Max is the very shape of femininity and strength, soft where she chooses and unyielding where she must. She sighs into the night and closes her eyes with the confidence and vulnerability of a maiden who clawed her way through every trial alone.
A saint.
A martyr.
A temptress.
A divine creature too dangerous to name, all of her within arm’s reach while I burn for a taste. Her curled-up frame leaves just enough space in the bed for a forlorn ghost to squeeze into, and I can’t resist the urge to sit beside her.
The slight dent I make in the mattress steals my breath. It’s been years since I’ve left so much as a trace upon this world, and I blink at the sight of it. I feel different when she’s near. Stronger.
I could stare at her forever, never letting her out of my sight, and haunt her until the last star burns out.
Chapter 3
The Dreaming
MAX
“Hide. Quickly,” my mother whispers, shooing me toward the pantry under the stairs.
Her long red hair is braided to one side, the tip brushing against the skirt of her cotton dress. The windows are condemned, wooden boards nailed across them, leaving the kitchen in dim light.
“What’s happening?” I ask, breathless. “Where’s Nick?”
“He’s already inside. You have to get in there, too, and stay real quiet.” She kisses my forehead. “I love you so much, my crimson flame.”
I’ve never seen that look on her face before—a mix of quiet acceptance and terrible fear. Her green eyes glint in the dark, the faint scar on her cheek catching what little light filters through.
“Mother, please. Hide in here with us.”
Tears wet her round cheeks. “I can’t. They will never leave you alone, not as long as I’m—” She cuts herself off. “You get in the pantry with your brother, darling. And whatever happens, don’t say a word until they’ve gone. Vae seris.”
I can’t disobey, not when she uses the Voice.
She closes the secret door and drags the hall table back into place. Nick is tucked into the corner, arms wrapped around his knees. No one can know he’s in here. No one can know he exists.
It isn’t our first time hiding in a space this small, but we’ve both grown a lot since last time. Dust coats my fingers as I crawl toward him, the air thick with the smell of flour and rot. On this side of the pantry walls, bloody runes crawl across the plaster, glowing scarlet.
The front door bursts open with a sickening crack of wood. Four or five sets of deliberate footsteps spill inside as the Reds invade our little cabin.
I catch glimpses of them through the gaps in the wooden walls—katanas strapped to their backs, jeweled scarves tied across their brows, hair as red as mine and my mother's. The priestesses of the New Order, as Mother calls them. The reason we move every few months, live off the grid, and always, always avoid mirrors.
“Please, there’s no need for violence, Pauline. I’m ready to surrender,” my mother says.
My heart hammers. Surrender? Hells, no. What is she doing?
“Where’s the child?” the woman asks with an impatient sneer.
My knuckles turn white, my nails digging into my palms.
“She’s safe,” mother says. “In a place where you won’t ever find her.”
A slender Red priestess with auburn hair walks forward. “We’ll find your devil spawn, Sierra. We’ll find her and return her tainted blood to the forest where it belongs.”
“Damn you, Lillivere,” Mother spits at the newcomer. “We were sisters, you and I.”
“May the Goddess purify your wicked soul, Si,” Lillivere declares.
