Page 62 of Her Dreadful Will
She shuffled out of the room while her mind screamed a frantic alarm.
If Gran complained to Bea, Carol, the police, or APS—things could get worse. And even if those people didn’t care enough to do anything, Zillah had another problem, a big one. Gran was actually lucid. Wanting things, remembering things. Speaking as clearly and firmly as she used to. Planning to live more, and do more.
Not possible.
Zillah wasn’t going to stand for it. She couldn’t handle it.
There was one way to get free.
Gran had heart problems, sleep apnea—no one would question it.
The pillow would be the easiest way. Gran was a frail, wrinkled woman. “Florence looks underfed,” one of the neighbors had told Zillah one day, with a judgmental squint. Zillah paid her no mind; her work schedule meant she hardly saw the neighbors anyway. She’d never even met the new girl next door. And anyway, who cared what they thought? They could shove their inquisitive noses up their asses.
“Zillah!” Gran screeched again. “The phone?”
Zillah’s fingers closed around something that wasn’t the phone, or a pillow. How had she gotten into the kitchen? She couldn’t remember walking down the hall.
Her eyes dropped to the knife in her hand.
“Coming, Gran,” she called sweetly.
23
Achan and Soleil carried their plastic baskets of tacos and burritos out to the back of the restaurant, where an awning shaded several round tables. Since the heat was keeping the other customers inside, two witches could talk freely.
Carebear lapped water from a collapsible bowl Soleil kept in the car. She lifted the waxy paper containing the tacos and set it on the table. Then she dumped the contents of a burrito into the plastic basket and set it next to Carebear’s water bowl. He immediately nosed into the food and started gobbling chicken, ground beef, and rice.
“Is that okay for him?” asked Achan.
“Sure. No guac, no onions, no cheese, so it’s fine. What, you never had a dog before?”
“No. My parents weren’t the type to take care of anyone or anything besides themselves.” He smiled broadly, but it was too late—she’d seen the sadness in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He picked up one of his tacos. “Why? I had a great childhood. Big house full of stuff. Great school full of other rich kids.”
“And you were different.”
“You mean the magic?” He scoffed a little. “Sure, but it wasn’t just that. I was the skinny weird kid with glasses. The one who liked bugs and books instead of video games and surfing. And I couldn’t show off the one thing that might have made me cool, or at least feared, which is kind of the same thing.”
“Must have been tough.”
He took an enormous bite of taco and chewed slowly. After swallowing he said, “You were popular in school.”
“I—yeah, I guess so.”
He nodded. “They couldn’t help it.”
Blood roared into Soleil’s cheeks. “I didn’t mind-flex them all into liking me if that’s what you mean.” She took a savage bite of her burrito.
“Not at all,” he said gently. “You wouldn’t have to mind-flex them. You’re beautiful, funny, sassy, with that big smile—of course they loved you. You’re the sort of girl everyone likes. The kind of girl people want tobe—or bewith.”
Now it was her turn to scoff. “What about you? You look like the hot older brother Harry Potter never had.”
“You think I’m hot?” He grinned.
“Stop that. No false modesty, okay? You know you’re gorgeous.”
