by Sarah Kuhn
“She wasn’t,” I said, trying to get control of the hurricane of feelings coursing through me. “She was too weak, I was there . . . I mean, I wasn’t there in the room, but I know we didn’t move her anywhere else. I know . . .” My voice cracked and I swallowed hard. “I need to take this with me,” I said abruptly.
“That is completely against policy,” Bernard said, then lowered his voice and whispered: “Edna will murder you—and me—if you try to remove a file from the premises.”
“Oh, I don’t think she will,” I murmured under my breath.
Sam cast a sidelong glance at me. “Bea,” he hissed. “What are you . . .”
But I was already winding up my mental fastball, projecting a direct, word-for-word thought at Bernard. Telling him exactly what he needed to say to us.
You can take the file and leave. Have a nice day.
Bernard’s eyes got that same glazed look as Edna’s. “You can take the file and leave,” he said. “Have a nice day.”
So we did. And Edna, contrary to that naysayer Bernard, did not murder us. Because I told her exactly what to think, too.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I NEED TO go back to the Otherworld.”
Predictably, my assertion—spat out as I paced the length of our kitchen over and over again—was met with yet another chorus of No from everyone on Team Tanaka/Jupiter. I stopped pacing and faced them, hands on my hips.
“You guys can keep no-ing me until you’re blue in the face, but the fact remains: the best way to get direct answers is for me to talk to Mom again.”
“Slow down, Bea,” Evie said, her voice tired.
“And sit down, while you’re at it,” Aveda said, giving me a stern look. “You’re giving me whiplash.”
“Plus we have tacos,” Scott said, holding up a messy shell stuffed with carnitas. “From La Taqueria, even.”
“I will sit down for La Taqueria,” I relented. I crossed the room, plopped down next to Nate, and swept three tacos onto a plate. “God, I’m starving.”
“So let’s go back to this whole thing with the hospital records,” Evie said. “First of all: they really didn’t need some sort of written request or authorization to release Mom’s file to you?”
“Nope,” I said, my mouth full of delicious carnitas. “That hospital has gone way downhill. I think their policies are more lax all around.” Okay, that was only half of the truth. But I didn’t feel like getting into the specifics of how I’d finagled things. I didn’t want to distract us from the key mission at hand, which was figuring out what had happened to Mom, and me bringing up a possible new development in my powers would definitely send us down the path of Let’s Lecture Bea For Hours On End. I was just gonna direct us right around that little traffic jam, thank you very much. I had told them that a voice that was maybe Mom or maybe connected to Mom had communicated with me on the brain plane again, but I’d kept the details of our communication vague. This had still been enough to prompt Aveda to ask if there was any possibility I was possessed and/or being influenced by these mysterious voices, because we’d had our fair share of issues with that sort of thing before. I’d assured the team that I wasn’t, but had agreed to submit to supernatural and magical scanning to double check.
“There’s a point where the paperwork just stops—right before Mom died,” I continued. “There’s no discharge record, nothing. It’s like she disappeared.”
“Surely there would be a note, a full investigation, if that happened,” Nate said. “Hospitals don’t tend to just shrug if a patient vanishes into thin air.”
“Right, no matter what happened to Mom: some records have disappeared,” I said. “We don’t know what they say. Which is frustrating. Which is why I want to try talking to her again in the Otherworld.”
“What about your mother’s doctor?” Aveda said. “Could they shed some light on this?”
“The doctor mentioned in her chart retired and moved to Kansas eight years ago,” I said. “Sam and I Google-stalked her—she passed away last year.”
“I haven’t heard back from Dad yet,” Evie said. “But . . .” She hesitated and frowned down at the half-eaten taco on her plate.
“But what?” Aveda prodded.
Evie sighed and looked up. “But I do remember this: None of us were in the room when she passed. I’d gone to get something from the vending machine. Dad had gone for a walk down the hall. And Bea was . . .”
Parked in the waiting room because you wouldn’t let me see Mom, I thought.
