Chapter 22

Chapter 22 of 48 · 7-minute read

Transiting Vesta in Sonnet’s Fourth House of Home

“You look like death warmed over,” Jan says as I shuffle through my front door.

I won’t argue with her. She’s right. I do my best to balance the souvenir box from my days with the Elders under one arm while I close and lock the door.

“I haven’t seen the demon since I’ve been here.” Jan stands near the living room window with her arms crossed. With her wild-colored lavender hair tucked under her velvet and sequined baseball cap, she looks like someone’s cool grandmother, yet all I can see is sentry. She loves me, and she loves my girls. She’d kill anything that came through that door after us.

“It’s not a demon, Jan. In my experience, demons are easier to banish. This thing isn’t an entity of its own, but someone’s creation. This isn’t like training an animal to do your bidding. It’s more like telling a story and then giving the story life to go after someone. Until I can figure out who sent it and why, I can’t get rid of it. The best I can do is hold it at bay and hope that whatever energy is feeding it will eventually fade. The problem is, the energy that’s feeding it is someone’s jealous rage, and there’s never quite the kind of energy anywhere like that of a jealous rival. Who that rival is and when they showed up in my life, I have no idea.”

Jan shrugs and stares out the window again. “Fine. That not-a-demon thing hasn’t been out there since I got here. I’ve been praying and praying, and I think it may be gone.”

I shake my head as I set the souvenir box on the coffee table. “Trust me, Jan, it’s not gone. Maybe it’s off screwing around with my lawyer’s head or some banker I’ve never met in person and only talked to on the phone. But it’ll be back.”

Jan gasps. “I spoke too soon.” She taps on the windowpane with her fingernail and points to the edge of my property. I stand at the window with Jan and follow her gaze. I can sense it more than see it, but it lurks just beyond my driveway. Even though the sun outside is bright, I can discern a single shadow standing between the sun-splashed grass and the darker shrubbery.

I still think your dragon lady sent it.”

“No, it wasn’t Dragon. I’m certain of it. I’ve severed all bonds with her. That thing would be gone if she sent it.”

Servitor. Dragon had known exactly what it was, but she’d never taught it in her Grand Coven training. I’d wanted to believe it was her, some old grudge.

“Are you positive? She’s fooled you before. I mean, it has been a long time, but she’s fooled you once and maybe she’s fooling you again.”

My jaws tighten. I am not the same person I was six years ago. Jan has always been suspicious of Dragon, even from the very beginning.

It’s not been a matter of difference in religion either. Dragon, like many abusers, is good at fooling the person they’re cultivating, a ruse that everyone can see except for the person being cultivated. A ton of work goes into that kind of grooming. The abusers are careful to show only certain facets of themselves to their victims but don’t have the energy to keep that kind of guard up full-time around everyone else. The victim ends up looking like a fool to other people because they don’t see the relationship for what it is, often until it’s too late.

My relationship with Dragon as my coven leader was only a reflection of other abusive relationships in my life. I cut her off as I cut all of them off to the best of my ability. In less than a year, I will be able to cut Quent off finally, as soon as all of our legal obligations to each other as co-parents are complete.

“If you’re sure it’s not your dragon lady, then I bet you dollars to donuts that it’s your Elders.”

“Former Elders,” I correct.

If there’s anyone Jan is as suspicious of as Dragon, it’s Donna and the Elders of the Grand Coven who, even though they had left the Grand Coven in what ended up being a witch war with Dragon, were no better on their own. Just as controlling as Dragon. Just as controlling as Quent. Just as controlling as my dad.

Jan had been wary of Dragon as a leader, but she had been downright jealous of my friendship with Donna and the Elders. Maybe there was a part of Jan that thought she could be replaced in my heart. That wasn’t my intention. Donna and the Elders were simply other friends, and I could be close to more than one friend. Still, Jan has always been intensely jealous of the depth of friendship I once had with Donna.

