Page 51 of Blood Moon
“I better go,” Em finally said. “The smell is horrendous.” She was gone without a second thought, and Stevie and I shrugged once she fled.
With my finger wrapped, I pulled the paper from the envelope. Inside, written in stark black ink was a small note:
Sorry about earlier
—Seven
“Whatever he did, he messed up severely, huh?”
“Exactly that.”
“Well, there are precisely seven flowers. Guess we should have known.”
I collapsed onto the couch, holding my finger to my chest. “Seven and Julian had a bit of a scuffle earlier …”
Her eyes widened. “Come again?” she said, crossing her legs as she sat next to me. “Are they fighting over you? Should I get out my herbs?”
I giggled. “Will you stop trying to find a reason to burn something? And I don’t think so—not initially, anyway. I guess they have history?” Whatever stood between them was more than me.
“Gotcha, so they used to be lovers?”
“Girl,what?”
She shrugged, and we found ourselves in a laughing fit, folding forward. After some time, we found ourselves staring at the flowers, the blood staining the petals.
“I don’t know.” I smirked. “Maybe burning those herbs isn’t such a bad idea,” I whispered, and we both snickered.
On the walk to Faulkner Library, the clouds loomed against the fiery sky, creating an illusion that the edge of the earth had gone up in flames. Perhaps a reflection of the state of my life.
Along the way, I mulled over the exchange between Seven and Julian, trying to find the threads that tied them together.
It’s a neutral zone,that guy had said. What did Seven’s friend mean by that, and why had he promised they’d have an opportunity to have it out later?
The air whisked around me; colorful leaves stirred in piles. Ahead, the tall stone buildings cast long shadows against the ground, drawing my eyes toward the Sutton Art Museum. Through the windows, I caught a clear glimpse of Abba. She towered over the glass case while she wiped it down, her body language covetous, almost. Locked in a drawer beneath her wasthatbook.
A cough came as I choked on a swell of air. It was no ordinary book. It was the one that detailed the origin of the legends. Though, Abba wouldn’t let me touch the thing, wouldn’t even let me read the pages. What else could be depicted there?
I pulled out my phone and called Naomi.
She answered on the first ring. “Ew. Why are you calling me?”
“Change of plans. Will you meet me at the Sutton Art Museum? I need help with something.”
“No,” she retorted.
I waited, tapped my foot on the pavement as I checked the time.
“Fine.” I heard her groan. “Be there in five.”
“Thanks. Love y—” The line clicked.
Precisely five minutes later, Naomi and I were entering the museum.
“What should I say?” she whispered, tugging at my arm.
“Make something up. Ask her about that statue over in the corner,” I suggested, pointing to an area off the right side of the entrance. “Just keep her away from the folklore section.”
“Mira, I want you to know that I absolutely detest you for including me in this very illegal, very bad plan of yours. Also, your hair smells really good.”