“God.” Evie rubbed her temple with her fingertips, her face going a little green.
“Evie,” Nate murmured. “Are you feeling . . .”
“I’m fine,” she said, pushing her plate away. “Just done with dinner.”
“I’ll take that,” I said, swiping her unfinished taco.
“What happened in those few minutes?” she said, her eyes going to the ceiling. “Did she really get somehow taken to the Otherworld? Her spirit, anyway?”
“Did you . . .” Nate hesitated. “I’m sorry, I know this is sensitive . . .”
“We didn’t bury a body,” I supplied. “She was cremated and we scattered her ashes in the ocean. Although . . .” My brow furrowed. “How do we know that the remains we got were actually, um, hers? It’s not like we were there for the process. Anyway. I can find out more. If you guys would just let me—”
“Bug,” Scott said gently. “We still don’t know exactly what happened in the bookstore bathroom.”
“But we could find out. We could experiment with different methods. I mean, what I’d do first is recreate the circumstances: go back to the It’s Lit bathroom, have you do the same spell—”
“It’s too dangerous,” Evie said. “And if humans are getting trapped in the Otherworld, we can’t risk you getting trapped too.”
“I’m working on a few different spells,” Scott said. “Remember, I wasn’t actually trying to connect you to the Otherworld—whatever supernatural energy was present in the room reached out for you through my spell. If we’re going to try again, we need to make sure you’re safe and secure.” He hesitated. “If I can develop a protection spell—like a supernatural spacesuit, of sorts, to encase you in—maybe we could try it. In an extremely controlled environment, of course.”
“I am going to spend most of tonight analyzing the scans we took at the bookstore after the incident in the bathroom—as well as the most recent scans Rose’s team took at the Wave Organ,” Nate said. “Leah and I completed the review of the video footage from the It’s Lit bathroom—there was nothing there. But I’m hoping the scans will provide us with further data we can use.”
“I guess,” I crabbed. But I was already thinking of other ways I could try to connect with Mom again. Maybe I could leave her another message in the bathroom? Or go back to the hospital or Market and see if voices appeared in my head again?
“Back to this missing paperwork,” Nate said. “Did someone take it? If so, what are they trying to hide?”
“Do you want to take a closer look at your mother’s letters, like we talked about earlier?” Lucy said, nodding at Evie and me. “There could be a clue in there somewhere.”
“Oh, um, sure,” Evie said. “Bea, do you have time tomorrow before your bookstore shift?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, polishing off the last of my taco. “But we could also get to it tonight. It’s barely eight.”
“Right, yes,” Evie said, shaking her head. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was still early. I just got hit by a big ol’ wave of tired.”
“Let me take a shower, and we can convene in my room so we’re not getting in Nate’s way,” I said, rising from the table and gathering my dirty dishes. “Meet me in twenty minutes?”
“You got it.” She smiled at me, and I warmed at that nice wave of sisterly togetherness—despite the annoyanc
e I’d felt moments earlier when she’d insisted me going to the Otherworld was too dangerous. I’d just have to work harder to convince her.
You could plant that thought in her brain, a little voice in my head noted. Just like you did with Edna and Bernard.
No. I couldn’t do that. Even though I was desperate to experiment with this possible new power level-up, I would not use it to make my sister give me whatever I wanted. The one time I’d mind-mojo-ed Evie had actually led to the formulation of my code. Right before Evie’s wedding, Aveda had talked me into using my emotional projection to soothe Evie’s stressed-out mood. We’d proceeded with this little experiment without telling Evie and the end result was her and Aveda having one of their most explosive fights ever, in front of all of their friends and family, on a karaoke stage littered with sex toys.
Those two never did anything halfway—I’d give them that.
Since then, I’d decided: I could only use my powers for the greater good, to make the world a better place. To be a hero, like my sister.
