“Uh, yeah, but I have bigger problems than petty squabbles. My mom’s kinda affected by all of this, and she’s a handful.” Rachel’s words are barely cold when something shatters inside the house. There’s a scream.
“No, Mrs. Cleary—stop.”
Rachel gestures with a thumb over her shoulder, saying, “Cue the madness.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I can find out while you handle that,” Orion says. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Rachel!”
Sixteen
Jaw Dropper
Rachel glimpses at Mercia as she runs down the porch steps, “Where’s my mom?”
“Exactly where we left her,” she says, breathless. “I confined her to the living room. So, yes, I did technically use magic, but not on her personally. It’s just a barrier spell, the same one witches use to keep toddlers from sticking their fingers in electric outlets and away from stairs.”
Rachel sighs and nods. “Thanks.”
“It’s not going to hold.” Mercia turns around to walk back to the house. “We both need rest and something to eat.”
“Yup.”
“I mean it, Rach. We can’t save the town when we’re running on fumes,” Mercia says.
“I know.” Rachel sighs. “Why are you suddenly being so nice to me? Not to mention, you’re helping my mom. What happened to the whole ‘this doesn’t make us friends’ thing?”
Mercia shrugs. “Your mom’s gone cray-cray, the guy you’re crushing on is being super weird, your only friend and his grandmother have basically been run out of town, and I’m pretty sure you have a serious stalker problem.”
Rachel closes her eyes and shakes her head. “What?”
“Isn’t that Greg’s car?”
Rachel opens her eyes and directs her attention to where Mercia is pointing down Griswold Road as Greg’s Mercedes appears on the horizon. Every alarm bell in her body goes off in unison, her fight-or-flight responses readying themselves.
“Can this day get any worse?” she mutters, not in the mood to deal with him right now.
“That’s a polite way of looking at things,” Mercia grumbles. “What do you want to do?”
“Play dumb?” Rachel says and Mercia nods, both coming to a stop in the driveway.
They watch as Greg slows down and turns off the road, the passenger side window lowering. He sits forward in his seat, tilting his head to see them properly. Greg frowns, before he says, “Mercia Holstein, whatever are you doing here?”
“Well, sometimes even I like to drive down backroads and see how losers live,” Mercia says. “You?”
“Where’s your car, Rachel?” Greg asks, ignoring Mercia.
“It’s not here, obviously,” Mercia answers for Rachel, then quickly adds, “I’m glad you’ve not gone blind yet, you know, from using your right hand excessively.” She makes a crude gesture, fluttering her eyelashes all the while.
It takes every ounce of strength to keep Rachel from laughing out loud, especially when Greg turns a deep shade of red.
He narrows his eyes at Mercia, but turns his attention on Rachel.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay out here by yourself,” Greg continues. “With Mrs. Crenshaw not around, I became concerned for your safety. The town’s gone completely nuts. On my way over, Mr. Morris chased my car on all fours, barking like a dog.”
Rachel shapes her mouth into an ‘O’, acting surprised. He must buy it, because his eyes soften as he regards her.
I should’ve taken drama class instead, she thinks.
“Well,” Mercia says, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “Rachel is not by herself, as you can see, and we have work to do.”
“What work?” Greg asks. “School’s been closed for days or haven’t you noticed?”
“Art project,” Rachel lies quickly. “The theme is ‘the world as we perceive it’,” she continues. Luckily Greg doesn’t have art as an elective. “I was thinking we should put a Freudian twist to it.”
“Ooh, that’s actually not a bad idea,” Mercia says, playing along. “Nothing says art like wanting to sleep with your mother.”
Even Rachel can’t help herself from frowning.
“Or your daughter, whatever.” She waves it off, unperturbed. “Anywho, we should probably get on with it if we actually want to do the project, so buh-bye, Greg.”
He glances at Rachel, who shrugs.
“Sorry, but this is due soon,” she says.
Greg’s expression smooths out. “Call me, okay?”
Mercia bursts out laughing and takes a step away from the car. “Can you be any more desperate?” She pivots and walks toward the porch.
“Can you be any more of a bitch?” he calls back.
She flips him off, and disappears into the house, leaving Rachel alone with Greg. Rachel puts her hands behind her back and smiles, still acting like some lovesick idiot.
Mercia’s nervous shout from within the house is enough to make her cut short whatever long goodbye Greg was waiting for.
“Gotta go, bye.” She’s already heading back to the house.
“Okay, bye.”
She rushes up the steps and makes her way straight into the house. Rachel shuts the door behind her. The entryway is fine, but as she walks toward the living room, the issue becomes clear.
Rachel stands there staring at the destruction. The TV has been pulled off its wall mounts and lies in pieces on the floor. The coffee table is upended and two of the legs have been broken off. The sofa has been torn asunder and foam is spilling from the deep gashes. Even the curtains didn’t survive, lying in large swathes on the floor. Confetti and glitter is strewn across the mess, which just feels like a slap in the face.
Her gaze moves up the scratched wall, deep gouges ruining the wallpaper and paint, toward a large hole in the ceiling.
“Where’s my mother?”
“Hell if I know,” Mercia snaps. “She climbed through the hole when I came in.”
Rachel moves back to the staircase and takes the steps two at a time. “Mom,” she calls, following the banging coming from somewhere on the second floor. The sound is muffled, though, coming from within the walls. “Mother?”
The bangs are replaced with a persistent scratching, like oversized rats scuttling about.
“Mom.” Her voice grows more frantic as she runs to the hallway wall, pressing her ear against the smooth surface. She moves quickly past the bathroom, searching for
