Page 103 of Persephone's Curse
I moved the candle away from the window so I could see out and up. It was dark out, but the tear in the sky was darker, a clear outline against the sky. It was so big now that its edges almost reached the horizon. I was no expert on tears in the fabric of reality, but that didn’t seem good.
Henry moved to stand next to me. For a moment, the smell of jasmine was overwhelming. I closed my eyes and breathed it in.
With my eyes still closed, I said, “When are you going to do it?”
“I just want a little more time,” he said.
“I wish you didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
“We could find another way.”
“There’s no other way,” he said. Then, an afterthought: “I’m sorry.”
“When are you going to tell them?”
“Soon.”
I opened my eyes and turned around.
Aunt Bea was standing in the doorway of the room, holding a pillar candle, staring at me curiously.
“Talking to myself,” I said, a little too loudly.
“Sounded like a fascinating conversation,” she replied.
“Oh, you know.”
“I think maybe I don’t know,” she said, and I swore her eyes flickered over to Henry, and something flashed across her face—a memory, maybe, or some sort of recognition, or some sort of understanding.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go eat.”
“You would tell me, right?” she asked as I walked closer to her. “If something was really wrong? If you were in trouble? If you needed help?”
“Totally,” I said. “Of course.”
“The worst liar of the bunch,” she said, and gave a weary look into the living room before turning around and going back into the kitchen.
After dessert (Aunt Bea and Mom made sticky toffee pudding that was somehow both a little burnt and a little underdone) I was crawlingout of my skin. All I wanted to do was go for a nice, long, cold walk, but the snow was at least four feet high and still falling. The farthest I got was the front door, pulling it open to let a sizable heap of snow fall in, soaking my feet and the stone tiles of the entryway.
My phone buzzed and I pulled it out of my pocket, thrilled to see it was a text from Maybe:
My grandma just said “Where do they think we’re going to put it all?”
I smiled. I wanted to meet her grandmother. I wanted to see where Maybe lived. I wanted this whole nightmare to be over.
I wrote her a reply:
Please tell her I will write a letter to the city weather committee immediately and bring her concerns to their attention.
Thank you. That’s a relief. Hope you’re having a good night, weather girl.
You too xx.
I closed the door and turned back to the living room.
Clara was reading her mythology book. Bernadette wasnodding off in an armchair. Mom was putting away the abandoned board game. Aunt Bea was sitting on the floor in front of the fire, patiently waiting while our father showed her a very elaborate card trick.
