Blood To Blood Read Online Free PDF Page B

like acquiescence. Cici beamed.
    “Angie,” she said excitedly.
“You were probably wondering why I’ve been around for the past few years. Why I
moved back home.”
    I had wondered about this in
the past because Cici was in a long-term relationship with Satchel, a hunky,
electricity-channeling realtor from Los Angeles.
    “I’m here because of you.
Aurora helped me during my change and now it’s my turn to help you as much as I
can. To initiate you.”
    Three-hundred-forty-eight
year-old Aurora was the next-youngest of my five brothers and sisters. She lived
in Sweden, and respectfully declined to embrace the mortal pretense our parents
touted.
    “Roro was an amazing help to
me. The same way Addy was to her.”
    “So, you’re saying we have a
tradition in the family? That the next-oldest helps the youngest go through...The
Change?”
    “Yes,” she confirmed. “It’s
the way our family’s done it for a long time.”
    The thought of Cici helping
me through whatever was coming filled me with a sense of peace. Besides my
session at Mr. C.'s, it was the only time that day that I felt relaxed. My
mouth formed around a potentially skull-cracking yawn before I stuffed a
forkful of cold potatoes into it.
    “Why would I need your help?”
I asked while chewing. “I mean, doesn't The Change just happen on its own?” I
chomped on a piece of chicken.
    “The shift is not just a
physical change, sis, it’s total; emotional, mental, even spiritual. It’s good
to have someone who can be with you.”
    “For those times when I
forget my shoes, find myself levitating uncontrollably, or becoming one with
doors,” I said in a wry tone.
    We all laughed then, loudly
and with abandon. Our voices tinkled like the crystal chandelier hanging
overhead. But underneath the laughter, there was a sad feeling; we knew we’d
never laugh this way again. The “baby” was a baby no more. The family would yet
again change. Forever.
    The last thing I remember of
that night was the way the light glistened on Mom and Cici’s teeth, and how it
danced in Dad’s eyes.
    I never made it to my room.
In a couple of seconds, I was sleeping like the dead with my head on the dining
room table.

8.
FIRST SESSION
     
     
    T rue to their word, Jules and LaLa came in
the morning to pick me up on the way to Sawyer’s. When they found out both Mom
and Dad were onboard with my career choice, we traded hugs and high fives.
    “Are they really letting you
drop out before graduation?” Jules asked in an awed tone.
    Oops. Had to back-pedal on
that one. The answer was yes, but of course I couldn’t tell them why. “Nope.
Can’t have everything, I guess.” We climbed into LaLa’s old 1995 Saturn.
    “Speaking of dropping out of
school, “ Jules said, “last year, when he was a freshman, Sawyer Creed dropped
out of Berklee College of Music to produce full-time.”
    “Seems to have worked out for
him,” LaLa whispered later as the three of us looked around his home studio.
    As if it were the sole
lived-in part of his home, the studio was the only area that was furnished. It
took up most of the first floor of his two-level brownstone apartment and
featured two large black leather couches, several beanbag chairs, armchairs,
fold-up chairs, stools, and various functional tables. A sound booth big enough to hold ten
people stood adjacent to a smaller sound booth containing a huge console with a
soundboard, Macintosh computers, monitors, and some other cool stuff. Stacks of Billboard , Music Business Journal , and other music industry mags
were sprawled on a low table made from a sheet of Plexiglass balanced on two
large concrete blocks.
    Sawyer moved around the space
like some type of blond tiger, frustrated with not being able to pull the
perfect track for us. He was no friendlier than he was the day before, aside
from an abrupt hello when we arrived. And, yep, he still frowned. I figured it
must be the music that always occupied his head that gave him that