But as I turned the memory over in my brain, I realized I’d never thought about how that moment had been so important to my general state of being . . . but to everyone else, I was a footnote in this story. Because that whole incident hadn’t nearly destroyed my and Evie’s sisterhood—it had nearly destroyed Evie and Aveda’s friendship.
I mulled it over as I crossed the kitchen and dumped my plate in the sink, rinsing off taco detritus. I barely noticed when Nate sidled up next to me.
“Bea,” he said. “I know you and Evie are about to embark on a full evening of important research, but I was wondering if I could bother you about something else.” He held up a thumb drive. “Kai, my colleague in Maui, had the opportunity to re-interview the two people she saved from drowning. I was wondering if you could look through the transcripts, see if you notice anything that stands out, anything that might lead us down some new investigative paths.” He hesitated, studying me. “I know you no longer wish to assist me in this type of work, but I thought perhaps since you have reintegrated yourself into Team Tanaka/Jupiter—”
“I’ll do it, bro-in-law,” I said, giving him a reassuring smile. Nate had been extra respectful of the boundaries I’d drawn when I started working at the bookstore. I’d always figured, given his stoic, extreme introvert ways, he’d probably been secretly relieved not to have my loud-ass presence taking up space in his lab anymore. “But don’t you have a bunch of fellow fancy pants demonologists looking at all this stuff?”
“Yes,” he said, giving me a half-smile. “Although I think most of them wear pants you would categorize as fairly dull. In any case, I’ve always found your perspective to be—shall we say—fresher.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling touched. “Can I also get—”
“I left a paper copy outside your door,” he said.
“You’re the best,” I said, holding up my fist for a fist-bump.
“Oh . . . ah . . .” He held up his own fist and gave mine an awkward little tap.
“I’ll try to get to it tomorrow,” I called over my shoulder as I raced up the stairs to my room. I snagged the folder placed outside my door—glittery purple cover, I noticed. Aw, Nate. I breezed into my room, dumped the folder on my bed, and shed my clothes for the much anticipated shower.
The bathroom attached to my room was miniscule, but I considered it the height of luxury since not all the bedrooms in HQ had them. Some people had to share. Leah and I had fixed up the bath/shower combo last year with the lovely holiday bonus I’d gotten from Charlotte. It had colorful mismatched tiles I’d collected from various Bay Area flea markets, a detachable showerhead with adjustable water pressure, and a sliding glass door instead of a claustrophobia-inducing curtain. It was my little haven, my oasis, a place where I cleared my mind.
I tied my hair up in a topknot, stepped under the water, and let out a long sigh of relief. This entire day had been packed with so many frustrations, it felt like I had an ever-present hum in my ear, an army of tiny bugs crawling under my skin. I had the burning need to know what was happening with Mom, how I could free her . . . and no concrete way of figuring it out. I knew we were taking all the logical, sensible steps we could. But it felt so plodding. I replayed my day in my head, trying to recall if there was anything that would lead us to more decisive action.
The water sluiced down my back, and my shoulders relaxed, the army of bugs crawling under my skin dissipating. My brain paused at one particular, not-exactly-irritating moment from the day—pressing myself against Sam, brushing my lips against his, coaxing that irresistible growl from his throat.
Despite the heat of the shower, I shivered. I couldn’t explain what that growl did to me, how it made longing coil low in my belly, how it made me want to wrap all my limbs around someone I’d been perfectly happy having a pleasantly contentious friendship with for years.
After we were done with this whole kissing thing, we’d still have that friendship. But thinking about it sure was fun in the meantime, a nice little getaway from freaking out about my dead mother being trapped in the Otherworld. In fact . . .
I eyed my detachable showerhead. I hadn’t chosen it just for the water pressure.
I took it down, leaned back against the misty tiles, and pressed the showerhead against that crucial spot between my legs. The images from the day embroidered themselves into something more elaborate as I gave in to the delicious pressure, the rhythm. Sam kissing me, his big, gorgeous hands sliding against the bare skin of my back. Sam all dirty and sweaty from working on cars all day, his mechanic’s overalls half-shucked off, like they were in the calendar. Sam kneeling in front of me—hands digging into my hips, his clever tongue showing me just how clever it could be—
I came so hard I nearly dropped the showerhead.
