Page 6 of The Proposal Pact
“Yes,” I wail.
“Um, did someone steal them?”
“No, who’d need to steal panties?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” she mutters like she knows something I don’t. “Then what happened to them?”
“I killed them. I killed them all.”
“Okayyy, I see the little Greek in you finally woke up. By hand or knife?”
“Scissors. Cut those little fuckers into tiny pieces.” I hiccup.
“I’m afraid to ask what they have done to deserve such fate.”
“They participated in stealing my magic. Gracie—” My voice breaks at the end of her name and hers, softens.
“What’s going on, honey?”
“I need to have my magic back,” I cry.
“Well…there’s only one place on Earth that can help you with that.”
“There is?” I ask, stuffy but hopeful.
“Oh yes. Welcome to Loverly Cave, Sophie Levidis.”
“Wait, what? I thought you loved your job? Didn’t you spend like a thousand years in classes to be where you are? And now, you what—Wait, what are you doing?”
In hindsight, I should’ve gone to see my older, sensible brother before I was all packed and ready to go. But there was little thinking involved after my phone call with Grace. All I knew was that I needed to get out. I was suffocating, disappearing.
My life made zero sense, and I needed to change that. So, here I am, telling him I quit my job over the phone.
“Flight 2508 with service to Santa Cruz will start boarding in ten minutes…”
“Sophie,” Vassar utters my name slowly and pretty darn threateningly. “Is that—Are you in afuckingairport?Ti diáolo, Soph?”
Ouch. I wince, if Vas is pulling out the mother tongue on me, he must be pretty pissed.
“Um, yes, I am. I’m going to Loverly Cave.” I bite my lower lip, my nose already scrunching in preparation for Vassar handing me a third degree as soon as he puts two and two together.
“Wait, Loverly Cave…isn’t that the hippy town your best friend moved to?”
“Bingo. That’s the one.”
He sighs. “And how long are you planning on staying there?”
“Sooo, here’s the thing…” I trail off, shifting on the uncomfortable airport seat as I tuck in my mascaraed chopped hair into the hoodie I’m wearing. Why did I think cutting my own hair while having a panic attack was a good idea? But I’ll deal with that later. After the bomb I’m about to drop. “I’m actually not sure yet.”
Silence.
Dead silence. It’s like I can hear the crickets going off in my brother’s head.
“Not sure,” Vas deadpans, and I can just imagine his identically same brown eyes watching from underneath his lashes.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Either I’m missing something or you’re not telling the full truth about what’s been going on in your life. And for your sake, I hope it’s the former.”
