Page 12 of The Lunatics

Mom’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The ritual got away from her. I overheard Audrey say that someone else was trying to take control of it. The way Antoinette spoke afterward made it sound like she was implying it was the Goddess.”

Dad released a noisy breath. Mom picked up her wine and drained the rest of it, and the spikey smell of their combined fear filled my nose.

“What is it?” I asked. “All the other old people were weirded out when they heard that, but no one would say why.”

Dad unfurled to his impressive height. “First off, we’re not old.” He looked at Mom. “Another, Chris?” She nodded. “And second, in all my life, I’ve only seen what I would quantify as the Goddess’s interference three times.”

He grabbed himself another beer and handed Mom the bottle of wine. She poured herself a large glass, went to pass the bottle back to him, and then frowned and instead sat it in front of her on the counter.

“Better just keep it,” she muttered.

You’re gonna need it, I almost told her.

Amusement flared across the bond. I turned to look at Michael. Our eyes met, briefly, before his gaze slid away from mine. What the hell did he suddenly find so funny?

Dad popped open his beer and retook his seat. His gaze landed on me. “The last time I saw the Goddess interfere was just before you entered our lives.”

I stared at him. “Do I even want to know what the others were?”

Mom frowned, hard, and shook her head back and forth as though wishing someone had invented brain bleach already. “Probably best you don’t ask.”

I sat down beside her, my knees a little shaky. If what was to come was anything like the months leading up to my adoption…

I lifted my glass and drained my drink.

Mom rubbed a hand over my back like she had when I was a kid. “What happened tonight?”

I forced myself to meet her eyes. “How do you want me to tell you? Long drawn-out explanation, or rip it off like a Band-Aid?”

She paused to think about it for a second before looking over at my dad. “Band-Aid?”

He nodded.

She turned back to me, waiting.

I dug deep, drumming up my last reserves of courage. “The ritual was short and brutal and left half of us on the ground when it ended. It was like being caught up in a tornado. The magic felt like it imploded at the end, and everyone inside the monoliths was bonded simultaneously.”

“Whoa. That’s intense,” Dad said.

My answering laugh was bitter. “Oh, just wait. It gets worse. We all thought it was over. It felt like it was over. The mysticstold usit was over. So we went down to congratulate our friends and family. And then there was another flare of power, and even though we didn’t cut ourselves, or imbue our blood in the plinth, or agree to take part in the ritual, about fifty of us found ourselves bonded against our wills.”

Mom’s hand disappeared from my back. “Fifty… ofus?” Her voice shook. “Oh, Goddess. Your hearts. I heard them beating together this whole time and told myself that it was just a fluke.”

“No,” Dad said from the other side of her. He leaned forward to look at me. “Layla. No.”

“That’s what I said,” I told him.

Mom looked at me aghast. “You were bonded. Against your will. To Michael Kolbeck.”

Together, my parents turned to stare at him.

He met their gazes levelly, one expensive elbow draped on the countertop as he swirled his whiskey in a circle. His expression was one of well-mannered indifference. “I assure you, this turn of events is as unwelcome to me as it is to your daughter.”

“Unlikely,” Mom said, reaching for the wine. Then, under her breath, “I should have bought a bigger bottle.”

“Be nice, Mom,” I said. “Michael has a fiancée.”