Page 49 of The Blood Witch
I chuckle like I’m responding to something funny no one said.
“I know, ordering aloose meatanything does sound like some kinky back-alley innuendo. I’m totally going to call sex that now, just to freak people out.Yeah, baby, give me that loose meat, please,” I declare—for some reason in a creepy South Boston accent.
I chuckle, thoroughly amused.
Okay, maybe I am losing it a little.
“Can you imagine if the Sloppy Joe was invented somewhere other than America though, like if it was created in some posh restaurant in the heart of London or something? There’s no way it would have ended up with a backwoods name like Sloppy Joe. No, we’d be eating Untidy Josephs or something,” I state in my best British accent. “I’ll take an Untidy Joseph and a side of mushed peas,” I mock and then stick out my tongue in distaste. “Who eats mushed peas past the age of two?” I ask, looking around as though someone is going to answer me.
“What is wrong with you?” Elon asks me, peeved, not even bothering to lift his head up and look at me as he tosses the judgmental question my way.
I sigh. “So many things, how much time do you have?” I joke, picking at the cuticle of my nail, not bothered in the slightest by his annoyance.
“We just watched a witch get murdered and then burned to nothing, like the pile of ash that resulted was the whole sum of her existence...” Elon exclaims, pointing toward the altar and all the piles of ash on the dais, whose origins, appallingly, are no longer a mystery to me.
I wonder how many witches’ bodies make up each gray pile, and then I shove that question away, because I’m not trying to fracture my mind beyond repair.
“I know,” I tell him flatly, a hint of growl in my tone.
“If you know, then how the hell are you talking about Sloppy Joes like this is just any ol’ day and people like Jamie aren’t going to win.”
“It’s called compartmentalization, Elon. I’ll have to work all this shit out in counseling later, but right now all I’m trying to do is not lose my mind before help gets here.”
Elon barks out a humorless laugh and lifts his green eyes to mine. “Don’t you get it? No. One. Is. Coming. We’re in the middle of nowhere with a psychopath who’s been planning all of this for most of her life. We’re not making it out of here alive.”
Not with that attitude, you’re not,flashes through my mind, but I bite down on my tongue before I can say it and sound exactly like my Grammy Ruby.
“Maybe not,” I agree solemnly, then after a beat add, “but I’m not going to spend the next day thinking about how I’m not going to make it. I’m going to talk about weird shit and hope somehow I can figure out a way to get out of this until that fucking knife is in my heart and it stops beating. And even then, I’m haunting the shit out of that bitch. If she thinks she’s going to get away with this, she’s got another thing coming,” I tell him adamantly.
He shakes his head, although I don’t miss the hint of a smile that tugs at one side of his lips.
“So, Elon Vesuvius Kendrick, tell me your deepest darkest secret,” I challenge playfully.
He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “My middle name isn’t Vesuvius...”
“Well, it should be, but that’s neither here nor there. Stop stalling. Come on, spill it...and don’t bore me with thatI came back from the deadshit, I want seriously juicy gossip,” I tease with the wag of an eyebrow.
The church falls silent for a moment, and Elon scoots closer to his barrier. “What did you just say?” he asks, his tone deadly calm but his eyes filled with warning.
I look around us and decide since Jamie didn’t just come barging in and declare,say whaaa,that we’re okay to talk about this.
“Did I not mention that Rogan told me about that? My bad. Yeah, I know about that. So I’m going to need you to dig a little deeper into your vault of secrets, mmmkay?”
Elon watches me like he doesn’t know what to make of anything that’s happening. “Why...why would he tell you that?” he presses, and I try not to take the question personally; it’s clear this isn’t something that gets shared at friendly gatherings no matter how much wine is involved.
I pull in a deep breath and study him. “Honestly, I don’t know. I did technically ask him, and I did demand that he tell me the truth, but I’m not full enough of myself to think that’s all it took to get this truth out of Rogan,” I explain with a small shrug.
Elon takes me in as though this information changes everything. I can almost see a weight lift from his shoulders, and I can imagine he’s been trapped in his head, worrying about what happens if he comes back from the dead again, or worse, what if he doesn’t?
“Come on, let’s hear it, what’s something you’ve never told anyone?” I challenge again, inviting some levity to break up the heaviness of what just happened.
Elon gets lost in thought for a moment, and I hope he’s thinking of an answer instead of getting lost in his own head again.
“Honestly, I don’t know. Does it get deeper or darker than what it seems you already know? I feel like I’ve been set up for failure. Any stories of the candy bar I stole and never confessed to pale in comparison tomy brother and I survived death and we have no idea how it happened.”
I bark out a laugh. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” I concede. “Okay fine, if you could eat anything right now, what would it be?”
Elon groans and rubs at his stomach. “At this point, I’d eat almost anything. But a massive garden burger and a baked sweet potato would start things off nicely,” he declares, and it shows just how hungry I am, because I would normally side-eye those options, but right now my mouth is watering.
