Magic Tricks 🔮 Book 2 || gxg

Prologue

If Ada didn't get some coffee in her soon, she was going to snap. It's not that she didn't like mornings, they were fine enough. She liked mornings with breakfast, a little time to herself, maybe a nice shower. That morning, though, it was as dark out as when she went to sleep and everyone was busy, herself included.

It didn't take her long to pack her things. For one thing, she didn't like to spread out when she was away from home because of that exact stress. For another, she had only been there for just over a week. Sam, on the other hand, had appropriated a quarter of the sink and shower with her favourite soaps and creams, so it took her much longer. She hadn't even started on her other tasks when Ada slipped on her boots; she tried not to trip on the laces on the steps. Her task was trivial, but she believed it was because Cain had been prepared for this day for a while, so not much really needed to be done. He had a to go bag already. She hadn't seen him in a while.

Under her flashlight beam, perfect dew winked at her on the hoods of the cars, the blades of grass, the gravel under her boots. The cellar was easy to find, and she kept her time down there short. Cain had told her exactly where to find the jerrycan. She kept her head ducked low, breathing shallow as though the thick, stale, mouldering air was toxic. On her way out, she doubled back for the work bench.

"Right side, four down," she breathed, stretching the words out as her finger skimmed the dusty drawers. The one she wanted stuck, and she gave a great heave to get it open wide enough to see the first of many perfect coils in the deep, slender drawer.

Footsteps overhead sent thin streams of dust careening from the low beams and right into her hair. She scrubbed the spot, grossed out, hurrying up the steps with as much care as she could manage. The cool humidity was actually preferable to that compressed, earthy space. She brought her prizes to the truck first and got to work; she left the rope on the hood. That was not, thankfully, her problem.

She left the can just beside the front steps, but didn't go inside just yet. There was a lot of movement going on just then; instead, she pulled out the little case that fit in her palm better than her phone and removed the slender joint tucked in beside the hinge. It was a little flat, but just fine. Her fingers shook a little as she struck the lighter.

What was she so nervous about? Sam and her had spent a lot of time together already, what was the big deal about thirty-six hours in the car with her? Well, there was the half-dead, blood-crazed man who was going to be in the back seat. Not to mention, what about when they ran out of things to talk about? She sure hoped Sam wouldn't be sick of her by the end of it.

Cain came out with his bag a few minutes after she ground the blackened stub into the dirt, purpose giving him tunnel vision. He didn't see Ada until he emerged from the truck again and gave a little start. She grinned apologetically.

"How are you?" he asked, joining her under the window, pulling a pack of smokes out of his pocket. He waggled them and said, "Don't tell Aidan."

"I won't," she chuckled. "How's he doing?"

"Aidan? Well, I think. As well as can be expected, at least." The tip flared bright on a long drag.

"You don't think he feels kind of ... I don't know, robotic lately?"

"Oh, absolutely. But I think, given the circumstances, he could be taking things a lot worse. I'll be worried if he starts to sulk again."

Ada nodded slowly, sliding her hands in her pockets. "I guess you're right." Silence, apart from the cheery greetings the birds were sharing. "Can I do anything else? I'm all packed."

Cain thought for a moment. "Oh, could you give Noah some water? There's a jug and ladle already in there."

She wasn't expecting that, but agreed to it nonetheless. How hard could it be? Well, as it turns out, very. She was feeling pretty confident about it as she slipped into the room as though she might disturb his rest. She took the silver ladle, which had a small divot through which to pour, and filled it halfway, finally regarding Noah. Her first issue was the angle. She hoped to do the task with minimal contact, but she could tell as soon as she touched the ladle to his lips it wouldn't work. So, she begrudgingly tilted his head with her free hand and did her best to pour the water into his mouth and not onto him. The whole while she tried to ignore the feel of his greasy hair under her palm. She was only about half successful in her task. Fortunately, there was a hand towel beside the jug and she dabbed away what she could.