MirrorMirror

25 / The Sister and the Sewer

Some questions hang in the air like the axe of an executioner.

One wrong move, and your head is rolling around in the bottom of a basket. One wrong word, and everyone is covered in the spraying blood of your mis-stepped enquiry. Some questions linger, leaving a bitter taste on the tongue of the speaker, making them regret their curiosity and feel relief at not being a cat.

Cassidy's hovered before him, a swarm of hornets deciding whether or not to sting him, as he had stung Amy.

There was a distinct, lengthy space between the asking and the answering, one that made him believe he was still being ignored. He waited, giving her a chance to respond. His bladder nudged him, telling him it could do with a bathroom visit, but he ignored it. Better to jiggle his leg than leave her waiting when he'd insulted her.

If she remained silent, he'd eventually have to give in. It would come to the point where his bladder would insist, and he'd be unable to resist. Until then, he'd wait.

Amy didn't leave him waiting for long. Just enough time to emphasise her displeasure.

No.

I don't.

He could feel the bluntness. It jabbed at him, reminding him was a prat he was. He wouldn't rise to it, though. It was his own fault. Hopefully, the news they had a connection would ease her mood.

"I don't remember you, either," he said.

He added the hint of a smile to dilute the tension. If it didn't work, he'd still keep his cool. Still be apologetic. He didn't think he'd be so willing to in most situations. As patient as he was, he'd said sorry. As stupid as his remark was, it wasn't intentional. Amy wanted to talk to him, just as he was eager, surprisingly, to talk to her. It was this eagerness that kept him in check.

Why ask then?

Why indeed?

"Well, you apparently knew my sister."

Your sister?

Who is she?

"Jazz. Jasmine Anderson."

Jazz?

"Yes. Do you remember her?"

Yes.

Jazz.

I remember her.

She didn't like Jasmine.

"No," Cass said. "She still doesn't. Even I can't call her it, and I'm her brother."

I like the name.

"Me too. It's better than Lavender or Pot-pourri, for a start."

You should be on stage.

"Oh, thanks!"

Sweeping it.

Well, that was a kick in the bollocks, wasn't it? It was also a joke, which was a good sign. She was mellowing, and the cut of her wit was a welcome wound.

"Good one," he said. "I deserve that."

You do.

How is she?

"She's good, thanks."

He wanted to tell her what Jazz had told him. Just wait a little. Ease her out of his senselessness first.

She had two brothers.

Cassidy, which must be you, and

Ethan?