Chapter 12: The Astral Warning
The astral plane tasted like copper and salt.
Mandy's eyes snapped open to a sky the color of a fresh bruise, all purples and greens and sickly yellows bleeding into each other. She was lying on her back on something that might have been sand, might have been crushed glass, and the air pressed against her skin like a living thing.
Naked. Of course she was fucking naked.
"Goddammit, Calista," she muttered, sitting up.
The beach stretched in every direction, infinite and wrong. The ocean was a flat sheet of mercury that reflected nothing, and the beach house—Judy's beach house, or some twisted echo of it—stood about thirty feet away, its walls shimmering like a heat mirage.
The house was breathing. She could see it.
"Great," Mandy said. "This again."
She stood up, brushed the not-sand off her not-body, and walked toward the house. Her feet made no sound. Her heart was beating too fast for someone who was technically asleep.
The door opened before she touched it.
Inside, the house was a funhouse mirror version of the real thing—the furniture was there, but the proportions were off, the angles wrong. The couch was too long. The ceiling was too low. The shadows in the corners moved like they were alive.
And on the floor, sprawled on a rug that kept changing colors, were Beth and Rick.
Both naked. Both looking thoroughly annoyed.
"You've got to be kidding me," Beth said.
"Hello to you too," Mandy said.
"You're the third one tonight." Beth gestured vaguely at Rick. "He showed up first. Then me. Now you."
Mandy looked at Rick. Rick looked back at her with the resigned expression of a man who had long ago accepted that his family was deeply, irredeemably weird.
"Calista?" Mandy asked.
"Calista," Rick confirmed.
"You're in Miami. She's with me in Chicago. How does her glamour even—"
"Don't ask questions you don't want answered," Beth said. "I've been here for twenty minutes. I've stopped trying to understand."
Mandy sat down on the floor. The rug changed to a pattern of screaming faces, then back to something like paisley. She decided not to look at it.
"So," she said. "This is fun."
"It's not," Rick said.
"I was being sarcastic."
"I know."
Beth rolled onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. Her short blonde hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under her eyes that Mandy hadn't noticed before—or maybe they were just an artifact of the astral plane.
"You look tired," Mandy said.
"I am tired. Marty kept me up half the night." Beth paused. "That came out wrong. He kept me up because he was worried about Shiv. She's planning something with Rainbor and Brigid and she won't tell us what it is."
"She's not telling you?"
"She's not telling me or Marty. We're supposed to be her guides. We're supposed to be teaching Marty how to live in the world." Beth's jaw tightened. "And she's treating us like children."
"Maybe she's protecting you."
"Maybe I don't need protecting."
Mandy considered this. "Fair."
"Also, she's old. She's allowed to be stubborn."
"She's, like, seventy."
"Seventy-three. She looks fifty." Beth shook her head. "It's the magic. Keeps her young. Meanwhile, I'm twenty and I feel like I've been awake for a century."
Rick, who had been quiet, spoke up. "Can we talk about something else? Please?"
"Like what?"
"Literally anything."
"Okay." Mandy leaned back on her hands. "I fucked everyone last night."
Beth blinked. "What?"
"Everyone. In the kitchen. Mom and Dad, Calista, Katrina, Mai, Ben, Jess, Jan." She grinned. "It was glorious."
Rick made a strangled sound.
"Details," Beth said. "Now."
So Mandy told them.
She told them about the shower—her and Mai, soap-slick skin and wandering hands, Mai's laugh echoing off the tiles as she told Mandy to walk to breakfast naked, just like she used to when she lived at the Horny House.
"You actually did it?" Beth asked.
"I actually did it."
"Mom and Dad didn't—"
"Dad's seen me naked before. Mom's seen me naked before. It's not like we're shy."
"But it's different when—"
"It's only different if you make it different." Mandy shrugged. "And Mai was there, and Mai doesn't make anything weird. She just... exists. Naked. Happy. It's contagious."
She told them about the kitchen—about the way the air had felt charged, like before a thunderstorm, Calista's glamour spilling off her sister in waves. About the way everyone had looked at everyone else, pupils blown, lips parted, every touch sparking static.
"I let Jess fuck Dad," Mandy said. "She rode him while I watched. He was—" She paused, trying to find the words. "He was really into it. Like, really into it."
Rick made another strangled sound.
"And Mom rode Ben. Like, rode him to exhaustion. He couldn't walk afterward. He just laid there on the floor, staring at the ceiling, whispering 'thank you' over and over."
