Unreal Alchemy by Tansy Rayner Roberts

Author:Tansy Rayner Roberts [Roberts, Tansy Rayner]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-648-43707-9
Publisher: Tansy Rayner Roberts

“Road trip, road trip!” chanted Dec.

I tapped out the bridge of my almost-song against the side of the van while Juniper hauled her cello aboard, nestling it against the camping gear and as far from my drum kit as possible. “Nah, mate. It’s not a road trip if it takes less than four hours to get there. This is barely even a weekend drive.”

“I don’t see why I can’t be in the van,” Holly complained. “I never get to ride in the van.”

Her better half, the twin I would have married already if I was straight, rolled her eyes like a champ and waved her clipboard. Of course Hebes had an honest-to-pixies clipboard. No bet that she bought it new for the trip. “Sage needs to be close to his drums or he gets bratty, and I’m trying to limit the number of possible murders this weekend. Which means you and Sage don’t get trapped in an enclosed space together, under any circumstances.”

“I blame you for denying me the authentic tour bus experience,” Holly said, pointing her finger at me with all the emphasis of a wand.

“Not a bus, one show only, not a tour,” I corrected. “We’re not even stopping for lunch on the way. This is a camping holiday with a brief gig in the middle. Don’t go telling Instagram we’re on a fucken tour. It’s embarrassing.”

“Oh, we’re stopping for lunch,” said Hebe, her left eyeball twitching ever so elegantly. “If I don’t get to eat dirty burgers and potato cakes from a roadside cafe, there is no point to any of this.”

“I’m not travelling in that tiny little pixie car,” Holly announced loudly, pointing at Mei’s VW. “I refuse. Zip me up in Juniper’s cello case, I’m travelling authentic.”

Hebe gave her sister an unimpressed look. “Broomstick or backseat. Those are your choices.”

Hebe was playing hardball. Everyone knew that Holly was goddamned dangerous on a broom. Her magic reacted badly to altitude, and she had all the physical reflexes of a cockatoo on a sugar high.

“But shotgun,” Holly whined.

“Broomstick, or backseat.”

Fuming so hard her hair was in danger of vibrating away its pink highlights, Holly stalked to the van and snatched her broomstick from our collection. “I hate you all. I’ll be there to pick a campsite before any of you roll up.”

“I reserved our site!” said Hebe, starting to look worried. Not about the campsite, obviously. She’d had that locked down for months. But the sight of Holly holding a broomstick flashed warning signs in front of all our eyes. Our Hol was the only witch I knew who was less likely to get into a mid-air collision when she was drunk and stoned than when she was sober.

“I’ll swap whatever dinky site you picked with the first metalhead I see!” Holly said wildly.

This power struggle wasn’t about Hebe, though she was getting the worst of it as always. It was about me. Somehow, with band shit, it always came down to Holly and me, fighting for control.

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