Ro got the story out of me, bit by bit, between bouts of heavy, bone-shaking sobs. I'd never cried like that before, and by the time I finally caught my breath, I could barely stand when Ro helped me to my feet.
"I have to call the police," I sniffed, scrubbing my charmingly tear and snot streaked face with my sleeve. "I have to—"
"Present yourself as suspect number one?" Ro interjected, arching a thin, dark brow at me. His yellow eyes gleamed bright, but the rest of him—his dusky skin and shadowed hair, and his trim form clothed in black—blended with the pervading gloom of my father's abandoned house.
"But, Jamie..."
"Jamie is dead. Calling the police won't change that. It will, however, alert whoever killed him that they got the wrong man."
"What?"
He gave me a look that said, you're cute, but dense.
"That was a hit, Ellie, meant for you. Let them think they got you, at least for a day or so." He frowned. "Honestly, I didn't expect trouble to find you so fast; I'd have never left you alone, otherwise. But, on the plus side, it seems you've a got a bit of magic in you, after all. The spectre wouldn't have sensed you, otherwise."
I sniffed again and blinked at him. "The what?"
Ro patted my shoulder, and I got the sense he pitied me—as one might pity a child, who obviously isn't very bright, and will probably have a hard time in life because of it.
Absently, I wondered if all daemons were so judgy, or only the cat ones.
"Come along," he said, guiding me down the hallway to the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up. You smell like the back alley of a daemon club at 4 am."
"But the water's off," I argued weakly. "And the bathroom's full of..."
I trailed off as we reached the door and Ro opened it. Beyond, the bathroom—which before had been a disaster of stains, grime, watermarks, and piles of varied junk—was now spotlessly clean. Fluffy towels waited on the rack, and fresh toiletries lined the shelves.
"All taken care of," Ro said, and turned the tap. Water—clear and steaming hot, gushed out. "Go on now, and take care of yourself.Then we can talk about the rest."
Handing me a set of clean, neatly folded clothes from who-knows-where, he left me alone.
Operating on autopilot, I stripped, showered, dried off, and dressed myself in the soft, comfortable loungewear Ro had given me. I felt better afterwards, as if I'd washed away some unseen stain from the scene of Jamie's death along with the dirt of what had been, arguably, the worst day of my life. So far.
I found Ro in the kitchen, along with another surprise: this room, too, had undergone a dramatic makeover.
The counters were clean, and the copper pans hanging from the rack above the stove gleamed with a showroom shine. The stale, rotten odor from before had vanished, replaced by the aroma of exotic spices and fresh herbs, and the hardwood floor looked recently scrubbed.
Ro stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot. He looked over his shoulder at me, a satisfied smirk lifting one side of his mouth.
"Looks like I guessed right," he said.
"About what?" I asked, steadying myself against the side of the arched entryway. I still felt weak from earlier, and I realized I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.
"Your size," Ro said. "Same as your father. You're a bit thinner, though."
I frowned, not liking to be compared to my father even in this minor regard.
YOU ARE READING
Bad Luck, Baby
FantastiqueEllie Harris (they/he) has hit a patch of bad luck. Their dad died, they lost their job, their boyfriend cheated on them, and, to top things off, they literally trip over a black cat. What else could go wrong? Then Ellie learns their dad was a witc...