"He was thanking Mom?" Beth asked.
"He was thanking everyone. He was thanking the universe."
"What were you doing?"
"I was with Jan. And Katrina. And Calista." Mandy's grin widened. "There were a lot of mouths involved."
"This is—"
"Hot? Yes."
"Insane," Beth finished.
"Also yes."
Rick, who had been studiously examining a corner of the ceiling, muttered something under his breath.
"What was that?" Mandy asked.
"I said it sounds like something Mai started."
"It was Mai who started it."
"Of course it was."
"She's a hedonist. Pure hedonism. She doesn't feel shame. I don't think she can feel shame." Mandy frowned thoughtfully. "It's kind of amazing."
"She's also your best friend."
"So?"
"So you and your best friend—"
"We were showering. There were hands. Things happened." Mandy waved a hand. "It's not a big deal."
"It's definitely a big deal."
"Rick." Mandy looked at him. "I love you. But you're sitting there with a hard-on, trying to talk about how weird my life is. So maybe you don't get to judge."
Rick's face went red.
Beth snorted.
"I'm not—"
"It's the astral plane. Bodies do things here. It's fine." Mandy gestured at her own body, at Beth's, at the space between them. "We're all naked. We're all horny. Calista's glamour is doing its thing. It's fine."
"It's not fine."
"It's a little fine."
Beth started laughing. It was a tired laugh, a slightly hysterical laugh, but it was a laugh.
"I hate this family," she said.
"You love this family."
"I hate that I love this family."
"That's more accurate."
Beth's laughter faded into something softer. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling that was somehow too low and too high at the same time.
"Marty's getting good at going down on me," she said.
Mandy raised an eyebrow. "Is he?"
"Really good. Like, way better than I expected." Beth's voice had gone dreamy. "He's methodical. He pays attention. He remembers what I like and he does it again."
"Methodical."
"He's an O'Connor. They're all—" She gestured vaguely. "—thorough."
"I've heard things."
"You've heard things?"
"About Johnny. About Jan. About Brigid." Mandy shrugged. "There are rumors."
"There are always rumors."
"These rumors seem credible."
Beth laughed again—that tired, hysterical laugh. "God, this plane is doing things to my brain. I'm talking about my boyfriend's oral technique with my sister on a dream beach."
"It's not a dream. It's the astral plane."
"Same difference."
Mandy opened her mouth to argue—
—and stopped.
Something was wrong.
The house was still there. Beth was still talking. Rick was still smiling, indulgent, listening. Everything looked normal.
But there was a light.
Not the sickly bruise-sky outside. Not the shifting, shimmering walls. A different light. A deeper light. A light that came from somewhere below, from somewhere inside, from somewhere that shouldn't exist.
It was beautiful.
Mandy had never seen anything like it. It was like staring into the sun, if the sun was soft, if the sun was kind, if the sun wanted to hold her and keep her warm forever.
She stood up.
"Where are you going?" Beth asked.
Mandy didn't answer.
The light was calling her. Not with words—with something older than words. With something that felt like a promise. Power. Safety. Peace. Everything she'd ever wanted, offered freely, offered without condition.
Just accept it. Just say yes.
Just step forward.
Her feet moved. The house dissolved. The beach dissolved. Everything dissolved except the light, and the light was so beautiful, and all she had to do was—
A hand closed around her wrist.
Mandy stopped.
The hand was thin. Old. Knobby-knuckled, with skin like parchment. It belonged to a man—an old man, bent and weathered, wearing robes that had once been white but were now stained with dirt and time.
She'd never seen him before.
Except she had.
She didn't know where, she didn't know when, but something in her recognized him. Something in her bones.
His eyes were clear and sad. He shook his head. Slowly. Deliberately.
Then he pressed a finger to his lips.
Shhh.
---
Mandy snapped back to the astral beach house like a rubber band.
Beth was still talking.
"—and he does this thing with his tongue where he—"
"I know what he does with his tongue," Mandy said.
Beth blinked. "Then why'd you ask?"
"I didn't."
"You just—"
"I didn't ask. You were just—" Mandy shook her head. "Never mind. Keep going."
Beth shrugged. Kept going.
Rick smiled indulgently.
Neither of them had noticed.
Neither of them had seen the light.
Neither of them had seen the man.
Mandy sat back down on the rug—screaming faces, paisley, screaming faces again—and tried to remember how to breathe.
---
She woke up gasping.
