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“You’re beautiful,” I tell her, wiggling the makeup at her. “Now comes the fun part.”
She sits on the velvet ottoman at my instruction, and I apply light makeup to her face, mostly focusing on the eyes, swiping them with some glittery shadow. She peeks at my makeup case when I reach for the nude lipstick.
“Can we do the pink one?” she asks.
“Bold choice,” I tell her. “I love that.”
I apply the pink lipstick for her and then work on her hair, splitting it down the center and braiding the fine strands. As I work, she examines some of the items from my altar, asking about each of them. I take my time explaining, observing that she’s asking out of genuine curiosity and not fear. But when she picks up Elizabeth’s brooch to examine it, I can sense that she feels the significance of it. She doesn’t ask, but I explain anyway.
“It belonged to Elizabeth Wildblood,” I say. “It’s been passed down to every chosen Wildblood woman since her death.”
“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice carrying a note of sadness. “Maybe it’s like a protection stone too.”
“In a way, it is,” I confess, but I can’t hide my sadness. Because the truth is, there’s no protection from my fate.
Bec feels the weight of it in her hand, seeming to sense the shifting of my energy. “Who knows? Maybe it’s even powerful enough to break the curse.”
I don’t know how much she knows about the curse, but it seems like an innocent observation. The observation of someone who still has hope.
“All done,” I tell her. “Want to see?”
She nods, rising to look at herself in the mirror. Emotion steals her voice when she does, but I can tell she’s happy.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “I didn’t even know I could look this pretty.”
“You’re pretty no matter what you wear.”
She pauses while she takes herself in, lost in her thoughts before she answers. “You’ll be a good mother.”
A sharp pain twists my gut. It’s something I’ve known my whole life I’ll never have—a family of my own. It’s a loss I’ve felt deeply every time I considered it. Every time I had to stop myself from even dreaming about it.
Bec doesn’t know. I don’t think she has any idea that Azrael and I are both fated to die tragically, and I don’t know if that’s better or worse.
A wave of grief washes over me as I consider how great that loss will be for her. To lose another brother. And here I am, allowing her to get attached to me, only to have that ripped away too.
Tears prick my eyes, and I suck in a shaky breath, determined not to let them fall. I can’t let her see that pain. But as I’m thinking about it, a new fear alights in my mind. The sudden realization that once Azrael and I are both gone from this world, there will be nobody but Emmanuel left to protect Bec from Salomé.
I open my lips, the question on the tip of my tongue. I want to ask about her illness again, but the door swings open before I can, startling both of us.
“Bec?” Azrael glances at her in concern before his eyes narrow on me. “Why is she dressed like that?”
“You mean like a teenager?” I reply dryly.
Bec’s shoulders slump, and I shoot Azrael a glare, hoping he’ll pick up on what he’s doing. I think it shocks both of us when he actually does.
“You look… beautiful,” he tells Bec, softening his tone. “Just don’t let Salomé see you like that. She’ll have a fit.”
I roll my eyes. He was so close. So close to nailing it, then he had to go and ruin it with that last part.
“I’ll return your dress tomorrow if that’s okay.” Bec gathers up her pajamas, barely able to meet our gazes now.
“Keep it,” I tell her. “I want you to have it.”
She looks equally grateful and terrified because I’m sure she realizes she’ll never be able to wear it in front of Salomé. At least not until Azrael puts her in her place.
“Thank you.” She hesitates, almost turning to go, unsure how to say goodbye exactly.
Even though I’m not a hugger, I hug her, and it seems to relax her. If only it had the same effect on Azrael, who’s glaring at me like I’m trying to convert his sister into a witch.
“Goodnight, Az,” Bec tells him, quickly scurrying past before she closes the door behind her.
“What are you doing?” Azrael growls.
I smile at him sweetly, removing the headband and glasses and tossing them into a drawer. “What’s the matter? Worried I’ll rub off on her?”
He grits his jaw and shakes his head. Any amusement I may have felt dissipates when I recognize the worry in his eyes. It isn’t that I’m rubbing off on her. It’s the same fear I felt earlier staring back at me.
