Page 41 of Throwing Shade
“They’re safe. Dybbuks only possess those with magic. If a dybbuk has not found a host body to inhabit and enthrall when the angel Dumah blows his trumpet at sunset on Saturday, they must return to Gehenna and their torture begins anew.”
I shivered. “I heard it. The trumpet.”
Laurent stilled, the glass halfway to his mouth, knocking the ice cubes together. “You did? I can’t.” He stared into the amber liquid. “Seems wolf hearing isn’t good for everything.”
I ran the knuckle of my thumb over my teeth. I’d never heard it before either, but I’d never been in the presence of a dybbuk at sunset either, so I couldn’t say if the ability was new. I tamped down my unease. “Don’t get excited. I still don’t know how to help Rupert.”
Laurent swirled the scotch in his glass, his voice as hypnotic as the motion of the dark liquid. “Dybbuks aren’t like other ghosts who are fairly benign. They’re pure rage, needing extremes to feel alive. Some lash out, others engage in vices, glutting themselves to death. They have friends, family, and those people must watch as one with the face of their beloved engages in destructive behavior.” He abruptly set the snifter down on the over-sized ottoman that served as a coffee table. “It causes unimaginable suffering.”
Was that why Laurent did this? Did he know first-hand whereof he spoke?
“But if they could be saved before the dybbuk kills them?” He braced his elbows on his hands, that brilliant green gaze trained on me.
I wasn’t some bastion of hope. I was an ordinary woman doing her best to get through every day, same as most people. Laurent was assuming I could save Rupert based on some pretty slim evidence. If he hadn’t found a way when his entire job was dealing with dybbuks, it was unfair to believe I could waltz in and get it done.
Looking away, I dug my buzzing phone out of my purse. Sadie was texting, wondering where I was and if her red sweater could go in the dryer? Shit. The laundry had been sitting wet all day. I texted back that I’d be there in twenty minutes and yes, it was fine.
“I have to go,” I said.
“What about Jude?” he said.
How awful a person would I be if I let this play out and stayed to the safety of the sidelines? If vampires were involved and Sadie was at risk of getting drawn in, then maybe I was better off letting Jude sleep in the bed she made. My stomach felt sick and heavy, but just as with Rupert, what could I possibly do about the situation?
“I… don’t know.”
Laurent’s grip tightened on the glass. He took a sip of scotch, then he nodded. “Your call. But if you change your mind?” He gave me his number.
Sadie was sitting at the kitchen table eating ice cream out of a mug when I got home. She sucked the chocolate off the spoon in the exact same way that she had when she was little, her face scrunched up against the cold, and my heart contracted.
The night she was born, I paced with her through silent hospital corridors, marveling that here was a total stranger whom I would already lay down my life for. After sixteen years of this smart, mouthy, stubborn, amazing kid, that desire had only intensified. As a single mom, I’d had to temper my tendency to helicopter parent with the reality of Sadie taking on a fair amount of independence as she navigated between two loving households.
I’d vowed that magic would never impact her life as it had mine, and yet, this weekend it had been hammered home to me that it lurked around every corner. So how did I go on from here? And what should I do about Jude?
Sadie held out her spoon to me.
“Ice cream isn’t dinner.” I dug out a clump and swallowed a mouthful of coconut chocolate chip. “Damn. This is good.”
“Right? What’s dinner anyway but a construct? I say we reject Big Food’s notion of serving sizes and types. Forge our own path.” She snatched the spoon back. “Starting with ice cream.”
I dumped my purse on the counter. “Does that mean I don’t have to feed you anymore? Because I’m down with that.”
“Let’s not get crazy.”
“No. This is good.” I opened the freezer door and pulled out a jar of pesto and a container of raw turkey meatballs, both of which I put in the microwave on defrost. “I support you being an individual and foraging your own path.”
Sadie gave me puppy dog eyes. “I could eat that.”
“Make the salad and I’ll consider it.”
She slid off the stool and grabbed the ingredients, snagging the cutting board from the top of the fridge while she was there. Putting her phone in the stereo dock, she turned on her current favorite playlist of Broadway musicals.
For a while we prepped dinner, singing along to Chicago. I pulled the items out of the microwave, testing both to check if they were defrosted and ignored the chiming work alerts coming in on my phone, until Sadie rolled her eyes.
“Answer them already,” she said. “You’d think the world was going to end if they didn’t get their dumb law stuff first thing in the morning.”
“It matters to their clients.” I wiped my hands off on a dish towel and replied to the various lawyers that I would be sure to check their emails first thing tomorrow and get on their requests.
“I could never be a lawyer. I’d stab myself out of boredom. Give me passion. Drama. Theatah.” She drawled the last word out, striking a dramatic pose.
