The Feast Makers by H. A. Clarke

Author:H. A. Clarke [Clarke, H. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Paranormal, Magic, Lgbt, feminist fiction, Supernatural, hexes, outcast, demon, curses, Cliques, angst, teen, Occult, Coven, Witches, Lesbian, scapegracers, Female friendship, Queer, Fantasy, fantasy books for teens, fantasy books, young adult fantasy books, teen fiction books, books for 13 year old girls, books for 14 year old girls, teen books, young adult books, books for teens, YA books, Young Adult, books for teen girls, teen girl books, LGBT books, fantasy book, Diversity, lgbtq books for teens, fantasy novel, Fantasy fiction
Published: 2024-03-26T00:00:00+00:00

TWELVE

SAME MISTAKES

When Jing texted me, Shiloh had been lying facedown on the floor for upwards of an hour. I nudged them with a toe sometimes, gently beaned the back of their head with the kitschy Halloween stuffed animals that peppered my bedspread, but they did little by means of acknowledgment. A big-eyed mummy lay on its side in the middle of their back, a ratty owl in a wizard’s hat near their left elbow, a candy-corn snake across the back of their knees. They did not move at all. Their hair splayed around their head like petals on an upturned daisy, overbright in contrast with the black T-shirt overgrowth they’d laid themself upon. If the stuffed animals didn’t rise and fall, I would’ve thought that they had experienced some cardiac event and died.

“You could say I witchfound you,” I said as I closed the VMM. “The tables have turned.”

Shiloh made a wounded animal sound.

“Being a witch is very cool. Do you feel cool?”

“I am having a crisis.”

“All cool people are in crisis.”

Silence again. It was like talking to a mossy log. I leaned my elbows on my knees and peered down at them, gave them another nudge. “You are not nearly as pumped about your newfound access to magic as I thought you might be.” I hadn’t thought much, actually, in any direction about this. It hadn’t occurred to me until they’d brought up Tatum how likely it’d be, them having a specter of their own. I got the sense that it was complicated because, yeah, history and so on, but still. Was there not an initial spark of all-consuming joy upon the discovery of one’s own magic? They’d come around, I told myself. I covered the VMM with a pillow so that I wouldn’t have to look at it and could avoid a crisis of my own, and that’s when I got the notifications from Curse Daddy.

hey good afternoon bitch. are u working rn?

Nah we’re closed today why

can u meet me at ice cream gasoline in 15

Yeah totally wait are you ok

ya bb im ok lol

“Ice cream gasoline” meant a gas station about two blocks from here. It was always open and barely staffed, and the Scapegracers and I had committed many a misdemeanor there, and I held a perverse fondness for it as a meeting place now. Small towns, man. I stood up, peeled a flannel off a rung of my footboard and shouldered it on over the shirt I’d slept in. “Changing,” I said aloud. “Ass warning.”

Shiloh made a quiet sound and did not lift their head.

I kicked off my sleep sweats, jerked on a pair of jeans. Grommet belt, wallet, wallet chain, second wallet chain, carabiner, mismatched socks with holes and relative cleanliness, beanie, leather jacket—I ran through a mental list of things I might need and couldn’t come up with anything else.

“On the wardrobe,” Shiloh said into my floor.

“What?”

“You are wearing the shirt you slept in. Gross. Wardrobe.”

“You’re wearing the shirt you slept in,” I

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