Page 42 of Gone Hunting

“No. Nope. No thank you. I’m good,” we say.

Except for Liam. “Got any chicken?”

“Tea and smoke, now, Liam,” Mimi says. “Food when we finish.”

“Sounds good, Aunt Mimi.” Liam does a double-take when Koda glares at him. “What?”

Mimi smiles, fixing her attention on Celia. “What did you see at the end of the alley?” she asks. “When you had that man who reeked of sweat and whisky by the throat?” She reaches into the sleeve of her cloak and pulls out a teacup and a saucer painted with big pink roses, the edges, once rimmed with gold, chipped and cracked. Steam rises from the cup and Mimi takes a sip. “Tell me, when you felt the small bones break beneath your hold and he begged for mercy, what came to seek your soul?”

I hate how Mimi is speaking to Celia. It’s not just what she says, it’s how Celia reacts. She resumes that pained breathing. Anyone can see Celia didn’t take pleasure in what she did, and that it came at the cost of her conscience.

“Benice,” I tell Mimi, my words clipped.

Mimi loses her smile, but not all the crazy. “My dear boy, thisisme being nice.”

I’m ready to leave and drag Celia with me, but the moment I reach for her hand, she shakes her head in a way that tells me she’s not going anywhere.

“I don’t remember much,” Celia says, appearing to lose all her strength in the memory. “I was in an alley. I looked up and there was someone there.”

Mimi takes another sip of tea, her motions dainty, her voice anything but. “Who?”

“I don’t know,” Celia answers. “She was more like a blur or an apparition. Dark. I have the feeling she was a woman, but I never saw her face. Behind her, something else appeared. She was also blurry.”

“She?” Mimi asks.

“They were both females. I don’t know how I know. I just do,” Celia explains. “The one shrouded in white light was taller and very thin. Her hair was long and dark, past her shoulders.”

“What else?” Mimi asks, when Celia stops.

Celia lowers her lashes. “That’s all I remember before I woke up here.”

Mimi carefully sets her tea and saucer down. It makes aclinkwhen it touches the floor, but then it’s gone.

“Then we must indeed smoke.” She reaches for one of the giant leaves in her basket, faded yellow with a deep gold center. She twists it a few times by the stem, examining the veins closely before frowning and exchanging it for a brown one that curves into itself.

With an expert flick of her hand, Mimi tosses the large leaf into the fire. Sparks fly and the flames immediately attack the edges. I expect it to disintegrate. Instead, the leaf is slow to burn, releasing smoke in long, lazy tendrils.

Mimi closes her eyes and deeply inhales. “Ah, this shall be a good one,” she says. She fans the smoke, closer to where Liam sits beside her.

Liam, because he hasn’t made enough of a scene, starts laughing his ass off about the same time my legs turn to sand. Mimi cackles and everything slows down. Her laugh, our breathing, even the dead owls swinging above us.

“We have to get out here,” I slur.

Koda staggers to his feet and face plants to my left.

Liam falls onto his back, snoring. Gemini crawls toward the cot and away from the door, knocking the stack of Mimi’s books over before collapsing. I’m sitting, swaying, unable to push to my feet, but somehow still upright.

“Aric,” Celia moans.

I catch her in my arms when she tips over. “Something’s wrong,” she says.

I dig my heels into the dirt floor of the cave, trying to drag us away from the smoke. I fall over, still holding Celia, Mimi’s cackling face fading in and out until I surrender to sleep.

My eyes blink open after what feels like a long hibernation. I’m lying on my stomach on a wooden floor beside an old bed. Toys litter the floor. A red plastic phone, colorful blocks with cartoon animals and letters, and dolls that have received plenty of love and attention. A roach skitters between a pair of discarded sneakers.

I slowly stand, careful not to make a sound. It’s late, almost three in the morning, based on the wind-up clock perched on the battered bedside table. I’m in an old apartment in a bad part of town. Restless yelling from disorderly neighbors ring out from several floors above and below. Cars speed by and teens, out too late and unsupervised, scream obscenities from the streets. It’s chaos outside despite the late hour, a deep contrast to the peace I sense inside this home.

In the bed, four little girls lay sleeping. The smallest one with blonde curls is tucked between two girls with jet-black hair. Celia is fast asleep at the end, closest to the door, her arms stretched out above her head, her thick lashes fanning her cheeks.

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