Page 111 of Remnants: Disruption
“I’mfreakingtwenty-four.”
“I’m thirty-something,” I say, shrugging. “I’ve got amnesia, too.”
“So, the God Queen picks up an amnesiac who can talk to the dead and wield shadows after she loses a few fights,” Trish says,not unkindly. “I don’t understand why you’ve tried fight her twice.”
“More than that,” I say, thinking back. “She also showed up in my bathroom last night after I nearly handed Loki his own teeth.”
“Girl,” Marla groans, shooting me a look. “I hate that guy.”
“You said in your bathroom?” Trish asks, not missing the comment.
“See, that’s the part that keeps pissing me off,” I say, and shovel another bite of delicious meat into my mouth.
God, I could really use about fourteen more of these meals.
“She showed up like three or four times before I got here,” I say, jabbing my finger at the table. “Each time was a really, really dark time where I’d sort of given up. And then she’d say something super sweet or whatever and be super comforting. Then I get here and it starts like that, but the moment we hit the Cradle, she turned into this–”
I glance at Rey again, and Marla covers her vulpine ears.
“She turns into this icy bitch. Not only that, but she’s obviously treating me like a weapon, and I’m sick of it. Loki and Beowulf want to just–” Marla covers Rey’s ears. “To just execute me, and I think Azazel, Bast, and Morgana are the only ones against it. Hell, Morgana doesn’t seem to care about me at all, so–”
The table goes quiet, and I groan.
“I’m sorry, I just haven’t had anyone to talk to about this kind of stuff,” I say, glancing up at the others.
But they don’t look put off.
Ty, to his credit, is still engrossed in his food. As is Rey. But Trish and Marla are looking at each other like they can read each other’s minds.
“Have you wanted to give up a lot?” Marla asks, and I shrug.
“Yeah,” I admit, feeling my cheeks warm. “It’s not exactly table talk.”
Marla thumps Ty, and he nods. He scoops up his empty plate, then slings Rey under one arm like a sandbag. The kid squirms and barks, but they exit through the backdoor.
“Now it is,” Marla says, her voice lacking any of the goofiness it had earlier.
I lean back in my chair, wondering how I’ve managed to find myself here. These two have been nothing but kind to me. It hardly seems fair to dump everything on them.
But Marla’s studying me with dark brown eyes. Trish’s look more hazel, yet just as soulful.
“I can see spirits,” I let it out like a confession.
The women stay quiet, urging me on with their raised eyebrows.
“Like legitimately other side. And, I guess, after the last decade, it became a lot easier to give into the darker thoughts. It’s hard to remember you’re alive when you’re only ever surrounded by death.”
Trish slides from her seat and takes the one just beside me. Marla stands and moves to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of something like wine and three glasses.
She sets them down in front of us and pours an overly generous helping into each.
“You probably can’t even get drunk,” Marla says, but pushes it closer to me. “It’s the thought that counts.”
She’ll never know how much the normalcy of the comment means.
“Did you ever try to–” Trish asks, and I nod quickly before she can verbalize the whole thing.
“Once, really. Though, my unhealthy lifestyle and general disregard for my own safety probably counts, too. It was a few days ago, right after Percy had found out about me being theDark One. I was sort of at my limit, and the spirits are mean fuckers. I think the more vengeful ones are just vocal, though.”
