In spite of myself, I smiled a little. "I guess I should get used to this kind of drama."
Torin smiled back. "Certainly scarier than staking vampires, isn't it?"
I wondered what it said about me that watching a teen soap opera with a four-hundred-year-old warlock felt, well...normal.
"I don't know why I'm doing all of this," I said, not taking my eyes off the screen. "Or why Mom is going to all this trouble. If there's a ghost here-and I kind of doubt it-it won't require my going to this school for, like, months or renting a house. We could just get in, get out-"
"Isolde, do not be so dense." In the mirror, Torin was leaning back on his hands, ankles crossed. "Your moving here has nothing to do with any ghost. Granted, there's a chance a haunting is happening at Betty Crocker High-"
"Mary Evans," I corrected, but he blew a hank of blond hair out of his eyes and shrugged.
"But clearly, Aislinn's true motivation here is to let you experience a taste of regular human life. She's gruff and difficult, that woman, so of course she'd rather die than tell you, 'Oh, Isolde, guilt over your sister's disappearance has left me swimming in a veritable sea of angst-'"
"Stop it." Standing up, I flipped off the television and turned to face Torin. "Just...if you can't help with Finley, then don't talk about her, okay?"
Torin pursed his lips slightly, tilting his head and studying me. Then he said, "I did not mean to offend. I simply wanted to make sure you understood why you're really here, Isolde. This isn't about hunting a ghost. It's about your mum trying to do something for you that she never did for your sister."
Snorting, I headed for the door. "Mom doesn't think like that."
"I've known her longer than you have," Torin called, and I froze, hand on the doorknob. I'd never really thought of it like that, but yeah, Torin had been in our family for centuries. He'd seen Mom grow up. Had known my grandmother, my great-grandmother, all the Brannicks stretching back to the sixteenth century.
Leaning forward, Torin gave his best sheepish smile. "Now, can we please stop quarreling and finish this program? I really do want to see what fresh hell is unleashed next."
I hesitated, and Torin clasped his hands on his knees, sitting up straight. "I promise to behave."
Somehow, I doubted that, but to be honest, I really wanted to see how that episode went. So I settled back on the floor and turned the TV on. Leslie and Everton kissed, his girlfriend found out, and the episode ended with Leslie running down the street in tears while some seriously whiny music wailed in the background.
"Well," Torin said as the credits began to roll, "take heart, Isolde. At least a ghost will be less terrifying than that."
CHAPTER 6
The next morning, I woke up before my alarm. It wasn't like I'd never thought about the first day of school before. I remembered going into stores with Mom and Finn, passing all those displays of pencils and binders and backpacks, and wondering what it must be like to live that kind of life. But I'd never thought that would be my life.
I was still brooding when I headed downstairs and into the kitchen. Mom was already there, and from the look of things, she'd been busy.
"Do you expect me to eat...all of this?" I stared at the kitchen table, which was practically buckling under the weight of all the food. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, a fruit bowl, an entire loaf of toast, and...
"Is that actual gruel?" I asked, pointing to a pot.
"Grits," Mom answered, wiping her hands on a dish towel stuck in her waistband. "And no," she continued, "you don't have to eat all of it. I just...I want you to start your day off right."
I grabbed a plate and some bacon. "Mom, you didn't make this much food the day Finn and I chased our first werewolf. I'm pretty sure today will be less challenging than that." I was trying to joke, but Mom frowned.
"I don't think I ever made you girls any food. Finn could make mac and cheese by the time she was four, and you were using a microwave by that age. I should've cooked more."
I stared at her. "Mom, we were fine. And I happen to like SpaghettiOs. Especially the kind with the meatballs. Finn used to give me the meatballs out of her bowl, and-"
I hate crying. The tears, the snot, the red face. All of it. But what I really hate is when crying sneaks up on you unexpectedly. So I looked down at my plate and shoved a piece of bacon into my mouth, hoping that would stop the sob that was welling up in my throat.
You need these meatballs more than I do, Junior. You're so skinny, a shifter is gonna pick his teeth with you one day.
Mom had turned back to the sink. "Hurry up before you miss your bus," she said, and I could've imagined it, but her voice sounded a little watery, too.
The bacon might as well have been made of cardboard for as much as I tasted it, but I got it down. "Right. Okay. Well. I, uh, guess I'll go wait for the bus."
Mom turned. "Do you want me to wait with you?"
I did. A lot. Why was hunting monsters less scary than waiting by a freaking stop sign in the suburbs? But I shrugged. "No, don't worry about it. I think I can handle standing on a corner by myself for ten minutes."
The parentheses deepened around her mouth. "Don't get smart."
"I wasn't! I..." Sighing, I shouldered my backpack. It was the same one I used to take when Finn and I would patrol, but this time there were no crossbows or vials of holy water. Just notebooks and two packs of pens.
"I'll be home after three," I told Mom.
"Okay," she replied. "Remember, main thing today is just to start getting yourself situated. Head down-"
"Eyes open," I finished for her. That might as well have been the Brannick family motto.
Mom gave a sharp nod. "Right. We'll talk when you get home. And..."
She walked over and, to my surprise, gave me a hug. "Have a good day, Iz."
I hugged her back, closing my eyes and breathing in the safe, familiar smell of Mom. Brannicks aren't huggers, and I couldn't remember the last time Mom had wrapped her arms around me. "I will."
The kitchen was right off the main hallway leading to the front door. The old owners of the house had put up a little shelf with hooks, a box for keys, and a tiny mirror to, I don't know, check your lipstick before you went out or whatever. I snagged my black jacket from one of the hooks, and as I did, caught a flash of movement.