Amber

“Why are you driving?!” I shout at her. “How are you driving?!” “Because you can’t have a fast getaway if you’re doing the speed limit!” she snaps. “And I have ghost powers, eejit!”
― Kristy Cunning, Gypsy Rising

“This could get a little hairy,” I tell them in interruption.

Seriously, I don’t want to know this secret. I’ve got too much other shit going on.

I grimace at the very questionable intestines that belong to some fabled creature that surely can’t exist under the radar if all that fit inside it. “If you’re a respawner instead of an unkillable being, get out of the kitchen and at least a mile from the house.”

Mom assured me there’s a five mile seclusion radius.

Damien starts speaking to me, almost as though he’s too tired to deal with my tinkering right now. “Violet, that potion has to be fresh. There’s no need-"
...
There’s a loud, bubbling, sizzling noise that cracks through the air, and I drop to the floor, as a pulse shoots from the pot.

Damien yelps, as he and Emit are thrown into one wall, and Mom curses seconds before she and Arion are launched almost into each other, hitting opposing walls instead, when they manage to twist in the air to avoid touching.

Everyone crashes to the ground at almost the same time. Groans and grunts and coughs of pain all ring out in annoyed unison.

“I warned you,” I call out, even as most of them narrow their eyes in my direction.

Damien shoots me a look of exasperation, and I shrug a shoulder.

“She did warn us,” Mom grumbles as she remains lying on the floor, while everyone else pushes to their feet.

“No one fucks up a potion better than I do. If I fuck it up enough, less power will be needed to raise them,” I go on, smiling over at Emit…who is just staring at me like he’s confused.

“But it’s the exact right ingredients,” he says warily, as he stands.

“She’s apples and oranges. You can’t compare her to anyone else using those ingredients for that reason,” Mom says dismissively, as I gesture to Vance.

“Take him with you; I’m going to be a while. That was just the first volatile ingredient. I don’t think you want to be here for the yacktite—”

“Ylacklatite,” they all correct in unison.

“You don’t want to be here for those gross, possibly toxic, hard-to-say, fabled-creature intestines. It’s going to probably get crazy up in here,” I say as I twirl my finger around, staying on the floor for a minute longer.

Sometimes there’s an echo.

“Raise your heartbeat. You’re not taking this seriously enough,” Mom scolds. “What are you doing letting your heartbeat drop so much?”

“You really should go. It gets unpredictable when—”

The echo pulse I worried would come knocks Arion, Emit, and Damien to the ceiling this time, and I cringe when I hear things crack.

When they drop, Arion and Emit land in a crouch, and Damien lands hard on his back, cursing the pot on the stove like it’s singled him out and has it in for sexual deviants.

Arion’s lips twitch as he stares over at me, likely thinking what sort of punch a pencil could pack with this concoction. But I’ll be damned if Shera steals any of this juice for his freaky pencils.

“Do you rip up those dolls to use them as a timer?” the vampire asks, as he stays on the floor, causing Mom to sneer in his direction.

Another pulse cracks some glass, but everyone is under the reach of it now.

Damien just shakes his head.

“You have drawers full of toxic pencils I don’t even want to know the purpose of,” I tell him dryly. “You don’t get to judge.”

His grin grows like he’s pleased with something. I think Mom is seconds away from a brain aneurism”
― Kristy Cunning, Gypsy Moon

“Do you remember that mother in the park who flung sacks of dog shit at a group of kids after one kid looked at her daughter wrong?” I ask her very seriously. “Of course I do. That woman was batshit crazy. Why are you—” “Because you’re more embarrassing”
― Kristy Cunning, Gypsy Rising

“dead men tell no tales’ thing is a total load of crap, by the way. Ghosts never shut the hell up, and it’s hard to believe half the shit they say.”
― Kristy Cunning, Gypsy Blood