The Horny House bedroom. Her old bedroom. The one with the posters she'd put up when she was sixteen and never taken down—bands she didn't listen to anymore, movies she'd forgotten she liked.
Rembrandt was on the windowsill, his massive Maine Coon body silhouetted against the gray dawn sky. He turned his head, looked at her with those golden eyes, and yawned.
Jess was on her left. Naked. Asleep. Her dark hair spread across the pillow like ink, her face peaceful in a way it never was when she was awake.
Ben was on her right. Also naked. Also asleep. His mouth was open, just slightly, and he was snoring—a soft, rhythmic sound that Mandy usually found comforting.
Right now, it just made her feel alone.
She climbed out of bed.
The floorboards creaked under her feet. The hallway was dark, lit only by the pale blue glow of a nightlight she and Beth had installed when they were kids. She walked past her old room. Past Rick's old room. Past the bathroom.
Her parents' door was open.
She looked inside.
Mike and Casey were there—of course they were there, it was their bedroom. Both naked. Both tangled in sheets that had been kicked off sometime during the night. Mike was on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. Casey was on her side, facing the door, her silver-streaked hair falling across her face.
Mandy stood in the doorway for a long moment.
She could go back to her room. She could crawl into bed with Jess and Ben and pretend everything was normal. She could ignore the light, ignore the old man, ignore the feeling that something was coming for her.
She could be the Mandy everyone expected. Unflappable. Smirking. In control.
Instead, she walked into the room.
The floorboards creaked again. Mike stirred but didn't wake. Casey's eyes opened—slowly, sleepily, then wider when she saw who it was.
"Bug?" she whispered.
"Hey, Mom."
"What's wrong?"
Mandy didn't answer. She just climbed into the bed, into the space between her parents, and curled up against her mother's side.
Casey didn't ask again. She just wrapped her arms around Mandy and pulled her close. Her body was warm and soft and smelled like the lavender soap she'd used since Mandy was a kid.
"I've got you," Casey murmured.
Mandy closed her eyes.
She didn't cry. She wasn't a crier. But something in her chest loosened, something that had been clenched tight since she'd seen the light, and she let herself breathe.
Mike, still mostly asleep, rolled over and draped an arm across both of them—his hand landing somewhere on Mandy's shoulder, his snoring resuming almost immediately.
Mandy smiled despite herself.
Her parents were ridiculous. Her whole family was ridiculous. But they were here, and they were safe, and for a few hours, that was enough.
She slept.
---
The sun rose.
Mandy felt it more than saw it—the warmth on her face, the shift in the air, the gradual return of the world. She was still in her parents' bed, still bracketed between them, still safe.
For a moment, she didn't move. She just lay there, eyes closed, listening to her father's snoring and her mother's soft breathing, and let herself pretend that everything was fine.
Then the door opened.
Mandy's eyes snapped open—instinct, training, years of weird shit making her alert to sudden sounds. She turned her head.
Mai walked in.
Naked.
Of course she was naked. Mai was always naked. The heat, the beach, the exhibitionist streak a mile wide—Mandy had stopped questioning it months ago.
But this was different.
This was her parents' bedroom. Her parents' bed. Her parents, naked, asleep.
Mai walked to the foot of the bed like she owned it. Like she'd been invited. Like this was the most normal thing in the world.
Her dark hair was loose, falling past her shoulders. Her skin was golden in the morning light. Her body was—Mandy forced herself to look away, forced herself to focus on the absurdity rather than the arousal.
Mai pulled back the blankets.
Mike made a sound—a sleepy, confused sound—but didn't wake. Not fully. Not until Mai climbed onto the bed, positioned herself between his legs, and took his cock into her mouth.
Mandy's breath caught.
She should look away. She should leave. She should—
She didn't.
She watched.
Mai's technique was practiced, patient. She worked him with her lips and her tongue and her hand, slow strokes that built and built without rushing. Mike's body responded even before his mind caught up—his hips twitching, his breath hitching, his cock hardening in her mouth.
"Fuck," he muttered, still mostly asleep. "Fuck, what—"
Mai didn't stop. Didn't answer. Just kept going, taking him deeper, her throat working around him.
Casey woke next.
Mandy felt her mother stir, felt her shift, felt her turn to see what was happening. There was a moment of stillness—Casey processing, Casey understanding—and then she laughed.
Softly. Sleepily. Fondly.
"Is this a thing now?" Casey asked.
