Chapter 2
B y the time I drove to my parents’ home in the suburbs last night, my brother Matt was asleep but thankfully stable.
My room in their house is the same one from when I was growing up.
It still has a ton of my stuff, but it no longer feels like mine.
Every time I’m there, it’s like stepping back into a time capsule of my high school years.
I was more optimistic then. Hopeful. It shows in the smiling photos pinned in a collage on the wall, in the bright pink bedding (what had I been thinking?), the unicorns that linger from my obsession with them when I was still a little girl.
I’m no longer that child though. Time has a way of wearing things down, changing them.
It’s certainly changed me. How can I be joyful when my brother is literally dying and all of my study, all of my work, hasn’t brought us one step closer to a cure?
Nor anyone else’s work for that matter. His prognosis is as bleak as it was when he was diagnosed as a child almost two decades ago, and I’ve burned through just about all the hope I have left.
It’s no wonder I barely slept and am chugging my second cup of coffee for the morning when the nurse comes into the living room to let me know he’s up.
It takes a minute to get to his room. It was once the master bedroom, my parents' room years ago. But as Matt’s condition worsened, they decided it was easier for him to be on the main level and not traverse the stairs.
So dumb that such a big house would only have one bedroom on the main floor.
We’re lucky to have it though and to be able to afford a nurse and all the outrageously expensive medical procedures, trials, and treatments my brother has received over the years.
Most aren’t so lucky.
I’d say it’s the only good thing that’s come of being born into a gifted family—ones who can see fae.
Not that the fae or magic or anything else has helped.
Children can’t go to fae without potentially unfortunate consequences of the mind.
And once Matt matured, it was too late for fae magic to help him.
It can heal recent wounds but not old ones or conditions that have become woven into a person’s nature.
What good is magic if it can’t actually help someone who needs it?
But inherited wealth from fae gifts given to us in generations past? That’s certainly useful. That I can agree with, even if the rest of it is infuriating or nonsense.
I rap my knuckles lightly against the door before pushing it open.
Matt is right where I expect him to be—where he is most of the time—sitting in bed, a heap of pillows propping him up, and his trusty laptop open on his lap desk. His fingers fly across the keys before stilling as he looks up.
The smile that blooms on his face when he sees me is so bright it hurts. “Aimee!”
I smile back. It’s impossible not to. Despite all his hardships, Matt has never lost his spark.
“Hey there.” I give a silly little wave before strolling over to the bed.
Across the room, the curtains have been pulled wide, showing off the short expanse of grass in the backyard that gives way to a forest of southern pines and letting light spill in.
Despite the fact that Matt’s room is a reflection of all his little joys with video game posters on the wall, shelves full of figurines, and a host of other things that might almost make you miss the medical cart and equipment that look like they belong in a hospital or the wheelchair sitting nearby.
Unlike me, his tastes haven’t changed. His room has been this way for years, though he’s added to his collections over time.
He's planted in the middle of the king-size bed, and I slide onto one side beside him.
“It’s good to see you.” I lean into his side and drop my head to his shoulder. Not much. Not enough to jostle him or press on anything too hard, just enough for closeness, connection, and comfort. It’s our weird way of hugging that I’ve done for ages.
He tilts his head onto mine, returning the not-hug, and we stay like that for a few minutes.
We don’t talk about his condition. We don’t discuss how he almost died yesterday and how I might not have seen him again.
We don’t talk about how much time I spend at work or how it’s all in hopes that something I do might help him.
And we certainly don’t talk about the fact that my body is perfectly healthy while my twin’s is not.
We have the same deep brown hair, though where mine falls past my shoulders, his is cut short around his ears and currently sticking up in a terrible case of what most would call bedhead.
That’s just his style, though. He likes his hair messy, says it fits his vibe, and honestly, it does.
Our eyes have the shade of golden brown, and even our builds are similar—lean and slightly below average height, though Matt might have an inch on me, if that.
Inside though? Our bodies aren’t the same at all, and it sucks.
“What are you working on?” I ask, nodding toward the open laptop in his lap.
