Page 68 of Female Fantasy
“Sure,” they say. “By getting out of my sight and staying there until seven p.m. Wait, is that just dirt under your nails? Because it kind of looks like blood.”
Three and a half hours later, Nico and I make our way downstairs, showered and changed. My normally straightened-to-perfection tresses are damp and curly, painstakingly combed down my back and tucked behind my ears. I’m wearing an oversize sweatshirt that says PROPERTY OF THE PRINCE OF ATLANTIA and soft, worn-in jeans.
For someone who’s used to performing 24-7, I look and feel oddly like myself.
Angel’s house is filled with completely random objects. There appears to be no common theme to their eclectic decor except for the fact that everything here caught Angel’s eye. There are deer antlers above the grand fireplace in the living room next to a vintage DRINK GUINNESS poster and one of those wooden plaques with a fish that comes to life and sings for you at the press of a button. The runner going up the wooden stairway is a red plaid, but the rugs in each room are colorful woven designs that remind me of the Persian carpets my parents had in my childhood home. Gaudy gold-framed oil portraits of Purrtha Mason hang all over the walls, and there’s a room where every object is painted slime green and an old grandfather clock that plays Dolly Parton on the hour. But the pièce de résistance is the tiny library, which features Angel’s massive collection of books on spiral-shaped bookshelves that look like the ancient carvings of the old mer language fromA Tale of SaltWater & Secrets. They must have been specially made for the space.
“How do they stay put?” Nico wonders out loud.
He’s dressed in a plain white T-shirt and black jeans. Ever since we arrived, he’s been oddly quiet, studying me whenever he thinks I’m not looking. When I got out of the shower, I peeked through the crack in the door and caught him reading my copy ofATOSASagain.
He’s about at the halfway point.
Ryke and Merriah are totally about to fu—
“Magic,” Angel whispers from behind us.
We both jump.
They throw their head back and cackle. “Y’all are too easy to startle. Now, follow me.”
Angel leads us down the hall, past a tiny kitchen with a checkerboard tile floor and all the cabinet doors removed. I inhale, basking in the scent of fresh dill and rosemary.
“I can’t believe you live here!” I gasp. “I thought you were an executive assistant!”
“Oh, I am,” they say with a shrug. “But my parents are multimillionaires. You know how the ends of your shoelaces have those little hard tips? My great-great-great-great-great-grandpa came up with that. I’m a total nepo baby. Attended Bernhardt Academy and everything.”
I gape at them. “Do the rest of the Salty Girls know about this?”
They shrug. “Why don’t you ask them yourself?”
Angel throws open the door to the dining room to reveal along curved table shaped like a kidney bean.
And around the table, two eager sets of eyes trained on Nico and me.
A woman with a bleached bob and eyebrows throws her clawed hands over her mouth.
Next to her, a man wearing a fuchsia velvet double-breasted blazer and matching eye shadow shrieks.
“Joonie!” Pushing back his chair, he runs up to me and throws his arms around my waist; the top of his head comes to my shoulders. “I can’t believe I’m finally hugging you.”
I peer down at the gel coating his hair. “Kalli?” I ask.
The stunning blond vixen chortles. “That would be me,” she says. “That’s Roya.”
He pulls back his head and gives me a bashful grin. “Roy A., actually. And please don’t ask me what theAstands for. But you probably know us best as MERderMe71 and SoManyQueefs.”
A snort of laughter sounds from where Nico is leaning against the doorway.
I just grin.
Truthfully? This isn’t how I pictured them at all.
It’s somehow better.
“Wait,so many queefs? Is that a riff on how Ryke always says,so many questions?”
Slowly, all of my friends turn to look at Nico.
