Page 71 of Shattered Chords

Harper slumped in his seat and whipped his head toward the house where Lucas was probably enjoying Tallulah’s company right now. A harsh frown slashed through his forehead, which contradicted his otherwise sweet personality.

“Aren’t you the voice of reason?” he mumbled morosely.

“We’ll get her back. We just need a good plan, not the one we conjured in seconds.”

“Okay.” Harper nodded. “Let’s go home.”

As we drove back to his place, I was dead set on simply dropping him off, but he looked so miserable that I couldn’t refuse his offer to have tea.

We sat on the couch in his living room, which looked emptier than usual, devoid of all things Lucas and devoid of all things relationship. The photos of the two that had covered the shelves and the walls were gone. The huge collage made up of ticket stubs and passes to all the events and shows they’d attended as a couple had been removed from the wall in the hallway.

“You have to see this,” Harper said to me, shooting to his feet in the middle of the conversation as if he’d remembered something.

He disappeared down the hall and into the bedroom, and moments later, returned with what appeared to be a sizable rectangular slab of wood with a cord attached to it. He set it in the center of the room, and pagan sacrificial rituals I’d once read about somewhere, or maybe seen in a movie, instantly came to mind.

“What on earth is that?”

“Ah.” Harper gave me a conspiratorial look and proceeded to shut off the lights in the living room.

“Are you going to exorcise someone from your apartment or talk to the dead?” I asked, following his shadow through the darkness as he neared the slab and grabbed the end of the cable that I realized was a plug.

“Are you ready?” Harper asked, moving toward the nearest outlet.

“It depends. Am I being given to some ancient god in exchange for Tallulah or is this just another decoration for your place?”

“You know.” Harper snickered. “It’s a hard pick between you and Tallulah, but I’d definitely trade you up if Ally wasn’t part of the package.”

“I see how it is.”

He giggled in the darkness, then said in a dramatic voice, “Voila!” There was some motion by the wall and then thin strips of light streamed from the wood. From inside the slab.

“Oh my God! This is ridiculously cute!” I set my tea on the coffee table and walked up to what was apparently some kind of a fancy lamp.

“Handmade,” Harper explained.

“No shit.” I brushed my fingers over the wood. The piece was tall, up to my chest, and felt smooth against my skin, polished. “Where did you find it?”

“Eh, just online.” He shrugged. “Was looking to spice up this place after you know…”

“This is gorgeous, Harper,” I told him honestly.

“It is.”

“Where do they make these?”

“Some guy from North Cali, I think. I had it shipped. The return address on the label was somewhere near Sacramento.”

“Send me a link to the store?”

“Absolutely.”

We admired the magical lamp for another fifteen minutes and then I finally took off.

11 Dante

Snowflake cautiously sniffed Frank’s sneakers before deeming the man safe to play with. Then there was a whole lot of cuddling and barking and overly excited licking.

I was surprised that this nearly instant love my dog was granting someone who’d once been my best friend—and at some point, my worst enemy—caused a strange pang of jealousy in my chest.

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