Page 8 of Marked by the Demigod

Aimes very carefully sets it down on the table. "Huh."

They stare at it.

"Any chance your mom could've...?"

"My mom knows to send stuff to the office." Or at least she did the last time they talked. You know, eight years ago.

Trixie picks it up. “Well. Wine and Netflix day got weird.” It catches the light, almost pretty.

If it wasn’t so fucking sinister, it’d be gorgeous. The wood looks engraved, but rubbing a thumb over the handle reveals no difference in texture.

“Seriously though, who sends a knife without a note? Aimes,” Trixie turns to her, sudden, “Aimes, did you somehow get a stalker? You should report this to the police.”

Aimes takes the knife back, finds an empty drawer in the kitchen and shoves it in there. “I think I’ve been too busy to get a stalker. I’ll ask my grandma if a cousin sent it.” She shoves the wine back at Trixie. “What did you want to watch?”

Trixie givesher the that’s-not-how-we-deal-with-things but-I’m-not-sure-if-I-want-to-deal-with-it look, like she’s the one being unreasonable with this. “Did you give your home address out to anyone recently? Any delivery guys who seemed a bit too invested in your food? Any cute mailmen?”

The only delivery she ever gets to her home is Thai food, and it's delivered by a very kind middle-aged Thai woman. Trixie knew this.

“Some wires got crossed, I’ll check with people.” Aimes flops on the couch with her glass of wine, and both her cats skitter away.

Trixie gives her another disapproving stare, then delicately sits down at the other side of the couch.

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