“I know, baby,” Dove murmurs. She holds the other woman tight.
Phantom has moved away from the girls. He’s on the sidewalk, eyes scanning the road for a cab. I join in beside him.
“I just don’t get it,” I say. “He spent all that time creating the scavenger hunt for her, and then he doesn’t give a shit at all.”
Phantom gives me a look like I’ve lost the plot.
“Brody didn’t make the scavenger hunt.”
If Brody didn’t, then who…?
Ah.
It makes sense now, Phantom’s lack of participation in the hunt. He wasn’t bored. He just knew where the clues were the whole time.
His gaze finds the road again. It’s started to snow again. It clings to his hair, dusting his shoulders. “Do you love Dove?”
I want to tell him something else. But he’s told me his truth. In a stupid, uncharacteristic moment of honesty, I say: “Yes.”
He doesn’t hold it against me. He just nods solemnly.
“City magic, right?” he says.
There’s a sharpness to the wordmagicthat makes it sound less like a gift, more like a curse. He holds out his arm and a yellow cab breaks through the darkness as though summoned, slowing beside us.
“Make sure they get home safe,” Phantom tells me. Then he steps away.
The girls stumble over. Dove eases Ophelia inside the cab. She gives Princess a tight hug, then climbs in the cab herself.
I linger. Should I stay? Go?
What does Dove want?
The night’s taken a turn.
“Dorian!” Dove leans out the cab and motions me in. “You coming?”
Of course.
I get in the cab and close the door behind me. The car jerks forward. Ophelia is bent over her knees, groaning, as Dove rubs her back. I glance back through the window. It’s started snowing again, and it clings to the window, erasing the Seekers from view.
Ophelia gets sick in the cab.
Then again outside their apartment building as Dove struggles to get the keys in the door.
Ophelia and Dove live on the third floor of a walk-up. It takes us twice as long to get upstairs as I half-carry Ophelia under my arm, doing my best to keepher upright.
As we tumble into their apartment, Ophelia makes a choking sound. “Bathroom?” I ask urgently.
“Over there,” Dove points to a closed door and I immediately steer Ophelia towards it. I get her inside and she stumbles to the toilet, barely making it there before she throws up again. I crouch behind her, quickly pulling her thick hair back from her face.
“Fuck!” she spits into the toilet.
“You’re alright,” I tell her.
“I’ll get you some water,” Dove says, lingering in the doorway.
“And crackers,” I add. “Something salty.”
