Page 81 of Awry
Silence falls between us as we just stare at each other.His hands are still clenched, moonlight masking most of his expression.I’ve told him to go, then stopped him from leaving.Twice.I don’t understand my own actions.I don’t understand my extreme reaction to him grabbing me.I could feel his concern, his fear.
Why would that have terrified me?
“I would never hurt you.”His whisper is so low that I barely catch it against the wind.
But something about his insistence on that point after clearly hurting me — I don’t doubt that despite the padding of the puffy jacket, I’ll have bruises on my upper arms tomorrow — breaks me free from the moment.
I head back toward the path to the beach house, my initial destination.As I pass Rath, I speak without looking at him.“You already have hurt me.So don’t linger.Don’t come back.”
He makes a noise in the back of his throat.The beginning of another protest, maybe, but it sounds more like … a swallowed expulsion of pain.
I walk away.
By the time I check in briefly with Harlee and Cayley, then make my way back to the house, the sound of a motorcycle tearing away down the drive filters through to me.Then I can no longer feel Rath on the property, and a sliver of that emptiness, a sliver of that void from before has lodged itself in my chest.The tiniest of aches.In the vicinity of my heart.
Dawn is encroachingby the time I’ve read through the instruction manual for the new ice cream maker and mixed a base for chocolate-coconut ice cream.The kitchen cupboards yielded chocolate, cocoa, and sugar, but the milk and cream in the fridge are weeks past their expiry dates.Thankfully, there’s an entire flat of coconut cream in the pantry.I have no doubt it’s been placed there just for me, next to a flat of coconut milk, because my aunt wasn’t a fan of many ethnic foods.Not like I am.If I could eat nothing but any kind of Asian or South Asian or Mediterranean food for the rest of my life, I’d feel blessed.Unfortunately, I’m not actually capable of cooking any of it myself.
When the ice cream base has been poured into the maker to churn, I check the time and deem it not too early to reach out to Coda.My walk in the mist and fight with Rath has actually cleared my head.And though I rarely follow up on knowings — whether I’ve forced the manifestation as I’d done with Precious or not — I have questions.I have no idea what hours Coda keeps, or where the awry hacker is currently residing, of course.But dawn on the West Coast feels like an okay time to reach out.
If I am going to tangle myself in Precious’s life, train her, deal with her overbearing brothers, I need to know more.For her safety.My little trick of rising from the dead is as rare as all the other power I wield.Now that my aunt is truly dead, I might be the only one in the world with that particular ability.Precious is awry, but not Everlasting.She’s not immortal.
I … I want to train her.I feel a distinct need to take her in, shelter her through the next few years of her life.But I’m also not … I don’t take apprentices.Honestly, an apprenticeship with me is a little … much.Even unnecessary.For most.
Though I already know that Presh is different.
If I’m going to take her on, focus on one person instead of just allowing my actions to be guided by my power, by my own so-called destiny, then I need to know I can also protect her.Because even though all the awry need to be protected in some fashion, I already know that Presh will need it more than most.
I call Coda on my phone.I don’t have a phone number for the awry hacker— or an email or any other sort of other traditional contact info.Rather, some software or programming I don’t even bother trying to grasp is triggered by pressing a prearranged sequence on the screen of the phone.It’s a great security measure — no one can get anything off my phone that easily leads back to Coda — but it’s a bitch to learn the sequence every time the hacker insists on changing it.
It takes forever for them to verify that it’s me calling and that they want to answer, giving me time to double-check all the dials and settings on the ice cream maker … things like level of hardness and churning time.If I were big on crushed-iced drinks, slushies or whatever they’re called, the machine can apparently be programmed to make those as well.
“A phone call?”Coda’s mocking tone emanates over the speakers of the phone.Which wouldn’t be as startling if I had, you know, actually activated the speakers.“Now I’m the one who should feel blessed.”
Before I can reply with some sort of sarcastic comeback that I don’t have the energy for, Coda adds, “Where the hell are you?Your phone is pinging out of the middle of … nothing.”
“My aunt’s property on the West Coast,” I say.And then I hear what I’ve said.“My … my property.The … intersection point.”I hesitate only a little on that last bit of info.I try to not keep secrets from Coda because the hacker is way more effective when they’ve got all the facts at hand.But intersection points are … well, not one of those verifiable-by-science things.More of an underground understanding among a certain subsection of the essence-wielding community.And some religious zealots, of course.
Coda thinks about the bit of information I’ve just dropped in their lap.Like, with actual quiet contemplation.No keyboard tapping or clicks across a trackpad or a mouse accompany this silence.
“When?”Coda finally asks, as muted as I’ve ever heard them.Almost … reverent.“When did you … did you?I mean … you said your aunt, then corrected yourself.”
I inhale, wondering if this is the moment I lose one of my only friends, one of the only support systems I still have, whether or not we spend much time together.I breathe out, splaying my hands across the cool marble counter.“Three weeks ago.”
For the briefest of moments, dead air emanates over the phone speaker.Then Coda’s fingers are flying over their many keyboards again.
Stress, that I didn’t really understand I was holding, eases from my shoulders.
“How am I supposed to keep track of shit-all if you don’t keep me informed?”Coda grouses.Except their tone still holds that softer, considerate resonance.
“There was nothing for you to cover up,” I say, swiping my finger along the edge of the now-empty bowl and sucking off traces of the ice cream base.It’s heavy on the cocoa and a little bitter.Hopefully, the churn smooths the flavor.
“You were in Vancouver?”
“Yes.But I need your focus elsewhere right now.”
“On the cadre of himbos following you around?”
“Cadre of himbos?”
