“It’s crap!”
I sit up and rub my face with my shirt. I should corner Fiona while I have a chance. I should make sure she doesn’t get arrested again. I should talk to her about Daphne. The world hasn’t stopped turning just because I’m dead and slowly dying. It could still get worse.
I stand up, and the blood drains from my head. I give myself a second, then walk into the kitchen. The kettle’s on, and Fiona’s reaching into the fridge.
“Where have you been?” I ask.
“Working. I do have a job.” My aunt is a vampire hunter now. The Coven gave her a warrant card. At some point, I should probably talk to her—I should probably talk to someone—about what I’ve learned about vampires.
（The fact that they may not all be murderers. That some of them are more like sexy bedbugs.） If I thought Fiona was any good at vampire hunting, I’d make it a higher priority.
I lean heavily on the open refrigerator door, resting my elbows on it.
“That’s why you’ve ignored my texts all week? Too busy working?”
She stands up, holding milk in one hand and ham in the other. She’s got a plum in her mouth. She shrugs.
I relieve her of the milk. “Fiona.”
She spits out the plum. “Is this about your stepmother? Christ, is that what’s got you all cut up?”
“What do you know about Daphne? Have you spoken to her?”
Fiona drops the ham onto the counter and starts slapping together a sandwich. “What I know is that your father’s marriage isn’t any of your business.”
“I’ve been talking to Mordelia—”
“Who is not my blood relative.”
“Well, she’s mine, and she hasn’t seen her mother in weeks. From what I can tell, Daphne’s either joined a cult or run off with another man.”
“Neither would surprise me.” Fiona gets out two mugs and goes for the kettle. “You know, under the old laws, your father is still married to your mother; those children aren’t even legitimate…”
I drop into a chair at the kitchen table, rubbing my forehead. “Curses, you’re impossible. Daphne is a lovely person.”
Fiona “pffft”s and sits across from me with her sandwich. She shoves a mug of tea in my direction. “Doesn’t make her your business. You can’t interfere in a marriage, Baz, legitimate or otherwise. If Daphne and your father are having troubles, that’s for them to work out.”
I press my fingers into my eyes.
“You really do look frightful,” she says, still chewing. “Do you need to, you know…”
I need to replace every single person in my life with someone more functional, is what I need. “Do I need to what?”
“You know…” she says.
Is my aunt asking me if I need to get laid?
She pushes her eye teeth over her bottom lip. “You know.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
She holds up both her hands, in surrender. One is holding a ham sandwich.
“Just looking out for you. No need to get chippy.”
“No, I don’t need to you know. ” I do, actually, but this isn’t something we just talk about. “I need you to focus. What if Daphne’s got herself into real trouble?”
Fiona rolls her eyes and takes another bite. “Your stepmum’s fine. She isn’t the first person to have their head turned by the latest Chosen One. You know plenty about that.”
I sit up. “Wait. What do you mean.”
Fiona stops chewing. “Nothing. It was just a figure of speech.”
“Figure of bollocks. What do you know, Fiona?”
She sits back, sighing, and working her tongue at her teeth like something is stuck there. “It really isn’t our business, Basil.”
“Tell me anyway.”
She sighs again. “All right … Well…” She sighs one more time. “I’ve heard your stepmother might be caught up in one of those Chosen One groups.”
“What Chosen One groups?”
“Is this actually news to you?”
“I don’t even know enough to know what you’re talking about!”
Fiona leans over the table. “The whole World of Mages thought your boyfriend had come to save them from a bad end, that he fulfilled thousands of years of prophecy…”
He isn’t my boyfriend, I think. “He isn’t the Chosen One,” I say—though I still half believe that he was.
She waves a hand in the air. “Well, we all know that now, don’t we? But thousands of years of prophecy don’t just go away. This is an excellent time to get into the Chosen One business. Everybody’s got a pet theory or a pet candidate.”