Insidious(52)

“Karma?” Reese suggested lightly.

“Here’s the kicker. Just as she got up from her seat, I again couldn’t help myself and said, ‘Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.’ And guess what happened?”

This seemed to earn his attention, because he snorted as he tried to bury his laughter. “Seriously? It actually hit her?”

“The door swung closed so hard, she almost face planted in the hallway!”

“Wow, you’re the driving force behind a lot of mischief today, aren’t you?” Reese chuckled.

“That’s not all.” I pulled up the sleeve of his jacket. “These tattoo things keep glowing. The skin starts tingling or it outright burns.”

The amusement fell from his face.

Okay, not the reaction I was hoping for.

“What does that mean?”

He studied my arm for what felt like an eternity. “That doesn’t make sense…”

“What?”

“You’re activating the runes.”

“How?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.”



***



In all of Reese’s experience, a Mage shouldn’t have been capable of igniting a rune without training, so he was clearly at a loss in regard to whatever was going on with me. The warm, enticing fragrance of cinnamon greeted me as I passed back through the lobby, along with an array of autumn decorations inside an elegant, lodge-themed interior. Following the signs that directed me down the left corridor, I came to the Harbor Bistro.

I was rather preoccupied with the thought of my runes that I barely paid mind to Mom’s horrified gaze from across the table as I took my seat in the restaurant.

“Honey, surely you must be warm in that…thing,” she prodded, her eyes widening even further. I guess she wasn’t a fan of vintage outerwear.

The place was actually a little chilly, and I found myself snuggling into the lingering warmth left from Reese’s body heat. “I’m good.” I expected Mom to give me another ugly glare, but I hadn’t anticipated the sharp jab to my shin. “Aaah!”

The woman just kicked me!

Mrs. Marin looked to me confusedly over the rim of her gigantic reading glasses. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Peachy,” I winced, rubbing the tender spot of impact.

For the next hour, I laughed and smiled on cue. There really wasn’t any need for me to be here. I could have used a freaking cardboard cutout. I didn’t speak once. I just nodded and complied with everything expected of me. Karma had apparently decided that I wasn’t in enough pain, because it was like I was suddenly sucker punched in the gut.

Blaine’s mother. The only time I’d seen her since the accident was at the funeral, and we hadn’t spoken. I had hoped to keep it that way, but she was making a beeline right for our table. Everything from the salon styled shoulder length blonde bob and sleek onyx suit made her a figure to be both admired and feared. All the men in the room marveled over her, while the women, no matter their age, tried to avoid eye contact with her as if she was a grizzly bear on its hind legs, ready to strike down anyone who looked at her crossly.

“Charlotte,” she announced, exchanging air kisses with Mrs. Marin. Her cool gaze drifted over to my mom. And then me. She gave a curt nod. “Ladies.”

I attempted a polite smile, but couldn’t bring myself to say anything. What words were there? ‘Sorry for being partly responsible for your only son’s death’? My nervous eyes traveled away, taking a sudden interest in the patterns woven into the carpet. She continued talking to Mrs. Marin, something about wanting to set up a new charity fundraiser in Blaine’s honor.

“Oh, Sybil, that’s a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Marin concurred. “He would’ve loved that.”

My nails bit into the palms of my hands so hard, I was surprised I hadn’t drawn blood. I could picture his face. The contempt he and I both shared towards the snobbery our mothers masked as compassion.

He would have hated that.

I could see his face….

I could see his face….

I pinched my eyes shut, hoping to wash away the image. But all I could see was that night. That one faithful night that—unbeknownst to me—had put all of this into motion. Why did Adam have to leave me at that party? Why did he have to leave? If only he had stayed, none of this would have happened.





“I am sooo sorry,” pleaded the server, scrambling to pick up the broken remains of the shattered flutes. A drunken Mr. Harding had practically tackled the poor girl as he ambled over toward his greatly peeved wife, knocking the server right off her feet. As a result, my legs and shoes were now soaked in Champaign. It really was par for the course. Adam abandoned me, again. Why? Why? Why? On top of that, Mom was treating me like a show horse out on display, and everyone was already drunk off their asses. And it was only seven o’clock.