Sorry for just dropping by, but I’ve got a few things I thought you might like. You haven’t had breakfast, yet? I would have dropped by earlier, but I figured that was too early. Mind if I come in?”

  The onslaught of words is too much for Beck to deal with when he’s barely awake to begin with. He can’t think of anything else to do, so he just opens the door wider, allowing Sophie clear entry into the house. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Sure.”

  “Wonderful!” Sophie’s grin is brighter than the early morning sun. She brushes past Beck into the house, leaving the scent of cherries behind her. “Oh, I love your house! Who decorated? It’s beautiful!”

  “I… I have no clue.” Beck shuts the door. The force causes him to tilt sideways, and he winds up slumped against the wall. Sophie glides down the hallway into the kitchen, wide eyes taking in her surroundings. All Beck can think is that he seriously needs to put pants on.

  “I’m gonna,” he says. “Um. You know.”

  Sophie’s settled herself at the kitchen table and is already unloading things from her bag—flour and butter, it looks like. She waves him off, still smiling, like nothing about this is weird at all. Dazed, Beck leaves her to it and stumbles back up the stairs.

  He brushes his teeth, combs his hair, and gets dressed in record time; he even adds a tiny spritz of cologne for good measure. (Sophie is Adam’s friend; he can’t have her thinking they all live here like cavemen.) By the time he gets back downstairs, Sophie has James’s nonna’s mixing bowls spread across the table and is peering over them like a scientist.

  “What do you think?” she says, glancing up at him. “Cookies first? It’s not your traditional breakfast food, but I’ve got all the stuff. Then I was thinking muffins. Nice, don’t you think? Turning the usual ‘meal before dessert’ thing on its head. Something different!” Her lyrical accent carries her words like a song. Beck is still too busy trying to figure out what’s going on here to form a coherent reply.

  “Hang on. You showed up here first thing in the morning…to bake for us?”

  “No.” Sophie points a long spoon at him like a magic wand. “I showed up to teach you how to bake. You mentioned you wanted to when we met, remember?”

  Beck does remember; but he certainly never asked for this. He hasn’t seen Sophie since that morning in Adam’s house, so how on earth…

  “I guess,” he mutters, frowning. “I’ve never learned, though. I’m bad at it.”

  Sophie’s eyes glitter. “You remember what I told you? Anyone can bake.” She claps her hands together, bouncing on her heels. Her exuberance is irrepressible. “Now, let’s get to it!”

  What’s Beck supposed to do, argue with her? She’s got all the ingredients laid out in front of him. She even brought her own spoons, for chrissakes. He could kick her out, but…at this point, what would that prove?

  He sighs and steps around the table. “You’re the boss,” he tells her. “What do we do first?”

  As it turns out, Sophie isn’t just a good teacher; she’s excellent. Beck has always been hopeless in the kitchen, but she walks him through each step in a way that makes it impossible for even him to screw up. She doesn’t get annoyed when he gets eggshell in the bowl. She only laughs when he accidentally spills oil on the table. When she steals a handful of chocolate chips from the bag when he isn’t looking, he calls her out, and she responds by tossing a chip at his head. (He catches it in his mouth, making her shriek in delight.)

  By the time they get the cookies on the pan, things have stopped being awkward. They managed to overcome the weirdness of this sudden visit and have fallen into a pleasant rhythm. Sophie is as easy to talk to as before. She’s quick, she’s funny, and she doesn’t take herself too seriously. When Beck asks how she learned where he lives, she reminds him that they share a mutual acquaintance in Dylan. He once mentioned he lives in a big red house on Unity Lane with his roommates; she was able to fill in the blanks.

  “How good is your memory?”

  “I don’t forget things. It’s a curse.” Sophie shrugs and steals a bite of cookie dough out of the bowl.

  By the time they get the cookies in the oven, Beck can hear the rest of the house start to stir. It won’t be long before they won’t be alone anymore; already he can hear James’s heavy footsteps as he plods his way to the shower. He figures they’ll have enough time for the cookies to bake before anyone gets down here (especially if James and Dana are in a frisky mood), so it leaves he and Sophie enough time to chat.

  “So, you showed up here…because you wanted to teach me how to bake. You just had to. Is that right?”

  Sophie catches his eye and smirks at him. “I kept looking in my baking cupboard and thinking of you, I’ll admit. You were haunting me.”

  Beck snorts. “Right.” He leans against the table, stealing a scrap of cookie dough from the ne
arby bowl. His finger makes a wet sound when he pops it into his mouth. “Come on.”