Mai pulled off just long enough to say, "It's a good morning."
"I can see that."
Mandy looked at her mother. Casey looked back.
There was no judgment in her eyes. No surprise. Just the familiar, slightly amused expression of a woman who had long since accepted that her life was strange and that strange was fine.
"Bug?" Casey said.
"Yeah?"
"Are you staying?"
Mandy thought about it.
Calista's glamour was still floating through the house—she could feel it, that faint electric hum under her skin. Or maybe it was just Mai, just the sheer hedonistic energy of a woman who had never met a boundary she didn't want to cross.
Or maybe it was both. Probably both.
"I'm staying," Mandy said.
Casey smiled. Ran a hand through Mandy's hair.
"Good," she said.
And Mike, finally awake, looked down at Mai's dark head bobbing between his legs, looked over at his wife and daughter watching him, and said the only thing he could say.
"Good morning."
Mai hummed around his cock, and the vibration made him gasp.
Beth had been right, Mandy thought. This family was insane.
She wouldn't trade it for anything.
She wouldn't trade it for anything.
Mai's head moved with a rhythm that spoke of practice, of patience, of a woman who understood that the journey mattered more than the destination. Her dark hair spilled across Mike's thighs like ink in water, and her hand worked the base of his cock while her mouth took the rest.
Mandy watched her father's face contort.
His eyes were open now—wide, dazed, flicking between his wife and his daughter like he wasn't sure which one was real. His hands gripped the sheets. His hips made small, involuntary movements that Mai absorbed without breaking stride.
"Jesus," Mike breathed.
Mai hummed again. That vibration. Mike's whole body jerked.
Casey propped herself up on one elbow, watching with an expression that hovered somewhere between amusement and arousal. Her nipples had gone hard—Mandy could see them, dark against her pale skin—and her hand had drifted down to rest on her own thigh.
"Bug," Casey said.
"Yeah?"
"Are you going to just watch?"
Mandy considered the question.
The glamour was thick in the room now—Calista's magic, Mai's presence, the accumulated charge of a house that had seen more sex in the last twelve hours than most saw in a year. It made everything feel possible. Everything feel permissible.
"Not just watching," Mandy said.
She reached down and grabbed Mai by the hair—not rough, but firm—and pulled her off her father's cock.
Mai came up gasping, lips swollen, chin slick with saliva. Her eyes were wild and bright, and she was grinning like she'd just won something.
"Hey," Mai said.
"Hey yourself."
"I was busy."
"I noticed." Mandy pulled her up, pulled her close, pulled her into a kiss that tasted like her father's cock and Mai's own hunger. "My turn."
Mai laughed against her mouth.
They fell into each other.
The bed shifted. Mike made a sound—relief or disappointment, hard to tell—and Casey was moving, sliding closer, her body pressing against Mandy's back. Her mother's hands found Mandy's hips, her breasts, her shoulders.
"You're so beautiful," Casey murmured against Mandy's ear.
"So are you."
"I'm old."
"You're not."
"I'm forty-eight."
"That's not old."
"It's older than you."
Mandy twisted, caught her mother's mouth in a kiss that was softer than the one she'd given Mai. Casey tasted like sleep and lavender soap. Her lips were warm. Her tongue was gentle.
"I love you," Mandy said.
"I love you too, Bug."
Mai, meanwhile, had turned her attention to Mike—not his cock this time, but his face. She kissed him deep and dirty while her hand wandered down his chest, his stomach, his thighs.
"You're so easy," Mai said.
"I'm not—"
"You are. It's adorable."
"I'm not adorable."
"You're a little adorable."
"Don't call me adorable when I'm naked."
"Would you prefer 'delicious'?"
Mike's face went red. Mai laughed.
And then they were all moving together.
Mandy wasn't sure who started what—it blurred, after a while, into a symphony of hands and mouths and bodies. She ended up on her back with Mai between her legs, that clever tongue doing things that made her see spots. Casey was beside them, kissing Mai's neck, her shoulder, her spine. Mike was behind Casey, his hands on her breasts, his cock pressing against her ass.
"Fuck," Mandy gasped.
"That's the idea," Mai said against her thigh.
"You're—"
"Talented? I know."
"Insufferable."
"That too."
Mandy laughed, then stopped laughing, because Mai's tongue had found exactly the right spot and her brain had stopped working. She heard herself moaning. Felt her hips bucking. Felt her mother's hand find hers and squeeze.
"Let go," Casey whispered. "It's okay."
