Page 68 of Death Card

My eighteenth birthdaysneaks up on me quickly. I wake up still thinking of everything that happened this weekend.

After meeting with Sabine on Saturday, I spent the next day working in the shop. In between readings, I read every article I could about Mr.Dupree’s campaign, searching for any hint that he and the Hightowers could be connected. I even listened to his stupid podcast episode on the way home. Other than finding out even more about his despicable views, I couldn’t find anything to tie him to witchcraft.

Gloria’s online presence is nonexistent, and all I could find on Aria is an Instagram page full of poems and abstract photos.

I’m still not sure why he would be wearing the Hightower family crest.

I expect to spend the day continuing to investigate, but Gramps and Orion have other plans. They barge into my room with a heart-shaped lavender cake topped with gold sprinkles.Happy Birthday, Mikaela!is written across the top in looping cursive script.

Their singing is shrill and off pitch, but it’s so full of love it nearly makes my heart burst. I rest both palms on my cheeks as a smile stretches across my face.

“You shouldn’t have!”

“You’re right! This cake cost an arm and a leg!” Gramps teases. He pulls out a box of candles and a lighter from his back pocket, but I shake my head.

“It’s too early! I’d rather have breakfast first.” A sudden thought occurs to me. “Wait, Ri, where’s your cake?”

“I told Gramps I’d rather have a steak dinner.”

At that, Gramps sighs. “You’re both determined to drain my bank account dry.” He ruffles Orion’s hair. “But you only turn eighteen once.”

We all pile into the Cadillac and head to our favorite diner to eat. Gramps orders us both a stack of pancakes and has the waitstaff sing to us. The rest of the restaurant joins in, and I end up covering my face in embarrassment.

Gramps tugs my hands away from my eyes. “Every birthday is a gift,” he says gently.

The reminder sobers me up quick. By this time next week, I could be dead, bleeding out in some forest beneath the light of the full moon. Despite covering the pancakes in a copious amount of butter and maple syrup, each bite tastes like sawdust in my mouth.

Gramps takes us to see a movie and afterward, we head to a steak house so Orion can have his ribeye at the lunch price because Gramps isn’t made of money—his words, not mine.

When we finally make it back to the house, I’m stuffed full of carbs and ready for a nap, but Gramps stops us at the door. “The day isn’t over yet,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes. “Be dressed and meet me here by five thirty. I’ve got a surprise for you both.”

Orion and I exchange a glance.

“I think I’ve had enough surprises to last a lifetime,” I say. “Can you at least give us a hint?”

“Nope. Wear something nice.” With that, he strolls into the living room and flips on the TV.

We take the stairs two at a time, huddling together in the upstairs hallway like two kids on Christmas. “He’s throwing us a party, isn’t he?” I ask.

Orion smirks. “He thinks he’s so slick, but this coven will use any excuse to party.”

My heart sinks as I think about Lizzie. I haven’t talked to her since Chris died, but I know she and the other coven kids are likely to be at any party Gramps throws.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” I ask. “Shouldn’t we be in mourning? And, I mean, people could still drop dead at any time.”

Ri chews on his lip. “You know as well as I do that you’ve only got a week before your vision either comes true or not. I think we should have fun, at least for tonight.”

“One night only.” Like a twisted movie showing, only this is real life and anything could happen.

“It’ll be fine,” Orion says, forcing a smile. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Famous last words. I give a stiff nod and retreat to my bedroom to pick out an outfit.

Bright colors have never really been my thing. Purple may be my favorite color, but there’s none of it in my wardrobe. Instead, I stare at a closet full of black fabric and wonder why I’ve spent my life dressing like I’m in a state of constant mourning.

Buried deep at the back of my closet is a plastic storage bin ofMom’s old clothes. Gran gave it to me freshman year, once she thought I was old enough to take an interest. I could barely bring myself to open the lid; instead, I shoved it to the back and tried to forget about it. But now I drag it out into the center of the room and stare at it for so long, my vision doubles.Just do it, I tell myself.

Before I can change my mind, I open the bin and stare down at the piles of fabric. An array of colors greets me. Blouses and dresses in every shade from pastel pinks to deep reds and blues.