Chapter 14
The Death of Peace of Mind
MAX
The flat is empty when I get home, and rightly so. Lachlan is a social creature, and he wasn’t expecting me, so there’s no reason for him to be waiting by the door. I grab my laptop and catch up on work emails, going over questions and discussions about the patients I had to hand off.
When sunset comes, I wait for the mist, retrieving a knife from the kitchen, and sit in front of the sliding patio door.
I wait for the windows to fog and the cold voice from that night to echo in my ears. I wait for death to come knocking, ready to spit in its face.
The moon is already shining bright in the sky by the time Lachlan comes home. I’ve set the knife aside, but I can’t bring myself to move from this spot. I’m putting us in danger, gambling with our lives just by being here, but I was more afraid of myself, and my selfish impulses, than the monsters.
I’m either going to have to tell him the truth or dig myself into a hole of lies. I couldn’t confess that I kissed my cousin, because that wouldn’t even be a fair assessment.
I couldn’t start with the truth either and say, the ghost haunting my mother’s house has a crush on me, and I think I’m developing feelings for him, too.
No, if I want to open up my heart to Lachlan, scars and all, I can’t do it all in one night. I’ll have to break it into small, manageable pieces.
The sound of his keys landing on the buffet shudders through me.
“Hey, gorgeous. I didn’t think you’d come home.” He walks over to me and kisses the top of my head, sounding simply…smug.
Not happy that I’m here, exactly, but proud that he won the argument.
I grip the end of my braid. “My cousin gave me the night off, like you suggested.”
“Good lad.” He smiles faintly.
I don’t know what changed—like E put a spell on me and made all other voices sound disingenuous.
Or released me from the power of a love arrow, a small, timid voice in my head adds.
Maybe the attack on Kerri and the ensuing chaos somehow pulled me out of some magic-induced trance. I brace my arm around the back of the chair, angling my body to him as he searches the refrigerator for a beer.
When I look at him, all I feel is shame.
Shame for not being the woman I pretended to be when we met, shame for a kiss I should have stopped before it happened.
Shame for not listening to Mabel when she told me our love was brought on by a subpar love arrow and would vaporize at the first sign of trouble.
I can’t go on with the wedding, not as originally planned.
“I had to come home and speak with you. I’m afraid for Mabel’s life, and if I’m right, she won’t be well enough to attend the wedding in a couple of weeks. I think we have to postpone,” I say.
It’s partially true. Mabel might die in Faerie, and as things are, she won’t be able to come.
“Postpone?” Lachlan enunciates.
Coward. You should have canceled the damn thing, my inner voice snickers. I can’t bring myself to say it. Cancelling the wedding means leaving my mortal life as it is, and it’s not only terrifying, it’s heartbreaking.
Everything I built, all the hard work, everything I hoped for…gone.
His jaw ticks, and he slams the unopened beer down on the kitchen island. “Are you serious? Don’t be stupid and let your foster mother derail our plans.”
A sharp sting blooms beneath my ribs, and I flinch. I hate how easily the insult burrows inside me, feeding every ugly question Mabel planted in my head. If the love we have is real, why does it feel so brittle?
“Derail our plans? She might die,” I choke. That part, at least, is true.
“You’re overreacting. I mean—she’s not your blood.
Your brother cut her out of his life, and so should you.
This sudden health issue so close to our wedding, when you know she doesn’t approve…
It’s suspicious, luv. Call her tomorrow and tell her you’ll hire a nurse.
Tell her we’re getting married with or without her,” he says, without taking a breath.
“Why did you propose to me?” I ask bluntly, thinking back to the day we met, to how improbable it was that a man like him would notice someone like me, let alone propose after five dates.
“What?”
“What made you propose so soon? You obviously don’t think my family is good enough, and you always change the subject when I try to tell you about my childhood.”
He scratches the back of his head, where the shorter, neatly trimmed hair meets the skin of his neck. “You’re smart and beautiful, Maxine. Career-driven, like me, and I know you’ll make a wonderful mother when the time comes. It’s impressive what you’ve accomplished, given your background.”
The words are soft and polite, but they feel wretched.
