Page 25 of Heart, Haunt, Havoc
Colin nodded. “Do you happen to like McDonald’s?”
“Everyone likes McDonald’s, Colin,” Bishop said, patiently. “Whether they admit it or not.”
“Can’t argue with that. I’d offer to make something, but I’m a dreadful cook.”
“Dreadful,” they hummed, laughing under their breath.
“Simplyawful.” He turned his phone around and displayed the delivery app. “What would you like?”
“Two Egg McMuffins and a hashbrown,” they said. Their smile curved crookedly on their handsome face. “Thanks.”
He shooed the flapping in his chest—relax, you idiot—and disappeared into the bathroom. He’d seen every inch of Bishop’s body, yet something as simple as breakfast after a sleepless night sent Colin whirling through teenage-era anxiety. Bishop’s footsteps faded as they walked into their bedroom. Dresser drawers opened, hangers scraped the closet bar, and Colin almost tripped in the hall when he glimpsed Bishop through the open doorway, tugging underwear over their knees, shimmying lace-trimmed cotton into place.
Get a hold of yourself, he thought, and ducked into the guest room to get dressed. He wore crimson corduroy pants and a cream-colored turtleneck. Straightened his rosary, raked texturizer through his hair, smoothed moisturizer onto his face and hoped hydration might brighten his tired complexion. Still, every movement felt weighted, like he was swimming through molasses.
“Did you see anything last night?” Bishop asked. They waited for Colin to step into the hall. Their shoulder knocked his on the staircase, knuckles brushing, elbows bumping.
Colin glimpsed their mismatched socks and smiled. “No, but I didfeelstrange. Could’ve been the restlessness, but I… I don’t know how to explain it, honestly. I lost hours. Slept, woke, slept, woke.”
“What kept waking you?” Bishop asked.
You. “I’m not quite sure.”
The house was unusually quiet. Biding time. Waiting. Colin glanced at the ceiling and startled, embarrassingly, at thedingof the doorbell. Bishop shot him a playful glare and opened the door to Tehlor, standing on the welcome mat, carrying a woven basket filled with mason jars and a tray stacked with to-go coffees. A beady-eyed rat perched on her shoulder. Beside her, the petrified delivery person leaned away from twitching whiskers.
“There’s napkins in the bag,” the Takeout Today employee said as they shoved the McDonald’s bag at Bishop, then speed-walked to their car.
Tehlor smiled. “Mornin’, honey,” she said, before leaning onto one foot to peek at Colin. “Sorry, honeys.”
Colin cleared his throat. “Good morning.”
She stepped inside and toed off her winter boots. Her pale-yellow hair was bundled atop her head and tied with a velvet scrunchie. Crystals hung at odd lengths around her neck—tourmaline snug against her throat, celestite centered on her chest, smoky quartz nestled between her breasts. She pushed her rose-tinted sunglasses to the top of her head and assessed the house. As she turned her head, the rat on her shoulder turned, and when she blinked, the rodent blinked, too.
“Wow,” she sang. Her warm, raspy voice carried. “You weren’t lying; it’s loud in here.”
“Extremely,” Colin said.
Bishop tipped their head from side to side, considering. They unwrapped a McMuffin and took a bite. “Hopefully a little quieter after you’re done,” they said, one cheek stuffed.
“Oh,muchquieter,” she said.
Colin stood beside Bishop in the archway dividing the living room from the kitchen. He neatly unwrapped his sausage and egg McMuffin, attempting a relaxed appearance. Underneath his faux-calm exterior, his muscles tightened, and his stomach turned, and he silently recited an Act of Contrition.
Tehlor moved with purpose. She set the basket down and pinched a folded cloth between her fingers, spreading it over the floor. It might’ve been white once, but now it was stained like a swamp, flecked dark brown and creased with permanent wrinkles. Colin watched her. Followed each flick of her wrist. Paused mid-nibble of his muffin as she unsheathed a white-handled knife and plucked the rat from her shoulder.
“What’s she…” Bishop dropped their McMuffin and plastered their hand over their mouth, smothering a gasp.
Colin winced.
The Norse witch drove the tip of her blade beneath the rat’s small chin, detaching its head. A squeak sliced the air, then Tehlor turned the brown and white body upside down and slicked her palm with the blood pouring from its severed neck. Tiny hands twitched, and the furry thing seized, clutched in her clean fingers. Once her free hand was shiny and red, she dragged her palm from her forehead, over her nose and lips, and streaked her throat.
Bishop concealed a sob, whimpering softly. Their eyes bulged and they quaked all over, arms trembling, shoulders shaking. They shifted closer to Colin, pitching themself behind him.
“This is wrong,” they whispered on a hitched breath. “Really,reallyfucking wrong—”
“To us, yes.” He sighed through his nose. “Give her a moment.”
“I can hear you,” Tehlor said. She didn’t bother looking at the two of them, just arranged her mason jars in a line and squeezed the lifeless rat above each one. Blood splattered the glass, spurting and coughing from the gaping area between its dainty shoulders. The rat’s head sat upright on the cloth. Rectangular teeth poked over its bottom lip. Blood ringed the space around its ears. Once Tehlor had finished with the jars, she switched her attention to Colin and Bishop, grin severe and impish.
