“Look at the pretty light, Mom,” Rachel snaps over her shoulder, her patience already wearing thin.
“Flashy-flashy.”
“Let’s just get her home and figure things out there, please.”
Mercia nods and pulls away, continuing down Main Road. There’s some gunfire as they pass the sheriff’s department. Black smoke rises up from somewhere near the town square. Doors stand open and windows are broken, things are scattered across the sidewalks and streets, but not a single soul is to be seen on their way onto Eerie Street. The townsfolk must be somewhere, though. They must be planning something. But what?
“I’m glad we didn’t see the sheriff on our way back.” Mercia grimaces. “I don’t know about you, but that image would have scarred me for life.”
“Billy Boy said we’re having a party in the square tomorrow night,” Jenny says behind them. “There’ll be fireworks, and cake, even presents. I like presents.”
Rachel twists in her seat to see Ziggy in her mother’s arms, her eyes fixed on the rhythmic golden flashes. “Why are you having a party?”
Her mother shrugs.
“Mom? Did you get an invite to the party?”
Her mother nods, still staring at Ziggy, brushing her fingertips over the golden surface. “I think it’s someone’s birthday.”
“Oh, okay then. Well, if you’re good, maybe we can go.”
“You’re not invited,” Jenny says.
Rachel rolls her eyes and shifts in her seat. “You’ll notice,” she says to Mercia, “my mom and I don’t get along.”
“Been there.”
The rest of the journey home is uneventful, especially since Rachel’s mother is preoccupied with Ziggy. As far as Rachel knows, Jenny Cleary hadn’t seen the Fae light until they’d picked her up off the street. Good thing, too, because Rachel has no idea how she would have explained Ziggy if her mother wasn’t one fry short of a happy meal.
Mercia offers to lead her mother inside the house, to keep an eye on her while Rachel goes in search of glitter and confetti in the attic.
Luckily, those boxes—the boxes she’s dubbed dead hobbies—were nearer to the door than her father’s journals. It’s just a matter of finding the right box. So Rachel rummages around through the vast amount of stuff, junk they’d gathered over the years. She pulls out old paperbacks, the covers faded with time, and pencil cases full of dried-up pens. Adult coloring books and a whole plastic container of beads her mother had wanted to string together to create a kitchen curtain or something equally ridiculous. There’s a box full of yarn, tangled and discolored with age, the mismatched knitting needles and crochet hooks. Fabrics and sewing threads fill the inside of another box, the overlocker rusted with disuse.
Finally, Rachel finds the box she’s been searching for.
An old, unused piñata of a unicorn’s head rest atop princess paper plates and pirate paper cups. There’s a plastic bag full of pink confetti, which she removes, and after more digging in between the various decorations—the It’s a Girl! and Happy 35th Birthday! banners knotted together—she finds a plastic container with gold glitter.
She leaves the rest of the stuff where she’d tossed it and makes her way down the attic ladder.
Rachel is barely on the second floor when the screaming starts, her mother’s wails threatening to bring the walls down. The banging comes next, rattling the windows.
She rushes to the staircase and looks down to find her mom throwing herself against the door, tears streaming down her face. To one side, Mercia stands frozen.
“What the hell happened?” Rachel rushes down the stairs with the glitter and confetti under one arm.
“She was fine a minute ago, and then—” Mercia gestures to her mother, who’s gone back to slamming her fists against the door.
“Mom,” Rachel says, and places her hand on Jenny’s shoulder. “Mommy?” She gently rubs the woman’s back. “I found glitter. Do you want to see? It’s sparkly.”
“Please let me out,” Jenny cried, turning to look at Rachel. “Please?”
“This is your home,” Rachel says gently. “There’s no monster here, I promise.”
Jenny wails again, the sound desperate and haunting.
“Mommy, look,” she says, pulling the bottle of glitter from underneath her arm. The golden sparkles glimmer in the container. “Pretty, huh?”
Her mother sniffles, the sobs turning into hiccups. She holds out her hand and Rachel places the glitter container in her open palm.
“And look what else I got,” Rachel says, opening the plastic bag of confetti. She takes a fistful of confetti and throws it up in the air. Pink paper floats down over both her and Jenny. “Now we’re princesses.”
Jenny smiles as she studies the falling confetti, seemingly in a dreamlike trance.
Rachel hands over the confetti and places an arm over her mother’s shoulder to lead her away from the door. She settles her down on the sofa and pulls the coffee table closer, just in time for Jenny to dump all the confetti out on the table.
“This is whack,” Mercia says, her voice a mere whisper.
“Ziggy.” Annoyance and worry edge her tone.
“The Fae light slipped out the window,” Mercia says, gesturing to the open living room window. “I didn’t think it mattered?”
“Why would he—?” Rachel shakes her head and heads back to the front door, Mercia close on her heels. “Today doesn’t make any sense. Everyone’s out of sorts,” she mumbles as she opens the front door and takes a step outside. Rachel looks around, searching for the golden orb. “Ziggy, I am in no mood for y—” She cuts herself off midsentence as her gaze meet’s Orion’s. “Orion?”
“The townsfolk are acting really weird,” he says.
“So, you’ve noticed?” Rachel walks down the porch steps and onto the path.
“Bit difficult to miss it when your neighbors barbecue a deputy’s car in the parking lot,” Orion says. “Do you know what we’re up against yet?”
“Ever hear of Golvath the Lonely?”
Orion blinks slowly, shock filling his eyes. “He’s just a bedtime story.”
“Well, it’s all I’ve got.” Rachel shrugs, and plants her hands on her hips. “Do you still think I was overreacting about needing your help?”
He grimaces.
“Thought so.”
“You’re still angry
