Darkmoon (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

destroy something that had come from such beauty.
    With a sigh, I wrapped the plastic stick with its ominous pink lines in more toilet paper and then dropped it in the trash can. It had told me what I needed to know, and I didn’t want to look at it anymore. I knew I should probably be calling Planned Parenthood to get a real test, for confirmation and to determine just how far along I was, but that could wait a day or two. My aunt and I saw a civilian GP down in Cottonwood when the need for something beyond over-the-counter medicine or folk cures was required, since our clan didn’t currently have a healer. I knew my doctor could probably do the same thing for me as the staff at Planned Parenthood. But she knew me; there would be questions, and I just didn’t know how to answer them.
    I could hear my phone ringing from where I’d left it on the dresser in my bedroom. I almost let it roll over to voicemail, but then I realized it was probably Sydney calling, and she’d just keep calling back until I answered her. She’d made me promise to go to the Spirit Room with her, since Black Forest Society was playing, and although I’d tried to protest, had said I didn’t want to see a band Connor liked so much, she said it was important that I go.
    “Kind of like shock therapy,” she told me. “You can’t hide from things forever. We saw them last summer and had a good time.”
    All of that was true, I supposed. I couldn’t block out everything that might raise the specter of a memory I’d shared with Connor. Especially now, when I had something I really couldn’t hide from. Not for long, anyway.
    As I went into the bedroom, I placed one hand on my stomach, which of course still felt completely flat. At least I hadn’t been throwing up or anything. From time to time I had felt a little tired, but I’d just figured that was because of everything that was going on and the general ennui that had surrounded me ever since I came back to Jerome after Connor threw me out. I’d had no reason to believe I might be pregnant. Or actually, I’d had several reasons, but my grief-fogged brain had skipped right over them.
    I picked up the phone. “Hi, Sydney.”
    She launched into a reply without even the semblance of a preamble. “So, Anthony got called in to work, which means I don’t think we’ll be able to make dinner, since he’s not off until seven-thirty. Can we just meet you at the Spirit Room at eight?”
    In a way, that was a relief. That meant less time where I’d have to pretend to act normal around them. “Sure. I’ll get us some good seats.”
    “Great.” A pause, and then she asked, “Are you okay? You sound funny.”
    “I’m fine,” I replied, the automatic response, whether it was true or not. “Allergies, maybe. I just had a sneezing fit after doing some dusting.”
    “Okay,” she said, but I could tell from her tone that she didn’t quite believe me. Then again, she knew I’d been skirting the edges of depression for a while. It had been getting better, but that didn’t mean I didn’t stop suddenly from time to time and let the tears flow over me whenever I let my guard down. “Well, then, we’ll see you around eight. It might be a little later, depending on how long it takes Anthony to close up.”
    “No worries,” I told her, since I knew that was what she wanted to hear. “See ya.”
    “’Bye!” she chirped, falsely cheery, and I hit the “end” button and tossed my phone on the bed.
    Then I looked up at the clock. A quarter after three, which meant I had about five hours to compose myself and get myself in a mental state where Sydney wouldn’t notice anything was wrong.
    Right.
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    S ince it was a Tuesday night , the Spirit Room wasn’t all that crowded when I got there a little before eight. I knew a lot of the crowd would start trickling in later, and in fact the band was still setting up, so I could tell they weren’t going to start at eight on the dot. Moving purely by