Or if Nick’s friends turn out to be Red spies—but I don’t say that part out loud.
My twin chews on his bottom lip, clearly torn between logic and instinct. He hates that I’m right. He hates the idea of letting go of the one powerful relic we’ve managed to secure. “But isn’t that like leaving it in enemy territory? If this house were so safe, Mabel would have done this herself.”
A sigh wheezes past my lips. “It’s a tie. E?”
“Oh, give me a break,” Nick snaps. “The ghost doesn’t get a vote.”
I lift my chin. “And why not?”
“Because one, he’s not alive, and two, he’ll vote with you just to stay on your good side.”
I bare my teeth. “I don’t have a bad side, dear brother, yet you always disagree with me.”
Nick mirrors my grin, all challenge and teeth. “I just think my idea is better. I say we take the crate along. If this artifact is supposed to be powerful enough to destroy destiny itself, it could come in handy in a fight.”
“You want to stab the first Red on our path with the pointy end of the Spindle of the Gods?” I ask dryly.
“Why not? The sharp end almost looks like a stake.”
I scoff. “Reds aren’t vampires.”
He combs a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Aren’t they sucking the life and blood out of our forest?”
“So you want to kill them all? No questions asked?” I balk.
“They deserve it.”
“You’re being totally reductive.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
We both freeze, our childish instincts rising to the surface. People always assume twins are inseparable in some serene, mystical way. With Nick and me, the closer we are, the harder we fight. We’re united by a love that runs deeper than reason, yet constantly clashing over the smallest, stupidest things. It feels both comforting and wrong to fall back into that rhythm.
Fire and blood.
I’ve always believed that if we ever truly agreed on something, we’d be unstoppable. Instead, we choose opposite sides almost by reflex, eager to spar simply because that’s what we’ve always done.
“I thought you wanted to kill the Red Queen and find our mother’s murderer,” I press. “Not that you’d want to slaughter every Red Fae we cross paths with just for wearing a uniform.”
“Don’t be daft, Max.” Nick shrugs dismissively, like I’m being way too sentimental. “Reds are all the same, and they want us dead. Why shouldn’t we defend ourselves?”
“Defend ourselves by attacking first, you mean.”
E stops our fight cold by saying, “Just give me the spindle, and I’ll carry it.”
Nick balks. “Say again?”
“I might be dead, but I have a body now. I can slip it into my pocket and carry it along. That way, if you’re caught, it won’t fall into enemy hands.”
Nick’s face wrinkles. “So you’re not naked under there? How does that work?”
E’s voice hums with amusement. “I’m not entirely sure.”
“Och, that’s a relief. But you carrying the spindle is out of the question.” Nick blinks one too many times, suspicion flashing across his face before practicality wins out. “Alright. We leave it here, then.”
I pump my fist. “Yes.”
