Lyrics & Curses by Candace Robinson

Author:Candace Robinson [Robinson, Candace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Midnight Tide Publishing

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A zing ricocheted through Lark’s arm, sending her jolting upright. Too tired to worry about anything, she closed her eyes, drifting back off to a place with no supernatural.

Lark rolled over in bed, not wanting to wake up just yet. It was Sunday after all, and those days were her lazy ones. But the aroma of burnt bacon, eggs, and toast wafted underneath her door from the kitchen.

She stretched her arms to the ceiling and smiled to herself. Her room was as it should be—the records stacked neatly in the corner, clothing not set out in a line. As she got up, she yawned and headed to the kitchen in search of the blackened goodness.

Paloma was already seated at the table, twirling a lock of dark hair around her finger and flipping through an old Rolling Stone magazine with Billy Idol plastered on the cover.

“Can’t get enough of ridiculous idols, can you?” Lark laughed, slumping down in the already-pulled-out lawn chair. “Pun intended there because idol and Idol. Billy Idol has to be the male version of Madonna. Hanging crucifixes from…” She leaned forward and inspected the cover more closely. “What is that exactly? Underwear made of belts? Real hard, Billy.”

Paloma ignored her, didn’t even bat an eyelash. Lark furrowed her eyebrows, anticipating her sister’s comeback that never came.

Lark glanced at Beth, who was loading two plates with darkened bacon. Beth placed one plate of food in front of Paloma and the other at her own spot. She then went back and filled two glasses with orange juice and set them in front of herself and Paloma again.

Lark’s lips parted, wondering if she’d done something to offend anyone—more than usual. “What about me?” she asked, acutely aware of how much she sounded like a toddler desperately seeking attention. But she was sitting right there. If Beth didn’t want to make her breakfast, that was fine. Lark could cook her own.

Still, no one answered.

“Hello?” Lark waved her hands in front of them, but neither moved an inch, not even a roll of the eyes. Okay, they can’t be that good at putting up a front.

Lark ripped Paloma’s magazine out of her grip, accidentally knocking over her sister’s cup of orange juice. The cup shattered into fragile pieces as orange juice slicked the beaten floor tiles.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. Let me clean it up,” Lark said, handing the magazine back to Paloma, when she stopped cold. Her sister was already holding a new magazine. No, not a new one—the Billy Idol one.

Confused, Lark flipped over the magazine she had tightened in her hand—it was a duplicate. “You have two of the same magazines at the table?” Her voice came out strained as her eyes fell to the still-full cup of orange juice resting perfectly in front of Paloma. Lark’s stare shifted immediately to the spilled broken glass scattered on the floor.

Inside her chest, Lark’s lungs couldn’t keep up with her hard breaths as she examined the scene before her, more than confused by all of it.

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