“I want to protect you.”
She bends to set my lantern down, and I wonder if the same fire burns through her veins when she touches it—if she feels the same ache, the same hunger.
Using her gardening scissors, she clips a few leaves from a tall, purplish plant whose bitter scent clings to the back of my tongue.
“I thought you stopped drinking Angelica tea?”
Her movements are steady, methodical. “Angelica brings protection and safety. I haven’t had any in three days and feel no different. What if I stopped drinking it for nothing? What ifMabel was wrong, and I have no more magic to speak of? What then?”
Her breathy, melancholic questions quicken my pulse. I might be reading too much into it, but I sense her faith slipping—not just in me, but in everything around her. In this life. In herself. The ordinary world she left behind tempts her with the promise of safety, of a life untouched by magic or monsters. A life without ghosts.
“What if you havetonsof magic, and it’s just taking longer than you expected for that tea to work itself out of your system?” I muse.
“More power isn’t always better,” she grumbles. “Let’s go back inside. I have to call my brother.”
She reaches for my lantern and picks it up again, her knuckles turning white around the bronze handle. Not from its weight, but from something else. Heat creeps up her neck, and her breath shortens. Her lips part on a low hum before she draws her coat tighter around herself.
Max handles my lantern as though it’s both a fragile treasure and a dangerous weapon, and that tells me she feels it, too. That bond between us.
Chapter 12
If it Kills Me
E
The light outside thins into a muted lavender haze as nightfall creeps closer. Max sits cross-legged on the plush rug of her bedroom, her hands curled around a cup of tea gone cold. Diaries, albums, and spell books are scattered around us.
We’ve spent the day buried in Mabel’s albums and grimoires, chasing any scrap of insight on how to break her wards, more information about the woman in the picture, or even who I used to be. We’ve come up empty on every front.
“I think you’re a full-blooded Fae,” she says finally, snapping shut a particularly dull recollection of the Faerie seasons.
She fluffs her hair, the motion emphasizing the scent of her sweet skin—flameroot wine mixed with something earthy and floral, like the warm sand of Saffron Cove.
“Why?” I ask.
“Well, if you were a male witch, like Nick, your bite of power would feel more familiar. And earlier, you saidFlaming hells, which I thought was a little weird. And it wasn’t the first time you’d said it.”
My brows raise. “Isn’t that a common saying?”
“Not in this world, no.”
She shifts to her knees to grab a diary she put aside earlier. The end of her braid curls around her breast as she moves, taunting me. I wish I could play with the small black tie holding it in place.
“Light Fae used to worship the Flame of Fate. Could be a clue that you’re not a darkling,” she adds, leafing through the pages until she finds the symbol of a burning pyre. “Here. The Flame of Fate is thought to burn hot enough to melt the frayed threads of the tapestry of the gods. It’s a big religious symbol in the Summer, Spring, and Sun courts.”
“Would that make us enemies?” I ask quickly. “If I were a Light Fae?”
A wide grin lights her face. “Not at all.”
“For all I know, darklings and Light Fae might be at war, or something.”
She rests the diary in her lap. “Rest easy. The only war I’ve heard of was between the Fae Continent and the Mist King, but there’s absolutely no mention of him in these books.” She blows air out of her mouth in a mix of boredom and discouragement. “We’ve been at this for hours. Why don’t we take a little break?”
“As you wish.”
A hint of relief washes over me. After what Mabel said the other day, I’m not sure I want to know who I am, not if it could upset Max.
Max jumps to her feet and stretches gingerly before walking to the window. The gardens are little more than smudges of brown and gray tonight. She tightens her wool shawl around her frame, rubbing warmth back into her arms. I drift closer, aching to pull her into my embrace and kiss the trail of freckles behind her ear.
