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“I’m not stupid, Jo. Even before that, Remnant women gossip, you know? Jealousy can really make a bitch talk.”

“You never said anything.”

“What was there to say? I’m your sister not your keeper. We all have our ways of dealing with our shit,” she sighs. “So back to Aedonaeus.”

“There isn’t much else to say. He’s obsessed with me.”

“Of course he is. He looked like a serial killer trying to hunt you down when I saw him. It was borderlining an interrogation.”

“I think I like him,” I tell her.

“Finally.” She slams her drink down, splashing sweet purple liquid onto the counter in little drops. “All this time I thought you would die miserable and alone.”

“I’m not miserable.”

“I thought Bella and I were going to have to buy a bigger place and move you in.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You would do the same for me.” She gives me an adoring look. One I give her every time I see her. In another Universe, things aren’t so complicated, and we’re all genuinely happy. I just know it. Her kindness is an atmosphere, and it’s giving me that warm cozy feeling, like when we would have sleepovers.

“You look good. Vacation looks good on you. Speaking of, have you heard any more from Stafford?”

“No.” I hesitate, calming my nerves before bringing up the dreaded subject. “I came here to talk to you about something.”

“This sounds bad.”

“I need to tell you the reason I’m technically on vacation.”

She takes a deep breath and nods, ready to hear it.

I launch right in. “That night Kate and Killian died. Someone came to kill them.”

“Obviously,” she says dryly.

“Killian told me that the danger was real. Remember that?”

“I do.” She shivers, as if we’re back in that frozen wasteland.

“Stafford said that people have been coming around asking for some book that Kate allegedly had.”

“Okay?”

“Remember how Killian packed our shit?”

She inspects her nail beds. “Is this going to be a play by play of the worst night of our lives?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just…apparently Kate was a witch.” I wait to see how my words fall on her ears. I’m not sure if she ever knew.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“You knew?”

“Of course I did. She was best friends with my mom.”

Vivian and I have never spoken much about her mother. She has made comments here and there, but it was never anything substantial.

“Your mom was a witch?”