“Witnessing something like that changes you forever. Nick, my brother, is still trying to avenge her,” I blurt out as I peel away the dirty wrap on my calf. “There’s no forgive and forget when your mother gets killed in front of you.”
“I get it. I think I’m the sort of person who held a grudge, back when I was alive. ”
I arch a brow. “You can tell?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t tell you why. Where is he now, your brother?”
“Oh, hundreds and hundreds of kilometers away, on some dangerous mission, per usual. Nick couldn’t wait to get out of Scotland. Mabel’s refusal to tell us who killed our mother—and why—drove a rift between them.”
“But not you?”
I tie the clean bandage in place with a strip of tape and press the thick poultice into the wound. “No. It’s not as thoughwe could ever go back to Faerie, so I didn’t see any upside in a quarrel.”
“I think I lived there, once upon a time,” E says in a dreamlike drawl.
“Faerie?”
“Yes. The word always sparks this…nostalgia in my chest. You know what I mean?”
“Absolutely.”
Parts of me long for Faerie, too, even though I hardly remember any of it aside from a string of small cottages and dusty pantries.
It’s strange. I’m spilling my life to a ghost, but it’s so easy. There are no lifted brows, no tilted head in pity. The lies I’ve spent a lifetime hiding behind, the carefully-crafted stories, are useless here. It’s freeing, really, to pour my heart out without fear of disbelief or judgment.
An echo from my dream rises to the forefront of my mind.Damn you, Lillivere. We were sisters, you and I.From the sound of it, Lillivere was the one who betrayed her.
My memories of that night have never been this clear, yet I still can’t remember who struck the final blow. The katana that killed my mother might have belonged to Lillivere—or to any of the other four. Still, it’s more than I knew yesterday, as if those specific memories had been wiped clean until last night.
From the sound of it, my mother befriended a Red spy and brought her demise upon herself. A lead wire encircles my chest at the possibility. The habit the Reds have of hunting us by forming attachments and digging into the heart of who we are brings bile to my mouth. It’s fiendish and vile.
My fingers curl until my nails bite into the skin of my palm, anchoring me against the current of regret that threatens to flood me. Heat prickles beneath my collar in a flush of shame and anger I can’t separate. My pulse thuds heavy and uneven,as if my body remembers the bruise—the wretched cost of an intimate betrayal—even when I pretend I don’t.
I twist my engagement ring around my finger with my thumb. “If Mabel can’t make it home, and I can’t leave, then we’ll get answers ourselves. Are you in?”
“One thousand percent.”
Excitement chases away the dread that had festered in my blood. The time has come to tear down walls. Finally. When Mabel comes home, I can give her hell about all the secrets she’s kept from me. Then she’ll scold me for snooping through her things, for never minding my own business. I’ll welcome that anger, because it will mean she’s come home. And she will come home in one piece. Because she has to.
Chapter 5
You put a spell on me
E
The darkness has yet to pull me back into oblivion. I can’t remember the last time I was able to focus on something for a meaningful amount of time.
Max pauses outside her bedroom and tugs on the elastic holding her French braid before stowing it around her wrist. “Give me a minute, I’m going to change. Then we can break into Mabel’s attic.”
Not waiting for an answer, she enters her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
She saidwe. She asked for my help and is making plans with me as though it makes perfect sense. She’s the first person to treat me like I’m not some useless shadow. Mabel and I would talk for a couple of minutes here and there, but she never asked me for anything. Never asked questions about my past.
Max does. She acts like I matter, like I’m more than a whisper caught between this world and the next. Her attention is the lifeline I didn’t know I craved, and every word she throws my way pulls me a little further from the void. I float through her bedroom door out of instinct to keep her close, afraid todisappear if she’s not near. It’s intrusive, but ghosts don’t feel much remorse about stalking the living. It’s our only pleasure in death.
Max steps out of the plaid skirt, white shirt, and nylons she slept in, revealing two matching pieces of black lace. Two things happen at once: first, a twinge of guilt pinches my chest. It’s wild because guilt isn’t an emotion I’m used to. Second, my heart picks up. Her long, creamy thighs are exposed, and rays of sunlight from the window caress the side of her leg. The network of freckles scattered across her chest is mesmerizing, the darker peaks of her breasts visible through the lace.
My mouth dries up, my body tingling with need. I want to lose myself in those bruised lips, to kiss them until she feels safe and whole again.
