Page 89 of Devil's Iris
The questions circle in my brain relentlessly, but I shove them down, focusing instead on the warm sunlight on my face—only to spot my mischievous cat at the edge of the small pond I discovered behind the house. She’s crouched low in a perfect hunting stance, amber eyes locked on the tiny fish swimming below.
“Lady Heathcliff, no!”
She turns those amber eyes towards me for exactly half a second—just long enough to let me know she heard me and doesn’t give a damn about my opinion—then launches herself straight into the water.
“Shit!” I scramble to my feet as she immediately realizes what a spectacular mistake she has made. She yowls in panic while she thrashes around, sending water spraying everywhere, all over me.
“What did I tell you about thinking things through before you act?” I snap, grabbing her by the scruff—the only safe way to handle a wet, terrified cat without getting shredded—and hauling her out of the water.
She meows accusingly at my face, clearly convinced thiswhole mess is somehowmyfault. Typical. I shake my head and hurry into the house through the back door with her soggy, shivering form clutched against my equally soggy shirt.
Upstairs in the bathroom, I wrap her in a fluffy towel, then plug in my hair dryer, setting it to the cool setting. The moment I start running the warm air over her damp fur, she transforms from angry wet gremlin to purring angel, her eyes slipping closed in bliss as she starts purring.
“Look at you. Such a drama queen,” I murmur, but I’m smiling despite myself.
She’s completely addicted to the hair dryer—I discovered this during her first bath, and now it’s become part of our routine. The spoiled princess never wants the pampering to end. Lucky for her, I’ve got all day to spoil her rotten.
My phone’s shrill ring suddenly cuts through our bonding session. I switch off the dryer—much to Lady Heathcliff’s vocal displeasure—and toss it safely into a drawer before she can get any dangerous ideas about investigating and hurting herself.
“Just hold on, your majesty,” I tell the spoiled kitten as I walk towards the nightstand to pick up my phone.
It’s an unknown number, but there’s something familiar about the sequence of digits. When I answer, I realize why. “Hello?”
“Leni, what the hell? I’ve been trying to reach you for the past twenty minutes.”Bree.My old neighbor from Brownsville. I’d recognize that nasally, condescending voice anywhere.
“What do you want?” I ask, already dreading the answer; Bree never calls with good news.
“Is that any way to talk to a concerned neighbor who’s trying to do you a favor? Who’s been desperately trying to reach you for twenty whole minutes to give you information you need to know?”
A lump swells in my throat, because I just know who this isabout. My voice comes out almost a whisper. “What’s going on?”
“Your…motheris here. Next door. And she’s making quite the spectacle of herself in front of your former house,” she bites out, voice smug. “Thought you should know.” Then she hangs up, leaving only the dial tone buzzing in my ear.
My eyes squeeze shut.
Shit.
I glance down at Lady Heathcliff, who’s watching me with those intelligent amber eyes like she can sense the shift in my mood. “Fucking hell, Lady. What am I going to do with her?” But there’s only one thing to do, really. There’s always only one thing to do when it comes to my mother. “Stay put, sweetheart. I’ll be back soon.”
I fire off a text to Dean, who’s always on standby with the Maybach that’s practically mine now since Romero started using his sleek SUV for whatever mysterious business keeps him away from home. Then, running a hand through my hair, I make my way out of the bedroom, making sure to leave the door cracked just enough in case Lady needs to use her litter box.
Dean is already pulling up as I reach the driveway. I don’t even wait for him to come around to open my door; I slide in myself. He already knows the destination from my text, so I just lean back in my seat, heart pounding as we leave Romero’s compound.
Just what kind of scene is Mom causing this time?
My mind races through increasingly horrifying possibilities as we navigate through Brooklyn traffic. If she’s back at the old house instead of the beautiful house Romero set up for her and Ethan, then she must have been using again. She’d been doing so well since our wedding. Whatever Romero said to her the day after she slapped me has kept her sober for weeks, and I actually started believing things might be different this time.
Stupid me.
The second we pull into Brownsville, a familiar wave of unease presses down on me. I sit up straighter, staring out at the cracked pavements and graffitied mailboxes, the lump in my throat tightening the closer we get to the old house.
When the car slows, Dean glances back. “We’re here, ma’am.”
I nod wordlessly, then step out. And there she is—impossible to miss. Spread-eagled on the brittle grass in front of our old house. In just her underwear. Dirt smudged along her thigh. A half-burned cigarette dangling between her fingers.
Her eyes are open but glassy, her pupils blown.She’s high as the fucking clouds.
My muscles lock as I watch her.Move, I tell myself.Get out there and fucking help her. But my body refuses to cooperate.