Mandy let go.
The orgasm rolled through her like a wave—deep and slow and inexorable. She felt it in her toes, her fingers, the roots of her hair. When it was over, she was shaking.
Mai crawled up her body and kissed her.
"Good?" Mai asked.
"Shut up."
"That's not an answer."
"You're insufferable."
"You said that already."
"I'm saying it again."
Mai laughed. Kissed her again. Then turned to Casey, who was watching with that same amused-aroused expression.
"My turn," Mai said.
"Your turn?"
"Your turn."
Casey raised an eyebrow. "I'm forty-eight."
"You keep saying that like it means something."
"It means I'm—"
"Beautiful. Sexy. Delicious." Mai was already moving, already positioning herself between Casey's legs. "I don't care about numbers."
"You should."
"I don't."
Mai's head disappeared between Casey's thighs.
Casey's breath caught.
Mike, who had been watching the whole thing with the dazed expression of a man who'd given up trying to understand his life, moved closer. His hand found Mandy's shoulder.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I'm great."
"This is—"
"Insane? Yes."
"I was going to say 'a lot.'"
"That too."
Mike nodded. Looked at Casey, whose hips were starting to move, whose hands were fisted in Mai's hair.
"She's good at that," he said.
"She's good at everything."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
Mandy laughed. Leaned against her father's shoulder. Watched her mother come apart.
Casey's orgasm was quieter than Mandy's—a long shudder, a soft cry, a slow melt into the mattress. Mai emerged looking smug.
"You're welcome," Mai said.
"Fuck you," Casey breathed.
"Maybe later."
Mike cleared his throat. "So. I hate to be that guy, but—"
"You want to fuck someone," Mandy said.
"I want to fuck someone."
"Mom?"
Casey, still recovering, waved a hand vaguely. "Give me a minute."
"I can wait."
"No, you can't. You never could." Casey rolled onto her stomach, presenting herself with a laziness that was somehow more erotic than effort. "Just—be gentle."
Mike positioned himself behind her.
Mandy watched—how could she not watch—as her father pushed into her mother with a slow, careful thrust. Casey's back arched. Her fingers curled into the sheets.
"Fuck," she whispered.
"Good?"
"Shut up and move."
He moved.
Mandy watched for a while—the rhythm building, the sounds filling the room, the way her parents moved together like they'd been doing this for decades. Which, she supposed, they had.
Then Mai was beside her, and Mai's hand was between her legs, and Mandy stopped watching anything except the ceiling.
"Again?" Mai asked.
"Again."
"You're insatiable."
"Look who's talking."
Mai laughed. Fingers slid inside her. Mandy closed her eyes.
The room became a blur of sensation—Mike's grunts, Casey's moans, Mai's fingers, Mandy's own breathing getting faster and faster. Somewhere in the distance, she heard her father say something about Calista's glamour needing to calm the fuck down, and Casey laughed, and then they were both laughing, and Mandy was laughing too, and everything was ridiculous and perfect and hers.
She came again. Mai came shortly after—Mandy's hand, her mouth, her teeth on Mai's neck. Mike came with a shout that probably woke the neighbors. Casey came for the second time with a soft, surprised sound.
And then it was over.
They lay tangled in the sheets—four bodies, sweaty and satisfied, breathing in sync. The glamour had faded to a faint hum. The morning light was golden and kind.
Mike spoke first.
"I need a shower."
"Me too," Casey said.
"I'll wash your back," Mai offered.
They both looked at her.
"What?" Mai said. "I'm helpful."
Casey laughed. "Fine. But only if you behave."
"I never behave."
"I know."
They disappeared into the bathroom. Mandy heard the water start. Heard laughter. Heard something that might have been a moan.
She smiled.
---
Mandy wandered down the hall.
Her legs were shaky. Her hair was a disaster. She was naked, and she didn't care, because this was the Horny House and nobody in this house cared about naked.
Except—
She pushed open the door to her room and stopped.
Ben was on his back. Naked. His hands were fisted in the sheets, his head thrown back, his mouth open in a silent moan. Jess was riding him—reverse cowgirl, her dark hair spilling down her back, her hips moving in a rhythm that spoke of intent.
And Calista was there.
Mandy's adopted sister—well, technically niece, but they'd never thought of it that way—was on her knees beside them, her silver hair loose, her golden eyes half-closed. Her fingers were between her own legs, moving slowly, and her mouth was open, and she was making sounds that Mandy had definitely heard through walls before.