I stayed leaning against the tiles, steam still rising in clouds around me, allowing my breathing to slow.
Wow, this was definitely fun. And I felt way more relaxed now, totally ready for my and Evie’s research session.
I turned off the shower, wrapped myself in a fluffy towel, and exited back into my bedroom. I flopped on the bed for a moment, allowing my heated skin to cool down. I grabbed my phone and paged through my texts, leaving hearts on all of Leah’s photos documenting Pancake’s trip to the groomers.
Then I got a little idea. I pulled up my phone camera and scrutinized my appearance. My hair was still mostly in its topknot, but a few damp, wispy blue pieces had gotten free and were floating around my face. My skin was flushed and speckled with water droplets. And I still looked kind of . . . aroused. All glowy and shit. I made what I hoped was a sultry face and snapped a picture, making sure to frame it so you could see my bare shoulders, but nothing below.
Then I sent it to Sam with a note: Thinking of you.
Feeling smug, I set my phone down and went to scare up some pajamas. I already felt confident in amending our current score.
Bea: 1276, Sam: 1165.
* * *
“Wake up, Big Sis.” I nudged Evie’s shoulder. She had propped herself up in a mostly sitting position with a couple of pillows stacked against the headboard of my bed, but she kept nodding off. I couldn’t blame her. We’d read through nearly all of the letters, trading them back and forth so both of us could hunt for clues. The words were starting to blur together and—much as I hated to admit it—lose a bit of their poignant oomph the longer we stared at them. I’d set up a spreadsheet to document our findings, but so far all we’d managed to glean was:
Mom had a lot of cool ideas for crafts she never got to make. (There was one involving decoupage and antique spoons that sounded particularly intriguing.)
Mom had a lot of high hopes for Evie and me, that we’d grow into strong-willed women who traveled the world, would find great love, and live life to its fullest. (Resounding “yes” on the strong-willed part. Go, Evie, on the finding
great love part. Big, fat zero for both of us on the world travelers part. But you couldn’t have everything.)
Mom’s handwriting got more cramped and spiky the sicker she got. Which was super sad if you thought about it too much, but on a purely practical level, also made things hard to read.
“Sorry,” Evie said, rubbing her eyes and sitting up straighter. “Man, I swear there was some kind of secret sleepy ingredient in those tacos.” She picked up the letter she’d been studying and frowned at it. “I know this sounds awful, but the longer I stare at these, the more I’m getting desensitized to Mom’s moving messages to us. They’re starting to look like a bunch of scribbles that aren’t really telling us anything.”
“No, same,” I said, my brow furrowing as I stared hard at the letter I’d already read three times.
“We might have to call it a night,” Evie said, letting out a monster yawn.
“No!” I said quickly, even though I was yawning too and it came out more like “Nyaaaahhh!” I shook my head, trying to chase away the cloud cover that had descended over my brain. “We have to keep going. There must be something in here.” I stared at the paper so hard the words blurred before my eyes.
“Bea,” Evie said, her voice hesitant. “You know this might still end with us not finding Mom, right? All we have right now are . . . well. As Nate would say, unsupported suppositions. Fuzzy hypotheses. Or if we do find her . . . I mean, we don’t actually know how to free her from the Otherworld.”
“Not yet,” I said fiercely. I recognized that stubborn note creeping into my voice, the one that always seemed to rise up especially hard whenever it seemed like Evie was going to stop me from doing something. I set the letter to the side and glared at her. “How can you give up that easily?”
“I’m not giving up,” she said, her tone mild. This was one of our familiar patterns: the more upset I got, the calmer she got. It always made me want to scream. “I just want to make sure you’re mentally prepared for the possibility that whatever’s going on isn’t guaranteed to end with us all being reunited as one big happy family.”