It’s like I’ve flipped a switch. One moment, Matt was quiet and still, a somberness hanging over us both, and now he’s brightened up again, lifting his head and sitting straighter before gesturing to the screen.
He shoves his glasses higher on his nose and gives me a toothy grin.
“This is the new, very private app, just for gifted families.”
I barely stifle a groan. Should have known.
Matt is fascinated by the fae, Faery, all of it.
My parents took him once, just to confirm that fae magic couldn’t help him, and he’s been obsessed ever since.
I glance around the room at all of the fantasy-inspired video game posters and figurines.
It’s not really a surprise, given his interests, but it’s just about the last thing I want to hear about.
This is Matt though, so there’s no way I’m going to tell him that.
“Oh?” I say instead, trying to sound interested.
“There’s a whole database of information, directories, message boards, job postings. The whole nine yards. We really should have had this ages ago. And it’s still in the works, but—” I zone out a little, nodding appreciatively as he shares his passion, until he says, “And it’s all thanks to her.”
He gives a little wistful sigh that has my brows rising.
My protective sisterly sense goes on high alert. “Her?”
“Selena.” Another sigh and his head falls back onto the pillow.
A wide grin slowly creeps onto my face. “Is it the app you're obsessed with or the woman behind it? Those sure sound like love sighs to me.”
“Can’t it be both?” He turns his head toward me, smiling pitifully. My brother might be a full-grown man, but his ability to resemble a puppy is uncanny.
I giggle, nearly snorting with laughter. “So are you two a thing then?”
At that, he sits up, adjusting his glasses again.
“She probably doesn’t even know I exist.” He frowns.
“Well, that’s not true. I’ve messaged with her a bunch of times, so she definitely knows my name.
And I had to be verified to join the app, but my profile picture is just my gaming avatar, so she doesn’t really know me or anything about this. ” He gestures to his whole self.
“But I’d bet she’s gathered some of what’s inside, right? Isn’t that what counts?”
He attempts a shrug. “She’s too important for someone like me.
” His fingers fly across the keyboard, moving through a menu, clicking a link.
A page springs up with a picture of a woman with midnight hair, bronze skin, bright red lips, and a fierce smirk.
“That’s her.” The longing in his voice is almost painful.
“Beauty and brains all in one. Her family already had some influence, and now her cousin is married to the King of the Court of Fire. So she’s powerful here and in Faery. ”
“Quite the woman.” I’ll give it to Matt. He has good taste and sets his sights high. As he should. He’s quite the catch himself, even with a terminal medical condition and all.
“She is,” he agrees. Then his eyes narrow, brows pinching. “But you didn’t even know who she was or about the app, did you?”
The back of my neck heats, and I rub at it. “No.”
“Aims!” he scolds. “This is important. I sent you the registration information at least three times. Do you even know all of what’s been happening in Faery lately? The attack on the Court of Fire? The rise of the Unseelie King?” His voice rises until it squeaks over the last word.
“Um.” I swallow.
His expression freezes, and for a moment, I worry I’ve given him a heart attack. “Oh my God, you really don’t know.”
I paste on the sweetest expression I can. “Well, I’m here all weekend, so you can bring me back up to speed.”
“Aimee, Aimee, Aimee.” He shakes his head.
“We are living in unprecedented times. This past year alone has seen so many historical moments. Seelie kings taking human mates, the fall of one king, the Unseelie on the rise. And we’re not done.
Not nearly. There’s just so much in the works.
” He spreads his arms wide, nearly smacking me in the process.
“As we speak, they’re looking at opening a doorway to Unseelie territory so that someone can go through and try to take out the Unseelie King. ”
Now that has my attention.
“Like an assassin?” I balk. We’ve stepped from fantasy straight into an action movie.
“Sort of.” Excitement literally glitters in his eyes. “More like bait.”
My nose wrinkles in distaste. “Bait?”
“Exactly. What do Unseelie want more than anything else?”
I blink at him, waiting, but he waits too, clearly hoping I know this. “World domination?”