moved on.
The crowd was thick with middle-aged drunk people reliving their John Hughes moments. I didn’t see Ivy anywhere and couldn’t hear a thing over what I now realized was a Karaoke machine with Monique at the wheel.
“Like a Vir-ir-ir-irgin, touched for the very first time!” She was shimmying up and down a pole, screaming into the microphone, but really all she could do was wave her arms because the mermaid skirt was wrestling her legs and wasn’t about to let go. She reminded me of a worm wiggling on a hook.
Scully was hunched over the bar in his usual spot so I approached him, asked where Ivy was.
He was sipping a beer, staring down at a piece of paper that he promptly folded. There was a purple string tied around his wrist.
“Haven’t seen her,” he said.
“Really? So you often tie purple strings around your wrist, do you?” That had to be from a spell charm.
His eyes flickered briefly, then he pulled his sleeve down.
“What’s on the paper?” I asked.
“Nothin’.”
“It better not be what I think it is.” If Ivy was practicing magic in this wide open venue—with booze flowing and people running in and out and no stable energy concentration—it could only lead to trouble.
“She’s a good kid, don’t you go yellin’ at her,” he grumbled.
Scully had been a fixture in this town all my life and I don’t believe he said that many words to me total, let alone all at once.
“I’m just trying to protect her,” I said.
He lifted his eyes with warning. Ivy must have told him about our dispute the last time she came here. Then he sees her again unsupervised and that mixed with the fact that she probably bought him that beer he was drinking (which was highly illegal and enough ammo to use against Monique should I need any) seemed to have worked together to forge some sort of odd bond. The only things I had ever seen Scully show any concern for was his bar stool and his beer.
He scowled and thumbed to the back room.
“Thanks,” I said.
I decided now wasn’t the time to worry about the friendship between my newfound sister and Amethyst’s oldest resident so I shoved that to the back of my mind and stepped in the back room.
The scene came at me in quick snapshots. Ivy. The cards. The bloodstone. It was in the center of the table vibrating with such intensity the sound reached me ten feet away. Rage propelled me forward and I grabbed her forcefully.
What I didn’t see was who sat across from her.
TWENTY-FIVE
Bloodstones are powerful and that power is difficult to harness. They are audible oracles that hum when charged and open gateways to our ancestors and spirit guides. Symbolizing truth and justice, they were called the Warrior stone by ancient soldiers who wore bloodstone amulets to protect them from fatal wounds.
Which was perfect because I was about ready to kill this kid.
“Ow! What’s your issue?” Ivy asked.
“What’s my issue? Are you kidding me? I thought you had more sense than this.” I pocketed the stone—my stone by the way—and reached for the tarot cards.
“Those are mine!”
I didn’t bother to face her as I collected the well-worn cards. How long had she been at this? Tarot reading was not on the Geraghty syllabus. If it didn’t come from within—if the magic wasn’t something you could see, touch, or feel, it was not respected or trusted by Birdie. “Not anymore,” I told her.
Then I saw the money and my blood turned to lava.
My eyes met hers and held them. “Are you hustling?”
Ivy grew very quiet.
“Answer me, Ivy. Right this minute.”
“No.” She looked down at her shoes. “I just tell fortunes and do little good luck charms. You know, to practice. Sometimes people pay me for it.”
So that was where she got her bankroll.
I threw my hands up. “Next you’re going to tell me there’s a Ouija Board in your backpack!”
“There is not! I’m not stupid, you know.”
I took a step forward, wishing I
The crowd was thick with middle-aged drunk people reliving their John Hughes moments. I didn’t see Ivy anywhere and couldn’t hear a thing over what I now realized was a Karaoke machine with Monique at the wheel.
“Like a Vir-ir-ir-irgin, touched for the very first time!” She was shimmying up and down a pole, screaming into the microphone, but really all she could do was wave her arms because the mermaid skirt was wrestling her legs and wasn’t about to let go. She reminded me of a worm wiggling on a hook.
Scully was hunched over the bar in his usual spot so I approached him, asked where Ivy was.
He was sipping a beer, staring down at a piece of paper that he promptly folded. There was a purple string tied around his wrist.
“Haven’t seen her,” he said.
“Really? So you often tie purple strings around your wrist, do you?” That had to be from a spell charm.
His eyes flickered briefly, then he pulled his sleeve down.
“What’s on the paper?” I asked.
“Nothin’.”
“It better not be what I think it is.” If Ivy was practicing magic in this wide open venue—with booze flowing and people running in and out and no stable energy concentration—it could only lead to trouble.
“She’s a good kid, don’t you go yellin’ at her,” he grumbled.
Scully had been a fixture in this town all my life and I don’t believe he said that many words to me total, let alone all at once.
“I’m just trying to protect her,” I said.
He lifted his eyes with warning. Ivy must have told him about our dispute the last time she came here. Then he sees her again unsupervised and that mixed with the fact that she probably bought him that beer he was drinking (which was highly illegal and enough ammo to use against Monique should I need any) seemed to have worked together to forge some sort of odd bond. The only things I had ever seen Scully show any concern for was his bar stool and his beer.
He scowled and thumbed to the back room.
“Thanks,” I said.
I decided now wasn’t the time to worry about the friendship between my newfound sister and Amethyst’s oldest resident so I shoved that to the back of my mind and stepped in the back room.
The scene came at me in quick snapshots. Ivy. The cards. The bloodstone. It was in the center of the table vibrating with such intensity the sound reached me ten feet away. Rage propelled me forward and I grabbed her forcefully.
What I didn’t see was who sat across from her.
TWENTY-FIVE
Bloodstones are powerful and that power is difficult to harness. They are audible oracles that hum when charged and open gateways to our ancestors and spirit guides. Symbolizing truth and justice, they were called the Warrior stone by ancient soldiers who wore bloodstone amulets to protect them from fatal wounds.
Which was perfect because I was about ready to kill this kid.
“Ow! What’s your issue?” Ivy asked.
“What’s my issue? Are you kidding me? I thought you had more sense than this.” I pocketed the stone—my stone by the way—and reached for the tarot cards.
“Those are mine!”
I didn’t bother to face her as I collected the well-worn cards. How long had she been at this? Tarot reading was not on the Geraghty syllabus. If it didn’t come from within—if the magic wasn’t something you could see, touch, or feel, it was not respected or trusted by Birdie. “Not anymore,” I told her.
Then I saw the money and my blood turned to lava.
My eyes met hers and held them. “Are you hustling?”
Ivy grew very quiet.
“Answer me, Ivy. Right this minute.”
“No.” She looked down at her shoes. “I just tell fortunes and do little good luck charms. You know, to practice. Sometimes people pay me for it.”
So that was where she got her bankroll.
I threw my hands up. “Next you’re going to tell me there’s a Ouija Board in your backpack!”
“There is not! I’m not stupid, you know.”
I took a step forward, wishing I
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