Page 3 of Knotty Bargain (Monster Holidays #3)
CHAPTER 3
CORDELIA
B y the time we walk into Miranda’s house, my cheeks are hurting from laughing at Sylvia’s creative ways of insulting Vivian without setting her mom off. We drag our suitcases into the foyer and I have to balance on the well to catch my breath.
“What I mean is,” Sylvia goes on, “Vivian’s so impressive. Most people need to try hard to be mean, but for her, it just seems so natural.” She lands the suitcase too close to my foot and I jump out of her way. “Unlike that hair of hers. She uses hashtag-natural-red-headed in her pictures; have you seen it? She’s so fake.”
“Chill,” I say amid laughter. “I know you don’t like her, but don’t take it out on me! My foot’s done nothing wrong!”
“I can’t say I disagree,” Miranda says, walking into the house and turning the lights on. “About her being mean. And that passive aggressiveness? It’s such a cowardly move. But then she’s marrying into the Thorne family and they’re rich rich. I wouldn’t get in trouble with them if I could avoid it.”
I meet Sylvia’s eyes. Miranda’s right. Vivian is cruel and the Thorns are assholes, but they own the town. I wouldn’t get in trouble with them at risk of hurting Miranda. Though Sylvia and I moved away, Miranda still lives and works here. She loves her little esoteric shop—she’s always loved it. How could I ruin things for her because of an ex I didn’t even love?
Sylvia takes the lead, pulling her suitcase into the living room. “I know, Mom. We won’t. It just drives me mad.” She waves at me. “She stabbed Lia in the back for some man and now she treats Lia as if she were the one doing the stealing.”
Miranda waves this off. “She’s insecure, that’s all. Once a cheater, always a cheater. She can’t trust Marcus, so she blames Lia.” She raises her hands and flaps them around in the air as if cleaning the energy. “Let’s focus on the good stuff!”Miranda sweeps into the kitchen, her long skirts swishing. She flashes us a mysterious smile. “I have a surprise waiting. Homemade lasagna. You girls go grab a shower and I’ll warm it up.” She winks at me. “Welcome home.”
Miranda’s house envelops me like a warm hug, the faint aroma of sandalwood tickling my nose. Candles wait to be lit up in adorned sconces. The fluffy rug in front of the sofa is new, as is the TV. She’s painted a wall dark green and hung black picture frames in it. It couldn’t get more witchy. More magical.
But it’s not home, is it? Mom always had money trouble, so we moved around quite a lot between neighboring towns. Then, after she passed, I moved in with Miranda and Sylvia, and they’ve always done their best to make me feel at home. This is not on them. I know I’m being ungrateful, but... it’s not the same.
It’s not mine .
I roll my suitcase across the hardwood floors, the wheels rumbling, as I make my way to my old bedroom. Pushing open the door, I’m transported back in time. Movie posters still plaster the pale lavender walls, a weird mix of Mean Girls and Evil Dead. Sheer white curtains billow at the windows, cracked open an inch. My bookshelf overflows with books from my YA era, from Cassandra Clare to Lauren Kate and Richelle Mead.
I heave my suitcase onto the bed, the floral quilt crinkling. I’m almost done putting my clothes away when Sylvia walks in. Her dark hair is pulled up into a bun peppered in water droplets. She’s changed into her fleece pajamas, her face fresh from the shower. The mattress squeaks as Sylvia flops down beside it dramatically. She rolls her eyes to the ceiling.
“Can you believe Vivian? She’s so annoying!” she continues the subject as if fifteen minutes haven’t passed. “I can’t believe Mom convinced us this was a good idea. Going to the wedding. I don’t want to be the bigger person or whatever.” She sulks.
“Well, it’s too late now. We’re here. Besides, you heard Vivian bragging. She probably would’ve gone on and on about how I was too scared to show up.” I shrug. “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”
“Yeah, but that’s the other thing!” Sylvia sits up, hugging a pillow to her chest. Her eyebrows draw together. “Now that you told her you have a boyfriend, we’ll have to find a way out of that lie, too. What were you thinking, Lia?”
Heat floods my cheeks as I put the empty suitcase away and sit next to Syl. “I don’t know, I panicked!”
“I noticed! I know you were upset at the betrayal, as you should, but this was years ago. And I thought you weren’t looking for a boyfriend.”
“I’m not.” Definitely not. “But she’s always trying to one-up me. For a change, I wanted to see the disappointment on her face.” I trail off, fidgeting with the hem of my sweater.
Sylvia studies me, her gaze penetrating. “Lia. Babe.” She sits up and grabs my hand. “You know Mom’s right. Vivian is insecure and jealous.” She squeezes my hand, her lips twisting into something wicked. “That said, I loved the disappointed look on her face.”
I chuckle. “For a second, I thought you were going to say something serious. Like how society primes us for female competition.”
“That’s all true, but feminism doesn’t force me to like all women. I respect Vivian as a woman, even though I want to slap her.” Sylvia leaps up from the bed, her face brightening. “Wait, I have an idea! Give me one sec.” She dashes out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the hall. I hear her scream, “Mom! Where is—” and then nothing.
I barely have time to raise an eyebrow before she’s back, slightly out of breath. In her hands, she clutches a thick, worn book and a strange object wrapped in cloth.
“Look!” Sylvia brandishes the book, and I glimpse the title embossed in gold on the cover: Love Spells & Rituals.
“No,” I immediately say. “No, no, no. We’re not going into your mom’s books again.” We used to do that all the time when we were teenagers and I still remember the tummy aches we had trying magic potions.
Syl ignores me and sets the book down on the bed. “This one we never tried before. Mom wouldn’t let us, remember?And this...” She unwraps the cloth to reveal a statue about the size of my hand.
Oh, I remember her poking it back in the store. This one is not white marble, but an earthy green jade.The base is rounded and broad, while the middle section gently curves and tapers. Near the top, it widens slightly, adorned with etched spirals or delicate leaf-like patterns that seem to unfurl upwards.
“What’s that?” I ask, arching an eyebrow. It’s unmistakably phallic.
“A fertility icon,” Syl replies, putting it in my hand. “For the love spell. It’ll make it more powerful.”
My fingers close around it. The surface is perfectly smooth and cold to the touch. I can’t help but chuckle. “Really, Syl? A love spell?”
“Why not?” Sylvia waggles her eyebrows at me. “It’s worth a shot, right? Unless you have any other bright ideas.”
I heave a sigh, feeling the weight of my predicament settle on my shoulders. Do I believe it’ll work? No. But the other option is dating apps and I’m not eager to try those. I don’t even think they’d work here.
“Okay, fine. But first...” I put the icon down and shoot to my feet. My stomach rumbles with hunger and I’m too sober to attempt love spells. “I’m going to need some of Miranda’s lasagna. And wine. Lots of wine.”