Page 78 of The Duplicity of Thieves

I’m not ready to face Stafford, but I’m not sure where to turn to. Whoever is trying to find me is still out there. While I’m not afraid of them, I’m not keen to toss myself into the ocean and wait for sharks. Not yet. The Grimoire is weighing me down with indecision and so is this new knowledge of the box.

Vivian told me Kate and her mom argued about me. The fact that she was so hellbent that I could enact some prophecy and open the box must be full of shit. Wishful thinking, even if she did have me convinced for a moment. Prophecies are just hopeful wishes for revenge. Just because you say something in anger or write it down doesn’t mean it’s true. Whatever transpired thousands of years ago has nothing to do with me in the now.

It’s easy to try to fit into that mold when someone else has you convinced. Even Kate and Killian must have been convinced of something, but who’s to say that I’m not just some descendant of a vengeful witch? Who’s to say that my own mother didn’t sear symbols into my skin from some fucked up generational belief that I could change the world? Jumping into the Lethe was obviously a way to forget some tortured beginning to my existence. The idea that my life has never been mine will send me back into a spiral.

I want to feel normal, so I try to do mundane things like clean the apartment. When I make it to my room, the duffel in the back of my closet is like a heated lamp, so I choose to do something else instead. I go to buy vegetables I won’t even eat at the open market, where I’m met with friendly banter. ‘How is your sister?’ ‘You missed so-and-so’s birthday party.’ After a while I can’t stand it, so I head back home.

A man sits in a cracked plastic chair on the bottom floor of my apartment, passing judgment on passersby in a cloud of tobacco smoke. His red beard is streaked with gray, and his bald head shines in the sun. Cam is a Rem through and through. For years he has kept his post at the bottom of the stairs. He’s nosy and a gossip.

“Mizz Jozie,” he calls to me, impatiently waving me over.

“Hey, Cam,” I say sweetly.

“Where ya been?” He begins his line of questioning. His green eyes shine with curiosity.

“To see my sister.” I lie.

“She alrigh’? Mus’ be lonely up there in the city with their kind,” he spits.

I don’t think Cam has ever left our community. I don’t know why he ever left the territory to come to Asphodel in the first place.

“She’s happy.” My voice drips with phony politeness.

“Staff’s been by to see ya.”

My anger bleeds into my mouth coming out as a sharp question. “Was he now?”

“Asked after ya. Tol’ ‘im ya haven’ been ‘round much ‘cept for yer guest,” Cam continues.

He can never just say an entire thing. He wants to ask me about Aedon, but he can’t directly. I can hear the disdain in his voice. This is like pulling teeth.

I ignore his prying. “Did he say what about?”

“What ya got in here?” He nods at my bags.

“I went to the market for you. Here.” I shove the bag into his lap. I’ll never touch the vegetables I bought. I know his game. Chit chat and he’ll tell you what he knows.

“Ah, how’s that pretty lass from the ceramics doin’?” Cam has always asked about the woman. She must be about his age and pretty. I just wish he would fucking talk to her instead of always asking me.

“Fine.”

“Beautiful she is,” he sighs.

I snap my fingers growing impatient. “Cam, focus. Staff.”

He shifts in his chair, averting his gaze. “O’ course, Mizz Jozie. Tol’ me to tell ya that…now don’ shoot the messenger.” He holds his hands up with his cigarette tucked between two fingers. “Said ya need to talk about Kate. Asked if anyone’s been ‘round. Says ya shouldn’ be alone, but ya haven’ have ya?” He grins from ear to ear.

I don’t bat an eye. Talk about Kate? This is bad news, maybe the worst. If Cam tells Stafford about my visitor, then I will simply die.

“You’re sure that’s what he said?”

Cam nods in confirmation. “Quite a pack yer sister brought to help ‘er move.” He is such a fucking gossip.

“City friends.”

“Good lookin’ lot they are,” he muses.

“What are you getting at, Cam?”

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