  Sophie sighs, shrugging in a single, languid motion. “Adam told me about the argument you had. He was upset about it. I thought I’d stop by and…see if there was anything I could do.”

  Beck falters, his expression shifting from amusement to something darker. Thoughts of Adam have been plaguing him all week long. Still, he never expected anyone else to get involved, especially not Adam’s friend. Is there a possibility Adam could have asked Sophie to talk to him?

  As if reading his mind, Sophie shakes her head. “He doesn’t know I’m here. I’d appreciate you not telling him. He says I’m too nosy.”

  “A little nosiness can be an okay thing.” Beck forces a smile; Sophie grins back, relieved.

  “So, what happened?”

  He sighs. “I don’t know. He shoved me into a room filled with all sorts of witchy stuff, and when I started asking him about it, he went all snappy. Like I stepped into a bear trap or something. I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot, but I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know what I did.”

  Sophie regards him for several long seconds, expression unreadable. It isn’t long before she starts bustling around the kitchen, clearing away baking scraps and bowls they are no longer using. After a moment, she speaks.

  “Adam and witchcraft have…a complicated relationship.”

  Beck crinkles his nose. “Isn’t he supposed to be some kind of expert on it?”

  “He is. He knows as much as a person can know.” Sophie’s pink lips twitch up in a small, fond smile. “But he is a scholar, not a scientist. He will theorize, but never put them to the test. He has his own reasons for not doing magic. When they are challenged, he can get…defensive.”

  Her tone implies she knows this firsthand, and Beck sees a window. Maybe he can learn a little more from his friend about what Adam is reluctant to share. If anything can help him understand the enigmatic man better, he’ll take it. “What are his reasons?”

  Sophie drops what she’s doing and turns to face him. Her expression is placid, unreadable. “I can’t tell you everything, Beck. I don’t know everything. I can’t give you all the answers to Adam.”

  Beck sighs, slumping forward. He feels as if he’s being crushed by an Adam-sized weight on his chest; all he wants to do is lighten the load. “Give me something,” he says. “Please.”

  Something in Sophie’s expression softens. She folds her fingers together, gazing down at them. “Adam comes from a very prestigious magic family. His mother was a witch. His father was an exorcist…and from what I understand, the profession didn’t end well for him.”

  Beck exhales in a single rush of breath. Sophie nods, recognizing understanding in his eyes. “His reasons are complicated, and I can’t claim to understand him. Sometimes it seems as if…as if he’s yearning to do magic. As if it’s what he’s meant to do, and he knows it. Still, he has always turned his back, every single time.”

  “His willpower’s a damn beast,” Beck mutters. Sophie lets out a peal of laughter.

  “Hey,” he says, and she turns to him. She almost looks apprehensive, before he allows a genuine smile to take over his face. He sees the moment her shoulders slump, no longer tense but relaxed once again. “Thank you. I want to make things better.”

  “I think you should.” Sophie nods. “Be his friend, at least. He cares for you already. I believe he’d be willing to let you in.”

  Beck sure wouldn’t slam that door in his face. He exhales, shaking his head, before turning back to the table.

  The problem of Adam can be sorted through later. He’s still got clean-up to do.

  By the time the kitchen looks good as new again, he and Sophie have lapsed into silence. She seems content enough, but Beck has never been comfortable with silences. They make him antsy. His mind starts to wander, and he tends not to like the places it wanders to.

  Like now, for example. He can’t help but recall a conversation he heard nearly a week prior. Until today, he’d almost pushed it from his mind. Now, with Sophie right next to him, it rushes back full-force.

  (Cassandra’s head is bowed over her cup of tea. Her brows are furrowed; the corners of her mouth are tight. She looks as tentative to ask the question as Beck is to overhear it, but the words leave her lips all the same. “Adam. How is Sophie? I talked to her the other night, and she felt so—” She pauses, teeth dig into her lower lip. “—stressed.”

  Adam shrugs and exhales, sprinkling a liberal amount of honey into his teacup. “She’s doing as fine as she can be. Of course she’s worried.”

  “About Alyssa?”

  “You know anything else that can get under her skin like that?”

  Adam holds her gaze for a moment longer, before Cassandra sighs. She shakes her head, ponytail bobbing, before turning away. Adam stirs the honey into the tea, a look of concentration taking over his face. That’s when Beck is able to turn away.

