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I reach out and touch his arm. Unthinkable with a normal client. “Oh, Bren. Why do you always have to make life difficult for yourself?”
He doesn’t answer. Like mine, his mind’s surely on that night six years ago, the last time I paid the price for his ambition.
I straighten up, tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ears, and frantically channel Kate Elner instead of Sadie Sadler.
“We can work with this. Leah’s an alibi. Not the best one—people are often willing to lie for their partners—but it’s a start. And as long as you don’t mention the demon aspect, going out into the woods for a romantic, sexy night makes a degree of sense.”
I glance at my watch. I’m thirty minutes into day one of being Bren’s lawyer, and I’ve already lost count of the lines I’ve crossed and rules I’ve broken. Still, everything for the family.
* * *
That night, I dream about the day it all went wrong. That’s hardly an unusual occurrence. It haunts my sleep just as it ensnares my fantasies. But this time, back home in Mannith for the first time in years, it’s not merely vivid, it’s almost like I’m reliving it all.
FIVE
MANNITH, YORKSHIRE, SIX YEARS PREVIOUSLY
The night that everything changed started with me dressed in leopard print pyjamas and working on my history homework. The wildest of Saturday nights.
Chrissie and I nominally shared a room, more out of habit than necessity—though she also had a separate room for bringing back conquests or sleeping off hangovers. We had a four-poster bed each and had filled the remaining space with an eclectic selection of cushions, candles, blankets, books, clothes and posters. It smelt of cheap perfume, and complex herbal potions and was the single place in the world where I felt calmest and most content.
Chrissie was blasting out Beyoncé numbers while cycling through a variety of form-fitting dresses, using only her mind. “Come out with us,” she demanded. “Have a bit of fun. You’re totally gorgeous when you get dressed up.”
“I’m alright, honestly. Besides, you know what happens. Some bloke catches my eye, we have a little dance, next thing, Bren’s throwing Greenfire at them. It’s alright for you. You’re the big sister.”
Chrissie planted her hands on her hips. “If Brendan starts any of that over-protective big brother crap while I’m out with you, I’ll blast him. Put him right back in his place.”
I laughed, knowing she meant it. Technically, she was also younger than Bren, but only by two years, instead of my six, and he’d long ago given up on treating her like a kid.
“You look great,” I said. “I might come out next week. I need to get this essay sorted tonight.”
“Girls, come downstairs!” Mum called. “Your father’s called a family meeting.”
Chrissie pouted. “This had better not take long. I’ve really not got the energy for it tonight.”
“Any idea how many people we’ve got to get through?”
“Nope. But for goodness’ sake, put some proper clothes on.”
I laughed. “If Dad insists on parading us like we’re prize ponies, he can put up with me wearing pyjamas.”
“Chrissabelle. Sadie. Hurry up.”
We held hands and traversed ourselves downstairs together. It would have taken about two minutes to walk, but there was something to be said for making an entrance.
The main room downstairs had a black leather sofa that curled around three sides of the room, a huge TV on the front wall, and speakers in every corner. It was generally the place where we gathered as a family to watch the football or cycle through the music channels. But that evening, the TV was off, the curtains were closed, and the lights were dimmed.
Mum, Dad, and Liam sat comfortably on the sofa, like they were about to watch a cheesy film, but there was one of the family’s acolytes in each corner and another by the door. The hard-faced men and women greeted me and Chrissie with a smile.
Mum patted the sofa, and we sat down beside her.
Dad smiled. “My gorgeous girls. Now, has anyone seen Brendan?”
“We should make a start,” Liam said. “Bren’s pissed off somewhere for the night. And I want to get out and meet Shane and the other guys.”
Mum glanced over at the forty-something woman on the door. Connor’s mother, in her prime. “Colson, bring the first one in.”
These evenings had been an occasional part of my life for as long as I could remember. Every few weeks, my father held court as though he was a medieval king meeting his subjects. He needed his enemies, allies, and customers to see the power of his perfect offspring. His hyper-magical elder son. His lethal younger son. His beautiful elder daughter. His clever younger daughter. We all had our parts to play in proving that Dad didn’t just have his own power, he had a dynasty.