“If it was the Elders, I’ll find out tonight.” I glance around the room. It’s neater than I left it. Maybe Sonnet was feeling like doing a few extra chores?

Jan turns to me. “You went by to see if it was him, didn’t you?”

I sigh. Of course, she knows. At least she doesn’t say “I told you so” out loud. I only nod.

“I’m sorry, sweetness. I really am. I know how much it hurts. I never wanted you to go through this kind of pain. I knew, even as the two of you were falling in love, that this relationship was going to cause you untold grief. I knew⁠—”

I hold up one palm and look away. Jan has a million ways of saying “I told you so” without saying the actual words.

“I only want to tell you how sorry I am. I should have minded my own business. If it makes any difference, I did what I did out of love for you and the girls.”

“I know.” I squint at the shadow at the edge of my property. We’re safe inside my wards. “Christabel hasn’t come back yet?”

“Not yet. Give her time, okay? She’s a lot to get through today. It’s not easy for her. But don’t worry, Lauren, because she’ll be with you for a long time. You’re like a mother to her. She looks up to you. So don’t worry: she’s coming back, and she’ll stay here for a long time to keep you company.”

The house is unusually quiet. I can sense Sonnet’s presence inside, but distantly. “Is Sonnet still asleep?”

“Last time I checked, she was in her room. Reading.”

I shuffle past Rhiannon’s room that stands as a monument to her right before she left for college. Sonnet’s door is closed. I knock gently. No one answers.

“Sonnet?”

I crack the door and push my way inside. The room is empty, but it’s also pristine. Everything is in its place, and everything that can get dusty or dirty has been scrubbed down. I feel a twinge of guilt. It didn’t use to be this way. Sonnet had been an incredibly messy child, and up until about three years ago, she had made it a habit to take snacks and sometimes dinner to her room and then leave the dishes. Because her dad and Candy were fine with it at their house.

I had threatened to bring in a backhoe to clean out years of old homework papers, notebooks, used and abandoned cosmetic samples, trinkets my mom had given her that had broken but were never thrown away. I’d had exterminators out to my house more than once to deal with ants or bugs that had been lured into the house by her poor room hygiene. At my wit’s end, I placed a sprinkling of black rice on the nightstand where she left her watch every night—as well as a pile of dirty dishes from the past week. That was the day I stopped cleaning up after her constantly and never had to nag her again. I mentioned to her that I had seen something that looked a lot like mouse droppings where she had left dirty dishes. Exactly three hours and fifteen minutes later, Sonnet must have found the black rice because she ran out of her room with all of her bedding, and later all of her clothes, and put everything through the washer and dryer without, for the first time ever, being told. She’d spent the entire night scrubbing every corner of her room.

After that, she was never messy again, and every dish dirtied in the house was washed and put away within hours of its use. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done to my child, and one day I will tell her the truth about it. Maybe. But I think I’ll wait until after she has children of her own or at least until she no longer lives here.

“Sonnet?” I call. No answer. The bed has been made, and nothing is out of place.

I can sense her nearby. Distracted. In a bubble of her own.

Forcing myself to consider her situation from her point of view instead of as a mom, I put myself in her shoes. She’s scared. Afraid of the thing that followed her home from her dad’s. Afraid of her dad and a legal system that won’t honor her wishes to be nowhere near him after he used her as a scapegoat for his shenanigans. Helpless. How did she as a child cope with such emotions when I’d been struggling with my own feelings of helplessness?

Then I remember.

I tiptoe over to the closet, knock gently three times, and open the door. Flashlight in hand, one of the latter Harry Potter books open on her lap, headphones shutting out the world, Sonnet blinks up at me from underneath hangers of dresses and favorite T-shirts. Dropping everything, she scurries out of the closet and throws her arms around me. Under the weight of her bear hug, I collapse onto the floor.

Suddenly, everything goes gray, then dark.

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