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“Be safe,” her mom says, voice thick.
Luz can’t even bring herself to respond to that out loud, only nods.
“Don’t worry, I won’t use magic in public. Luz told me that humans can react badly to that,” Amity assures her, which only makes her mom look more worried.
And she feels bad about abandoning her mom mere hours after returning, without answering any questions, but she can’t stay in the house any longer. She’s going insane with claustrophobia, with the ghosts of a lifetime ago hanging around her.
And… it’s not the date she promised to Amity, but, given the circumstances, this maybe counts.
Even if she’s a coward, she’s running away, she’s—
“You okay, Vee?” a cashier calls as she steps in, and, oh boy, she does she not have the energy to unpack that. She pretends not to hear, squeezing Amity’s hand tighter.
It’s disconcerting, being approached by strangers like this. A few unfamiliar faces, people her age, wave at her happily, and she pulls her hoodie lower, trying to cover the scar on her eyebrow. Sure, that was normal in the Boiling Isles, but it had never happened in the human realm.
Familiar sounds are suddenly so foreign. She doesn’t recognize the song on the loudspeakers, and wonders idly whether its a new song that came out while she was in the demon realm, or if she’s just forgetten what human music sounds like.
The smells are too strong, too filled with nostalgia:
“I could live here,” Amity says, voice flat, after too long in silence.
“What?”
“I could… I mean, I don’t have a choice. But, this seems nice. I wouldn’t hate it here. I’ll have you, at least.”
“What about your family?” Luz asks, like an idiot.
Amity shrugs.
“Ed and Em don’t have sigils. They’ll live.” Amity doesn’t meet her eyes, just neatly stacks a few cans in the cart, making room for more food.
Luz swallows. Tries to decide if it’s worth probing more.
“My dad sucked anyway,” Amity answers for her. There’s no hint of sadness, or even malice in her voice. There’s only exhaustion. “And, no offense, but I kind of hope my mom is burning in hell right now.”
“Oh. Okay,” Luz says, because what else can she possibly say to something like that?
She grabs a few packs of frozen tamales.
Someone makes a garbled announcement on the store loudspeaker, asking for customer service in the spice aisle.
“I’m sorry about your family, though,” Amity says, and this time, her voice does waver a bit.
Luz is about to say “it’s okay,” but it really isn’t, so she just shrugs. She bites her lip, thinking, and decides to grab a few bags of frozen vegetables, too.
She’s trying to remember what human food is the easiest to prepare, what she had for dinner the evenings her mom worked late. It feels hazy, like trying to see into another lifetime. The shopping cart is a little too heavy on her tired arms.
A bunch of boxes of pasta. Packets of tuna. Cans of soup. Some pastries. Boxes of cereal.
The air conditioner kicks on and she hugs Eda’s jacket tighter around her shoulders.
“I know I’m lactose intolerant. And I didn’t see any milk, or cows in the Boiling Isles, so I doubt you guys can handle dairy either. Um…”
“I don’t know what that means,” Amity whispers, which proves Luz’s suspicions correct.
She hesitates for a second. Almond milk is good, unless someone has a nut allergy. Soy has the same problem. Finally, she shakes her head, tossing a few cartons of each into the shopping cart. Vee hadn’t touched the box of Christmas money under her bed, so they could afford options while they were experimenting with food.
“So do you think duck eggs or chicken are safer?”
“What’s the difference?” Amity asked.
“Okay, we’re getting both.”
When they finally get back home—the grocery store is only a block away, it’s not too hard to carry grocery bags, especially when Amity’s definitely using magic to support them—the house feels just as haunted.
Gus seems to have finally eaten something, if the mostly-empty soup bowl on the living room table means anything. He’s asleep now, or at least his eyes are closed and he’s stopped crying.
Hunter has shifted into a much more comfortable looking position, curled up on the ground, a pillow from the couch under his head, Flapjack nestled on his back. At some point, Willow moved to the ground, and is curled up near him. Their heads are close; their feet point in opposite directions. She’s holding his hand at an awkward angle, fingers tight around his wrist. It looks almosy like Willow fell asleep feeling for his pulse. His shoulders rise and fall though, so he’s still alive. For now.
Amity sets the bags down on the counter as quietly as possible, trying not to disturb anyone. Camila is there in an instant, starting to sort and put groceries away. And then there’s a rhythm, and for a minute, its enough to drown out the deafening silence.
“Do you need any more help?” Amity asks, quietly.
“You’ve done more than enough,” Camila says. “Go get some rest.”
And then… then its just Luz and her mom in the kitchen, in the buzzing florescent lights.
Her mom looks at her. There’s nothing accusatory in the gaze, it’s still the same concerned-gentle expression she’s been wearing since Luz got back, but it hurts anyway.
“Thank you,” her mom says, gently, which stops Luz in her tracks.
“Huh? For what.”
“For coming back to me in one piece. For… for still seeing this place as home. I was so worried…”
Luz interrupts her with a hug, squeezing her so tightly she might reopen some of her wounds.
“Thank your,” she whispers. “For—so much. For—I just showed up on your doorstep and I… I know I hurt you so much the last time I saw you… and I keep messing up… and you’re still here.”
Her mom returns the hug, making calming shushing sounds.
“It’s okay, it’s okay baby. You came back, that’s all that matters.”
And then they’re both crying, Luz’s hands buried in her mom’s shirt. Luz knows she doesn’t deserve this—but—her friends do. Her friends need shelter and safety and love, that’s the reason she came back home so quickly. And maybe… maybe she can make it up to her mom. Maybe she can work on being worthy of this.
She’s gonna be stuck here for a while, anyways. Might as well do something useful.