Page 126 of The Shade of Things
I stilled. Poor Marjorie. And Raymond, wow. Way to show backbone. I shut down my emotions even though my feelings box bulged dangerously. “Talk to your aunt,” I said. “I don’t work for her anymore.”
“Oh, I know that too. Emmett told me everything. What’s wrong with you?”
“Me?!” I flapped my cape like it would infuse me with lasers to smite the French jerk.
My neighbor across the street glanced over in alarm, her grocery bags spilling out of her hatchback.
I smiled and waved, before pulling Laurent inside and shutting the door. “Why am I to blame?” I hissed.
His brow creased. “Who said anything about blame? Where’s your to-do list? Your plans A through L?” He raked a thorough gaze from my frazzled bedhead, along my wrinkled sweats with a coffee stain, and down to the fleece-lined knit socks with pompoms. “You aren’t the type to lick your wounds. You’re a fighter. Come on, Mitzi.” He smiled gently. “How do we make this right?”
I pulled my blanket cape closed, annoyed at him for seeing me that way. Didn’t he understand that the harder I tried, the more I was let down?
“I’m on vacation,” I mumbled and burst into tears.
“Ah, ma chér.” Laurent bundled me into his arms. “I think you’ve learned all there is about zombie ants.”
That did it. I cried on him until I was worn out, wrung out, and thoroughly wilted.
Then I came up with a plan.
* * *
Laurent rounded up Emmett and Tatiana.
I’d cleaned up my house, banished the laundry hamper back to its proper place in the bathroom, and was currently spying through the curtains waiting for their arrival. I wore the most “take charge” of the various outfits I’d tried on, rehearsed my speech multiple times, and practiced my stern mom face in the mirror until it was perfectly terrifying.
Then Tatiana arrived, dragged up my front walk by Laurent and Emmett, who each had her by an elbow, and all my preparations flew out the window. The woman with an indubitable sense of fashion, even in sleepwear, was wearing the rattiest pair of pajamas I’d ever seen. They were so faded that any one color would be embarrassed to claim it as its own. She wore no makeup, no jewelry; the only “Tatiana” thing about her was her red oversize glasses.
I stifled a sigh of relief that she’d been able to cross my wards, meaning she hadn’t come here to hurt me, and allowed myself a single delicious moment of pettiness.
“You look like shit.” I stood in my doorway with my arms crossed. I’d ironed my red skirt and paired it with another red blouse from my law firm days. We fighters had an image to protect, after all.
“My mistake,” Tatiana sneered. “I thought the dress code was abductee casual.”
“Hmph,” I sniffed, mostly so I didn’t laugh.
When Emmett passed me, I touched his arm to hold him back while Laurent took his aunt into my kitchen. “Are you all right?”
He scowled. “She made Marjorie cry. She’s never gone that far before.”
“She’ll apologize.”
“You’ll fix this, right?”
“I’ll try, buddy.”
We took our seats at the table. I was sandwiched between Laurent and Emmett and across from the elderly artist.
Attempting to get things back on track, I launched into my very fine speech. “‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’ is an ancient proverb that suggests—”
“It’s Star Trek,” Emmett said.
“What?” I said.
He nodded. “Yeah. Captain Kirk said it in the reboot. I saw the movie the other day.”
“He said it,” I said with exaggerated patience, “because it’s an ancient proverb.”
