Beautiful Chaos (Caster Chronicles 3)

Link shifted in his seat. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m gonna have to kick his—”

Lena grabbed the sleeve of his shirt before Link got up. “You’re not doing anything. Just behave, and she will, and then maybe you can actually start dating like normal people and stop this stupid game.”

“Shh!” The Summerville Tool shot us a look. “Shut up. Some of us are tryin’ to watch the movie.”

“Yeah, right,” Link yelled back at him. “I know what you’re tryin’ to watch.”

Link gave me a pleading look. “Please let me go outside and beat the crap outta him, before I miss any a the good parts. You know I’m gonna end up doin’ it anyway.”

He had a point. But he was a Linkubus, and the rules were different now.

“You ready to let Ridley beat the crap out of Savannah? Because you know she’ll do it.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know how much more a this I can take. Rid’s drivin’ me nuts.” For a second, the old Link was back, hung up on the girl who would always be out of his league. Maybe that was it. Maybe he would always think Ridley was out of his league, even though his league had changed.

“You have to ask her to Savannah’s party, as your date.” It was the only way to defuse this particular bomb.

“You kiddin’ me? That’s like askin’ for an open war with the whole squad. Savannah already has me doin’ all this extra stuff—comin’ over early to set up an’ everythin’.”

“I’m just calling it like I see it.” I dug into my Hot Tamales popcorn. My mouth was burning, which seemed like a sign. Time to keep it shut.

I wasn’t giving out any more advice.

By the end of the night, Link had beaten the crap out of the Summerville Tool in the parking lot. Ridley called Link every name in the book, and Savannah stepped in. For a minute, it looked like there was going to be a serious catfight, until Savannah remembered her arm was still in a sling, and pretended the whole thing was a big misunderstanding.

When I got home, there was a note taped to my front door. It was from Liv.

I changed my mind. See you at the party. XO Liv

XO.

That was just something girls wrote at the end of notes, right?

Right.

I was dead.

10.18

A Real Bad Girl

It took more than a little convincing to get Amma to let me go to Savannah Snow’s party. And it wasn’t like she would

n’t notice if I tried to sneak out. Amma never went anywhere anymore. She hadn’t gone home to Wader’s Creek once since she pulled the tarot spread that sent her into a voodoo queen’s crypt. She wouldn’t admit it, but when I asked her why she never went back home anymore, she got defensive.

“You think I can leave the Sisters to keep an eye on themselves? You know Thelma hasn’t been the least bit clear herself, since the accident.”

“Oh, Miss Amma. Quit your fussin’. I only get the eensiest bit confused, now an’ again,” Thelma called from the next room, where she was straightening the couches just so. Aunt Mercy liked one pillow and two blankets. Aunt Grace liked two pillows and one blanket. Aunt Mercy didn’t like used blankets, which meant you had to wash them before she’d let them near her. Aunt Grace didn’t like pillows that smelled like hair, even if it was her own. The sad thing was, since “the accident” I knew more about their pillow preferences and hiding places for coffee ice cream than I ever wanted to know.

The accident.

“The accident” used to mean my mom’s car crash. Now it was polite Southern code for Aunt Prue’s condition. I didn’t know if it made me feel better or worse, but once Amma started invoking “the accident,” there was no getting her to change her mind.

Still, I tried. “They don’t stay up past eight o’clock. How about we all hang out and play Scrabble together, and then I’ll go out once everyone is asleep?”

Amma shook her head as she pulled trays of cookies in and out of the oven. Snickerdoodles. Molasses. Shortbread. Cookies, not pie. Cookies were for delivery. She never fed cookies to the Greats. I don’t know why, but the Greats weren’t much for cookies. Which meant she still wasn’t talking to them.

“Who are you baking for tonight, Amma?”