Waiting for Sunday

chapter 13 - smoke and mirrors

Lillie's mind is so busy replaying Nao's words over and over again that she almost doesn't notice the lingering look Mira gives her as they cross the threshold into the foyer, the door's creak like an old song. It's not a pleasant look, either. Mira is calculating, calculating something like her anger and whether or not to express it.

Lillie exhales. You have to spend a lot of time with Mira to know that her calculations won't cease until someone else confronts them. "Mira? If you have something to say, just say it, please."

Mira's shoulders stiffen. "Now isn't the time," she says. "Felix is waiting for you. Just—"

"Just?"

"You're lucky you guys didn't get yourself killed," Mira snaps. "If this is what figuring out your curse means—experimenting with all this freaky, murderous voodoo shit—I'm done, Lillie."

At first Lillie is going to say nothing; after the evening's events she has very little energy left to deal with all of this in the first place. But then she hears it, that vicious bite to Mira's words, and she can't stop the heat that rises in her blood. "You always have to make it about you, don't you?"

Mira scoffs. "How am I making it about me—"

"You're only here because Moses forced you, remember? I didn't ask you, not really. Soon as we get back, you're free to go. You're not under contract."

The words are kind, but come out bitter: "Lillie, can't you see I'm just worried about you?"

"I can worry about myself," Lillie says. She nods her head towards the living room. "Excuse me."

By then, the sun has set and the living room is dark save for one floor lamp in the corner, a little island of gold in a sea of inky blue. Moses rests just within this island, both he and Nao's dog passed out on one of the big armchairs. Across from the napping duo, Felix has moved from the floor to the couch, still lying on his back, his eyes closed. Quincy leans over the sofa arm, her hand in Felix's hair.

She's the first to notice Lillie as she steps around Nao's inscrutable arrangement of potted ferns. "We think the freaky plant did a number on his throat," Quincy reports as Lillie joins them, crouching in front of the couch. "He's talking, but not much."

Felix's eyes flick open then, and though it is less clear how the pupil-less eye consisting of shifting storm clouds looks at anything, she at least assumes his gaze finds her face. Quincy's right; when he speaks it's in a croak, his voice box a radio with a shoddy signal. "Lillie?"

Quincy ruffles his hair. "I'll be in the kitchen," she whispers, and there's a mischievous glint in her eye. "I wanna see what's in the potions this guy makes, anyway."

Quincy winks at Lillie and gets up, vanishing around the corner. The silence settles around them like an obscure aroma, and Lillie lets it. There is nothing to say, everything to feel. The silence is gratefulness. Relief. It's more time when for a second Lillie was sure they had run out.

Felix shifts over a bit, patting the space next to him. "The floor's cold," he says, but it's clear each word takes more effort than he's used to. "Come up here?"

Lillie does, sitting on the cushion's edge, her hip nudging into his leg. "You don't have to talk if it hurts," she says. "Do you want something to drink? Water? Nao probably has tea—"

"Stay," Felix says, and even in his state it is a request so bold it almost sounds like an order, one Lillie is glad to obey. "I want to talk. I'll manage."

Lillie is surprised when this pulls a short laugh from her throat. "You're crazy."

"We both are," he replies. "We let some random woman in a barn put a spell on us, remember?"