Page 53 of The Second Sight
There was a moment of silence before Brooklyn let out a low whistle. “Damn, girl. I definitely need details now. I’m leaving to come get you. My phone says 32 minutes.”
“Call me when you pull up. And Brooke? Bring me some clothes. Mine are. I’ll tell you when you get here. Bye.”
After ending the call, I composed a text to my father. I couldn’t face calling him directly. Not yet, not when I could practically feel his anger and worry radiating through his text messages.
KASI
Dad, I’m okay. I’m so sorry I worried you. My phone died. Brooklyn’s coming to pick me up. I’ll be home soon. I love you.
His response came immediately:
DAD
We’ll talk when you get home.
Those six words carried more threat than any shouting ever could. Dad rarely got angry, but when he did, it was terrifying. I lived under his roof as an adult, and I never wanted to disrespect him like this.
I sank onto the edge of Seven’s bed, still clutching my phone. What would I tell my dad? How could I explain?
And what about Seven? I glanced at his note again. He told me to stay here, but I couldn’t wait for him to return. I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t just ignore my dad’s worry or my responsibilities. I couldn’t stay here forever. I can’t even believe I ghosted Miss Ellen like that.
The thought of leaving without saying goodbye to Seven twisted something inside me. After what we’d shared. Disappearing felt wrong, but so did staying.
My phone vibrated with another text from Brooklyn:
BROOKLYN
OMW
I had thirty minutes to get off my ass. Standing up, I tossed the sheet on the bed. I needed to find the clothes Seven had mentioned.
I had only a few minutes to get ready. A few minutes to wash away the evidence of Seven, and to make myself presentable enough to face my father. I hurried into the connected bathroom and gasped. Like everything else in Seven’s home, it was ridiculously extravagant, marble from floor to ceiling, a shower big enough for five people, and a tub that looked like it belonged in a museum. No time for gawking. I twisted the serpent-headshower knob and stepped under the spray before the water had fully heated.
The cold water shocked my system, jolting me fully awake. As it warmed, I grabbed a bottle of shower gel and lathered up, scrubbing at my skin. The water ran down my body, carrying away the physical evidence of my sex with Seven.
I tilted my face up to the shower spray. How could I go back to normal life after this? How could I look at my father and not wonder what he might be hiding from me? Did he know what my mother was? Did he know what I was? He couldn’t have known about fairies.
The questions swirled in my brain. I had no answers, only more questions. But one thing was certain. I needed to face my father, and to figure out how much of this I would tell Brooklyn. It’s not like I was warned to keep this supernatural stuff a secret. Plus, someone needed to know what was going on if something happened to me.
I shut off the water and grabbed a towel from a heated rack. I opened an old-looking cabinet. Seven’s bathroom was stocked better than a hotel.
After drying off, I remembered I had nothing to wear. My dress was in tatters, torn apart by Seven’s passionate hands. The designer clothes in the drawer seemed too formal for a nighttime dash home. Instead, I rummaged through Seven’s closet and found a simple white button-down shirt. I slipped it on, and the soft fabric fell to my mid-thigh.
My phone buzzed with a text from Brooklyn:
BROOKLYN
The gate is open. Do I drive in?
KASI
Yes. I’m coming down.
BROOKLYN
Hurry up! It’s dark out here.
I gathered my purse, hesitated, then grabbed one of the smaller grimoires about African Faefolk heritage. I couldn’t leave all this knowledge behind.
