18. Twins #2
Old magic that carries teeth fills the entryway, along with the scents of metal and rust. Nickolas’s bite of power is all blood and tears, tickling the back of my throat and bringing on a forceful sense of déjà vu.
I’ve met someone like him before, but I can’t remember who.
His hair is a shade darker than Max’s, but red as flames, and his green eyes burn with intensity and violence.
His freckles, nose, and chin match Max’s, but the angle of his jaw is harsher and more angular, and his shadows run deeper.
His broad shoulders and thick arm muscles give him a slightly triangular shape, and his skin is marked by the world in ways hers isn’t.
A scar hooks down the left side of his neck—a mix between a burn and a laceration—and descends under the collar of his dark sweater.
His dangerous gaze softens as it lands on her. “Maxie.”
Max’s voice cracks. “Nick… You’re finally home.”
She rushes forward and embraces him. He huffs out a rough laugh and wraps his arms around her. Her breath shakes as she holds on for dear life, tears misting her closed lashes, and the rawness of their reunion prompts me to keep my distance.
“I thought I might never see you again,” Max whispers.
“I’m here now, sis,” he pecks her hair.
They stay like that until her breath steadies. When she steps back, I hover forward.
Nick digs the balls of his feet into the ground and looks straight through the air where I stand.
He snaps open the leather sheaths strapped over his thighs and draws two wave-bladed daggers. “Careful. There’s something in the house.”
Max scratches her neck with her lips pursed in a sheepish, uncomfortable manner. “Don’t worry, I know who he is.” She wrings her hands together as she walks toward me. “Nick, this is E. E, this is my brother Nick.”
Nick’s posture shifts slightly from a fighting stance to a measuring, defensive glare. “E?”
“He’s a ghost,” Max explains.
His brows lift in a dark, unimpressed arc, and his grip tightens around the hilt of his daggers. “A ghost, eh?”
“Easy. Mabel vouched for him, so you can sheath your weapons. It’s not as though you could intimidate him with something sharp,” Max scolds.
Nick cuts her a sideways look. “Mabel vouched for him?”
“Yes! Why do you think I trust him?”
Nick tucks his weapons back in their place. “It wouldn’t be the first time…”
Max’s eyes fly to the ceiling. “I slipped up one time. One! When will you stop holding that over me?”
“When you stop dragging trouble home like homeless kittens you think you can fix.”
There’s a story here, written in the flush on her neck, and the way she averts her gaze. I’ll have to ask about it later, when we’re alone.
Nick exudes both the poise and hot-bloodedness of a crime lord as he cracks a slow, calculated grin. “What do you want with my sister, Casper?”
“I want to protect her,” I deadpan.
Men like Nick smell sugar-coating like blood in water, and a snarl slowly unfurls across his face. “And I should just take your word for it?”
“I saved her from the reavers this morning. And begged her to come back here,” I say.
Max nods. “He’s telling the truth,” but Nick doesn’t blink.
“I don’t trust someone without a face. Or a name.”
I recognize the challenge in his piercing gaze. He expects me to squirm, to over-justify myself, and work harder for his trust, but I’m not afraid of him. And I’m not going anywhere.
“I’ve seen him,” Max says quickly. “In the mirrors at the bridal shop. He’s Fae, and judging by his magic, a very powerful one.”
“You mean he was Fae. Before he died.”
A deep shade of red brands Max’s cheeks. “Right.”
“I’m not a danger to Max, so there’s no need to be rude,” I chime in.
Nick exhales through his teeth. “Fae or not, I don’t think we should trust him. Not until we know who he is. And what he truly wants.”
Max clicks her tongue. “Typical Nick.” She returns to the kitchen, shaking her head as if her brother is the biggest ass on the planet—and I’m a close second.
“Speaking of ghosts, I spoke with the phantom who sent his monsters after Kerri, and as it turns out, he’s not a ghost at all. We should focus on that. Tea?”
Nick gives her a reluctant nod. “Sure.”
“It’s Armand.” Max keeps her back turned to us as she pours Nick and herself a cup of steaming tea. “Mabel’s first husband. He’s back, even though everyone thought he died at the end of the war. The faceless men—the reavers—answer to him. They’re animated bodies without souls.”
Nick crosses to the counter to grab his teacup. “Mabel always believed Armand might still be alive. She buried him deep, but she feared it wasn’t enough.”
Max spins to face him with her fingers clenched around the sugar tongs. “Why didn’t she breathe a word of this to me before the attack?”
“Well, that’s Mabs. Always playing a game we don’t know the rules of.” Nick blows on the steam curling from his cup and leans against the counter. “Where is she now?”
“She came home to warn me, then flew off to gods know where. She told me to wait for her here.”
Nick takes a slow sip, unfazed. “I know people in Faerie who can help.”
Max squints. “How?”
His eyes dance. “The refugees have been coming by the dozen lately. The upheaval in the realm’s magic and the death of the previous Red Queen have allowed my associates to push deeper into the Red Forest and free more of our people than ever before.
But it’s not enough to flee and hide. Witches want to go home, Max.
They want to fight for their freedom. End the Reds’ tyranny.
And the ongoing rebellion that tides over the Fae continent might give us enough momentum to do just that. ”
Max’s brows knit together. “You want to team up with the Fae revolutionaries who destroyed the Eternal Chalice?”
Nick shrugs as if her scolding tone isn’t warranted. “Why not? We share the same enemy.”
Max slaps his arm. “Nick! What did you do?”
He wets his lips, looking everywhere but at her. “That golden spindle the Mist King is searching for… I know what it is. And what it does.” Nick’s hand curls in a fist over his lap before he shoots a bone-chilling glare my way. “I want Casper out of here first. Then, I’ll tell you.”
“I’m no cartoon ghost,” I shoot back. “And I suggest you change your tone.”
His menacing stare turns amused for a split second. “Is that so?”
He wants to draw battle lines between us. The urge to stand my ground, to show teeth and remind him he doesn’t get to command me, rises in my blood. This house is as much mine as it is his, and I won’t be left out of his plans, not if they involve Max.
Max exhales, shaking her head. “E…can you give us a minute?”
My instincts scream for me to stay, to keep Nick from warning her against me, against whatever fragile, impossible thing is growing between us.
I know exactly how I must look to him. An intruder.
I’m an invisible stranger haunting his sister, lurking around his childhood home. Yeah, I wouldn’t trust myself either if I were in his shoes.
“Please,” Max adds.
“As you wish,” I ground out, cold as the grave I crawled out of.
Nick could convince her to cut ties, to ward herself, to cast me out like the evil spirit he’s already decided I am.
The thought hollows me. What if the trust between us erodes now that she has someone else to talk to?
What if I was only ever a distraction she used to pass the time?
But she asked, so I force myself back, inch by inch, the space between us suddenly wider than it’s ever been.