I fumble for my phone as it buzzes in the dark.
I’m already awake. I’m awake because there’s no sleeping when Marguerite is this close to the weapons she needs. But it’s the dead quiet time of night when phones should not be ringing and I cannot stop the immediate surge of heart into throat.
Oh god, Em, there’s a used condom right next to me . . .
But it’s Jess, not Nor. They’re crying, but different from how Nor cried that night, on that call.
It’s finally happened. Their dad is moving to San Francisco. Their mom is fleeing to Saipan for the rest of the summer while strangers pack up the art and antiquities and sell the house. Jess has to go with one of them.
Annoyance surges through me and I wrap my hand around the rondel dagger that has taken up residence underneath my pillow. I breathe. Poor baby. A luxury high-rise in a city of diversity and culture, or a tropical island paradise. Since I’ve met them, they’ve talked constantly about wishing their parents would get it over with. Now it’s happening. Dreams come true.
“Can I come over?” they say.
But Marguerite has only just come face-to-face with Isabella. “You’re going to be fine,” I say. “I’ll call you in the morning.”