  Sophie—who was so worried about the girl who followed Adam into the apartment. Alyssa has been skittish as a doe, not daring to speak up during Beck’s entire revelation. He got the sense she and Sophie were close, but why would Sophie be worried about her friend?

  Something in the way her name was spoken struck him too. Alyssa, as if the word is taboo, forbidden. What could be so wrong with Alyssa that it worried not just her friend, but Adam and Cassandra as well? What could be wrong with Sophie that it leaves her friends looking consumed by unease?

  Beck doesn’t have a single answer. Even so, the conversation swirls in his head for the rest of the night.)

  Sophie is standing in his kitchen, right here and now. It’s hardly the best time, Beck knows, but if he doesn’t ask, there’s a chance he might never get an answer. Sophie seems normal enough to him, but then again, he barely knows her. If something’s bothering her, maybe he could help.

  “So, umm—can I ask a question? It might be nothing, I don’t know, I just…”

  “You want to ask anyway? Which means it’s clearly on your mind, which makes it important enough to voice. Besides, nothing is nothing.” Sophie glances at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Whatever you want to ask.”

  Beck bites his lip. Sophie’s trust is given so easily; a question like this almost feels like he’s breaking it. “Is it,” he begins, then hesitates. He needs a different tactic. No use beating around the bush. “I heard Adam talking a few days ago, you know. About you. He sounded really worried. And look, I get it’s not my place, but…is everything okay?”

  Sophie blinks at him for a second too long before she takes a deep breath. Her face is blank. “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Because…of Alyssa?” Memories of Adam’s outburst flash through his mind. Beck flinches, as if expecting a physical blow. To his surprise, however, Sophie just goes still for a long moment before a close-lipped smile spreads across her face.

  “Everything is fine with Alyssa,” she replies, and huffs what cannot be called a laugh. “Adam worries about everything. She hasn’t…been herself lately, but we’re dealing with it. Soon enough, she’ll be back to normal.”

  Sophie speaks with conviction, but there’s some underlying current in her tone that throws Beck off. She sounds anxious, uncertain—as if her words do not have the effect on herself that she desires for Beck.

  Beck opens his mouth, about to say as much; then he thinks better of it. He doesn’t want to push. If Sophie says everything is all right, then he believes her. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says instead. “I hope she gets better soon. If I can do anything—”

  “No,” Sophie says, a bit too quickly. She seems to realize it too, because she pauses, bites her lip, then sighs to herself. “Ça ne sera pas facile,” she mutters; then, just as quickly as she grew still, she pulls herself out of it. The placating smile she summons is clearly for Beck’s benefit. “She’s doing fine as things are right now. Thank you, though.”

  She offers him a genui
ne smile. Beck cannot help smiling back.

  “How have you been?” she asks then, so nonchalantly that the non sequitur almost seems natural. “After everything? It’s been a week, hasn’t it?”

  “Just about. Yeah, I feel…fine, I guess. I feel fine. A couple headaches, but I’m pretty good. Nothin’ to complain about.”

  Sophie’s eyes narrow. “Have you had any mood swings? Any feelings that you can’t explain?”

  The atmosphere has suddenly shifted—from lightness to something heavier, tense in a way that Beck can’t explain. It’s not like Sophie is interrogating him, but there is an undercurrent to her question that makes him feel like there’s more to her words than what she says. He feels hesitant to answer.

  “Uhh, no? Nothing like that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I—”

  Just then, the oven dings, and the timing has never been better. The tense atmosphere shatters like a pane of glass. A weight lifts from Beck’s chest when the scary focus on Sophie’s face vanished as quickly as it appeared. She springs forward, lighting up in delight as she glimpses the assembly of golden cookies in the oven.

  “Perfect!”

  She instructs Beck to get a plate and busies herself removing each cookie from the pan. They are warm and dripping with chocolatey goodness; just looking at them makes Beck’s stomach clench in hunger. He reaches for one as soon as it’s on the plate, but Sophie swats him away with a teasing admonishment to “wait your turn!”

  Once the pan has been cleared, Beck is finally allowed to go wild. He pounces on the cookies.

  “Oh my God,” he moans around a mouthful. “Oh. Wow. This is amazing.”

  Sophie beams. “I’m glad you like them!”

  The thing about baking cookies is that the smell is inescapable. It’s like fumigating your house with sheer heaven; naturally, it isn’t long before the rest of Beck’s roommates start to flock downstairs like vultures to a dying cow. Their initial reaction is to be wary of the stranger in their kitchen. Then they spot the plate of cookies, and that’s when Sophie becomes another member of the family.