Chapter 4: Pity Party

I woke with grit in my eyes and a sick feeling in my stomach, feeling disoriented and out of sorts. It was still dark out, so unless I slept through the whole night, day and into the next, I hadn't caught much rest. A quick glance at the clock by my bedside told me it was the wee hours of early morning, a fact that made me decidedly cranky. Why couldn't I just have slumbered through the rest of this horrible night and managed to find a way to escape the house in the morning so no one could talk to me?

My stomach growled abruptly, a sharp reminder I hadn't eaten anything in my stomping retreat to my room earlier. And while I would have preferred to stay put and not risk running into family in my search for a snack, my body betrayed me, shoving me up and out of bed and heading me firmly toward the door before I could stop.

Fine. A quick bite and that was it.

It was impossible not to feel the absence of my family inside the house, the normal tremor of active magic missing while I descended the softly creaking stairs to the first floor. Weird, until I realized they hadn't vanished in some odd apocalypse or abandoned me to my fate, running off to parts unknown. I found them all, instead, in the back yard, the pulse of mixed powers dulled by weariness and, irritatingly enough, their contentment as they enjoyed each other's company.

How dare they have fun and love each other and all that yuck without me? Tears burned the corners of my eyes, my throat tight with loneliness. Forget them. While most of the guests had gone, the most important people in my life remained but I might as well have left with everyone else.

The fridge door swung open with a rattle as I used a little more force than I intended to jerk it wide. The light within cast a cold glow over me, the tile floor, leaving me feeling exposed in such brightness. I slammed it with great relish, hearing something tip over inside and ignoring the fact. Not like whoever opened it next didn't have the magic to clean up my mess.

Depressing, really. Enough so I opened the door again and righted the bottle of ketchup with specific determination. Then helped myself to the tray of casserole on the bottom shelf.

A bit of demon fire and a fork from the drawer and I munched with despondent dejection, not even tasting GreatGram's chicken pasta concoction. She was a great cook, I'd give her that. But it might as well have been dust and ashes in my mouth for all I appreciated it.

Done, I set my plate in the dishwasher, fork at a jaunty angle in the tray, before turning and hesitating with my gaze locked on the hallway to the stairs. Not because anyone was there. Oh, no, I was as alone as ever. But because I really didn't want to go back to my room.

Longing for company, for connection, carried me on hesitant feet to the back door, heart beating a little too fast. After the blow up I'd allowed myself earlier, it was quite possible I wouldn't be welcome in the gathering in the back yard. But they had to see my side, to understand I needed them to trust me and love me and treat me with the kind of respect I just wanted to give back.

Didn't they?

I paused at the door, fingers on the handle, peeking into the yard. Mom sat with Oliver, one leg draped over his on the bench they'd pulled forward from the wall of the house, forming part of a circle of seating that the others shared. GreatGram sat next to her, Demetrius beside his wife. I was surprised to see Nanna there, too, my heart breaking I'd missed her visit out of temper and frustration. If there was one person who stood up for me on a regular basis, it was the head of the World Paranormal Council. But Miriam Hayle was a busy woman, and fair enough. She had the entire plane's supernatural doings and goings on to deal with on a daily basis. Not like she had the time to come to my rescue when I needed her.

Still. It was nice when she did.

Poppa was with her, my grandfather's blue eyes locked on his wife like always. I knew his history, that he was a demon who chose our plane, something that happened long before I was born. Couldn't help feeling a strong kinship with him, though, as I did with my Aunt Meems. Two more people I knew had my back but just didn't have the time to spend.

Wasn't fair. Why was the family who had the most say the ones who understood me the least?

Charlotte and Sage were still there, the icy werequeen silently observing while her handsome husband seemed engaged in whatever conversation they were having, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, sea-green eyes catching the light of the hanging bulbs.

The final pair made me hesitate the longest to interrupt. Jiao always gave me the creeps, her silence and flat expression worse than Charlotte's, not a glimmer of anything human in her dark eyes. As for her husband, Sassafras's demon heritage made me sad, knowing he should have been one of the most protective of me. Not just because he, like Poppa and Aunt Meems, was a

demon, but because he'd spent 150 years defending and protecting and guiding the heirs to the Hayle coven.

That is, until my generation. Nice of him to just give up on me like that. The rational side of me knew I could go to him with anything, but the relationship he had with the Hayles had changed and I was well aware of it. His own kids took priority and again I knew that was a logical evolution. But where was my silver Persian to curl up on my pillow and purr me to sleep with his amber magic soothing my fears and hurts? Where was my snarky, supportive conscience to stare at me with amber eyes while his ears twitched and his whiskers drooped in response to my sadness?

Where was my Sassy?

I'd known some of that, as a child. Bits and pieces of it. Still missed, with a lump in my throat and sudden urge to howl in grief over the loss of the bulky, black lump of fur and glowing red eyes that was Galleytrot. The hound had been Gabriel's, but he'd been mine, too, in many ways. And as I stood there in the doorway and leaned my forehead against the cool glass, I gulped away sorrow and loss like a bitter draught of medicine.

No, none of that for Ethie Hayle. The poor witch heir who, I honestly thought needed them the most.

I almost didn't go outside then, flinching from the idea of facing all of them, even the kindness of Nanna and Poppa, the fumbling attempt Sassafras would make to connect with me. Mom's silence and GreatGram's refusal to let me go while the werequeen and lóng stared like statues of stoic justice.

Yeah, sounded like a fun time. Retreat was my only option after all.

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