“My background?”
He gives a small shrug, like it’s obvious. “People like you don’t usually become doctors.”
Something cold settles in my chest.
“What are you saying?” I ask blankly. “That orphans can’t go to school?”
“That’s not what I said.” A quick smile, smooth and dismissive, punctuates his snobbery. “I’m just being realistic. Foster kids rarely grow up to be like you, Max. You’re…an exception.”
An exception. A fluke. A statistical miracle he can parade around.
“You know almost nothing about me, or my family,” I say, my voice trembling in defeat as the lights flicker above our heads.
“What in God’s name?” He takes a careful step back. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”
Heat blooms beneath my skin, burning so hot I can barely breathe. I’m a stranger in my own body.
“What do you mean, different?” I ask.
I blink a few times and feel the spark dissipate.
He rubs his face down. “Listen, it’s late. You’re obviously not thinking rationally, and we’re both tired.” He shoves his unopened beer back in the fridge. “I’m going to bed.”
There’s no invitation in his tone, no warmth. Just disappointment and confusion.
“We can talk about this tomorrow, when you’re rested,” he adds, and it’s not an unreasonable request. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.”
A fresh wave of shame bursts through me at the sound of the guest room door slamming shut. I wedge the knife from before into a thick book and head to bed, to a room where almost nothing belongs to me.
The only comfort is the absence of mist on the windows as I crawl under the covers, setting the book and hidden blade on the bedside table.
I don’t want to fall asleep. I don’t want to risk another dream, but around three in the morning, I succumb to this losing fight.
I’m in my wedding dress, standing in front of Lachlan, but the tower around me is no church. We’re in a narrow stone keep ringed with tall windows. Beyond them, an ocean of mist churns and swallows the horizon, hiding the world below.
Where a priest should stand behind the podium, E’s golden shadow officiates—half-light, half-smoke, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere.
“Mortal love wanes. Fae love burns to the bone.”
The corset clings to my ribcage, the fabric twisting tighter with each breath. The tulle feels absurdly brittle, each smoothing motion threatening to turn it to dust. The ring slips from my hand, hits the floor, and rolls away—spinning, spinning—until it vanishes into the mist.
Lachlan turns to fetch it. For a heartbeat, I hesitate. Then I raise my dagger—a perfect blade carved from ice. Something borrowed. Something blue.
“Kill him. Kill him, and we can be together,” E urges.
My wrist trembles as I drive the weapon deep into Lachlan’s back. His cry is half pain, half disbelief, and the stone shifts beneath me. When he turns to face me, he’s no longer himself, but a fallen angel with platinum-blonde hair.
I lift the dagger again, aiming higher, but E moves between us. “Max, stop!” He knocks the blade from my hand, and it ricochets off the wall with a metallic shriek. A sudden wind hurls me backward.
The window behind me shatters on impact.
I’m falling—fast as a dying star, fire building under my skin. The train of my dress unfurls, meters of white fabric blooming like a dying flower in my wake. A sharp crack splits through my skull as I hit the ground.
I hit hard, but it isn’t earth that catches me. It’s ice. A pale, endless garden, frozen mid-bloom, sprawls on each side of me. Frost creeps up my neck and curls along my jaw like a lover’s hand before closing around my throat. Stealing sound. Stealing breath.
I’m dead.
I wake with a pounding at the base of my skull, and my toes are cold enough to ache. I rub them with my fingers, trying to bring back circulation, but the pins and needles only grow sharper. The bluish tint beneath my nails turns my stomach. I’m freezing. In my own bed.
The guest room is empty when I pass by, the first light of dawn filtering through the open curtains.
So much for talking things through in the morning.
If the wedding goes ahead now, it’ll be without Nick, Devi, Mabel, or Percy. I’d be turning my back on them forever.
In the bathroom, I twist the shower knob to scorching hot.
Steam billows as I step under the spray, desperate to thaw the cold from my body, to rinse away whatever clung to me from the Dreaming.
But when my hand finds the sore spot at the back of my skull, I pull away and stare at the smear of red on my fingers.
Fear coils low in my gut, pulling everything inward.
It wasn’t just a dream.