The glamour hit Mandy like a wave.
She grabbed the doorframe.
Calista looked up. Their eyes met. Calista's pupils were blown wide, her cheeks flushed, her whole body glowing with that ethereal half-elf radiance that made people do stupid things.
"Bug," Calista said.
"Calista."
"Join us?"
Mandy thought about it.
Ben's cock was glistening, sliding in and out of Jess's cunt. Jess was making those little gasping sounds she made when she was close. Calista was offering—her body, her magic, everything.
It would be easy. It would be fun. It would be—
"Not this time," Mandy said.
Calista blinked. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"You're never sure."
"I'm sure today."
Calista tilted her head. A lock of silver hair fell across her face. "Why?"
"Because someone needs to make breakfast."
"That's not a reason."
"It's my reason."
Mandy stepped back. Pulled the door closed.
Through the wood, she heard Jess come—a high, keening cry that made Mandy's thighs clench. Heard Ben groan. Heard Calista laugh, low and knowing.
She walked away.
---
The kitchen smelled like butter and vanilla.
Katrina stood at the counter, fully clothed in jeans and a tank top, her long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was pouring batter into the waffle iron—careful, precise, like she did everything.
She looked up when Mandy walked in.
"You're naked," Katrina said.
"So are you, underneath those clothes."
"That's not—"
"I'm aware." Mandy grabbed a shirt off the back of a chair—someone's, she didn't know whose—and pulled it on. It hung to her thighs. "Better?"
"Marginally."
"I'll take it."
Katrina smiled. It was a small smile, but it was real. That in itself was something—a year ago, Katrina hadn't smiled at all.
"Waffles," Mandy said.
"Waffles."
"You know we have cereal."
"Waffles are better."
"Fair."
Mandy grabbed a mug from the cabinet. Poured coffee from the pot. Added cream. Added sugar. Drank.
The kitchen felt almost normal. Almost domestic. Like any morning in any house anywhere.
Then Jan walked in.
Jan was dressed—actually dressed, jeans and a t-shirt, her red hair pulled back in a braid. She was on the phone, her voice low and urgent, and she was pacing.
"—no, I understand that, but you need to listen to me—" She paused. Listened. Her jaw tightened. "No. Absolutely not. You tell her to wait. You tell her I'm on my way."
Another pause.
"I don't care if she's the Merlin. This isn't—"
Another pause.
"Fine. Fine. Just—keep her there. I'll be there in six hours."
She hung up.
Mandy and Katrina exchanged a look.
"What was that about?" Mandy asked.
"No time." Jan was already moving, already grabbing her keys off the counter. "I have to get to Miami."
"Miami?"
"Shiv."
"What about Shiv?"
"She's doing something stupid." Jan paused at the door, looked back at them. "Something really stupid. Rainbor's already there. Brigid is with her. But if I know my mother—"
"What?"
"—she's not going to wait."
Jan grabbed Godfrey—the little Maltese had been sleeping on the couch, and he yelped in surprise when she scooped him up—and was out the door before Mandy could ask another question.
The screen door banged shut behind her.
Silence.
Katrina turned off the waffle iron. The last waffle sat there, perfectly golden, going cold.
"What was that about?" Katrina asked.
"I don't know."
"Was that—"
"I don't know."
Mandy stood still for a moment. The shirt she'd borrowed smelled like Mai—that faint coconut-sunshine scent that followed her everywhere. The coffee in her mug was getting cold.
She thought about Beth. About what Beth had said last night—on the astral plane, in that weird dream space where nothing made sense.
She's planning something with Rainbor and Brigid and she won't tell us what it is.
She thought about Shiv. About the Consortium prison. About the light that called to her from the astral plane.
And she thought about Jan's face—the tightness around her eyes, the urgency in her voice, the way she'd grabbed Godfrey like she might need him.
Something was wrong.
Something was really, really wrong.
The fun was over.
Mandy set down her coffee. Looked at Katrina.
"Find your shoes," she said. "We're going to need to figure out where we're going."
Katrina didn't ask why. She just nodded and left the room.
Mandy stood alone in the kitchen.
Outside, the sun was rising. The birds were singing. Somewhere upstairs, someone was laughing—Calista, probably, or Mai, or maybe all of them, tangled up in pleasure and magic and the simple, stupid joy of being alive.
It felt like a dream.
It felt like the last calm morning before a storm.
Mandy grabbed a waffle, bit into it, and started planning.