Page 97 of Eat. Prey. Love.
What the hell is that about?
Rufus shrugs when I look at him and then sighs dramatically. “If only. I’msucha bite whore. It cranks my engine like no other.”
“Alright, that’s enough sex talk,” I say when I see Cori’s expression. I pick up a bottle of nail polish. “Since this is officially a slumber party, what color am I going with tonight?”
“Something bright and loud,” Cori suggests as she looks through the selection on the table. “I still want to know which guy is next, by the way. Who’ll be lucky mate number three?”
I consider her question, painting a perfect stroke of magenta on my nails. “I’ll know when it’s time,” I reply confidently. “My bunny instincts haven’t steered me wrong yet.”
“Speaking of knowing when it’s time,” Rufus chimes in, “what’s the scoop with your voice practicum song? We told you ours and you haven’t shared.”
I know he’s changing the topic again because Cori is being weird, and I’m grateful for it, even if I’m not ready to answer this yet. “That’s under wraps. It’s going to be a surprise.”
“Fine, keep your secrets,” Rufus says, feigning annoyance. “But you owe me a sneak peek before the big day.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” I tease as Cori takes the polish to start on my nails.
Laughter and chatter fill the room, the air thick with the scent of fried sweets and the warmth of friendship. It’s a comfortable bubble until the shrill ring of the phone punctures it.
“Who the hell is that at nine p.m. on a Saturday?” Cori muses, cocking her head.
I reach for the receiver, the playful banter fading into silence. The moment I hear the voice on the other end, my heart stutters, a chill running down my spine. The laughter and warmth of moments ago evaporate like mist as I stare at the faces of my friends, their expressions turning to concern. “Good evening, Lucille.”
“Youarealive. Who would have known?” The voice drips with venom and I have to steel myself for how this conversation will likely go. Her words slither through the phone line as she adds, “You’ve been quite the disappointment—again.”
Blood drains from my face, leaving a sickly pallor. I haven’t spoken to her since the Yule break. I knew I’ve needed to call her since Bruno’s explosive departure from this world—not that I mourn him—but I've been putting it off.
This is exactly why, despite my confidence upgrade and successes on the playing field.
“What seems to be the problem, Lucille? I can’t imagine what ‘problem’ you’re referencing.”
“Acting as if you’re clueless again?” she hisses. “Don’t make me laugh. You will fix this mess you’ve made, or I will find a way to do it for you—and you won’t like it.”
I glance at Rufus and Cori, shrugging in confusion. They know enough about Lucille to understand the danger she presents, but it’s a fool’s errand to guess without any context.Fix what?I think frantically, but keep my tone steady. “Perhaps you could enlightenme? I’ve been very busy with school—trying to catch up—and my grades are excellent. I don’t know what you need me to address.”
“Your behavior reflects poorly on our family. Actions have consequences, Delores Diamond Drew. Dire ones, if you don’t get it together quickly.”
Is she drunk and alone with no one to berate since Bruno’s pushing up daisies? I have no idea what the fuck she means.
“Lucille,” I say, my voice steady despite the ice slithering down my spine, “I’m doing well here; I promise.”
“Fine?” Lucille’s laugh crackles through the phone, a sound devoid of any genuine mirth. “Is that what you call your... spectacle? You need a firmer hand, Delores, and if you don’t start showing some respect for our name, then I’ll send someone to ensure you do.”
That veiled threat sends a shiver through me. The last thing I need on top of everything else is her enforcer, turning up to put me in line. I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice level. “There’s no need for that; I will make sure everything is taken care of.”
“You’d better.This embarrassment you’re causing us needs to be dealt with.” Her tone sharpens like claws unsheathing. “And it will be, one way or another.”
Her threat hangs heavy in the air, a noose waiting to tighten. Part of me wants to lash out, to demand she stop speaking in riddles, but that would only send her spiraling further into rage. Instead, I take a different tack. Much like Rufus, I’m going to change the fucking topic—fast.
“Speaking of family, I have to do a Shifter History paper and I’d love for you to give me some information on your family from Russia. How are they, anyway?”
I don’t know shit about her family other than a brief memory ofher talking about her father, but if this gets her off my ass and gives me info for our reasearch, I’ll say whatever I need to.
“Ah, darling, they thrive as always,” Lucille replies, the pride in her tone unmistakable. Yet, she reveals nothing substantial, no tidbits of information I can use. It’s all smoke and mirrors with her. “I’m afraid I don’t have time to discuss the old country, though. I have other things to attend to.”
At nine at night on Saturday? I don’t even want to know.
“Perhaps on another call then,” I reply, trying to keep the eagerness out of my voice. The guys and I believe knowing about her family history might give me a clue about my… exceptional circumstances, but if Lucille knows Iwantto know something she will work her hardest to make sure I don’t get the info out of pure spite.