“Come look at this,” Camille said. Luke walked around Jeremy to get to her. He smelled like incense, like maybe he’d burned some over his mother and sister before they left the house.
Camille pointed to the book. “It’s like how Grandma Sophie lays out the bones.”
“Yeah, it is.” Luke caught Jeremy’s eye. “You’re sure that’s not real?”
Jeremy shrugged.
“You might want to put some focus in it.”
Jeremy looked up and caught Luke’s eyes. He got focused, all right—just not on soap.
The next knock was Natalya and Corey Malcolm. Alexei’s voice chilled the hall, even though Jeremy couldn’t make out his words.
“Jeremy!” Natalya popped into the doorway, coming to Jeremy with her arms outstretched. He reeled back and would have fallen into one of Marta’s plants if Luke hadn’t grabbed his arm.
“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Luke snapped.
Jeremy wrenched his arm away, though the shape of Luke’s hand kept burning there. He didn’t want to talk to Natalya, true, but he didn’t want Luke to fight his battles, either. “I just have to finish this.”
“Kid! I can’t find the weed.” Sergei’s voice led his body down the hall.
“The what?” Luke squinted at Jeremy.
“Weed. Sergei and I use it to help get into the ritual.”
Camille leaned around Luke with her eyebrows high on her forehead. “That seems dangerous.”
“I think Marta finished it.” Sergei leaned against the doorframe, squinting at the side of a red prescription bottle. “I have a couple Xanax or, this is some cough syrup from when Vanya had bronchitis. I can’t tell if it’s expired.”
Camille’s mouth fell open, and Luke looked a little desperate. Feeling exposed, Jeremy said, “I don’t need anything.”
“Your call.” Sergei popped a brown pill bottle with one thumb.
The room felt too small, and when Alexei, Malcolm, and Helene came in, it could have burst. The plants rustled against too many bodies.
“Very well,” Alexei said. “Let’s begin. Miss Melnyk?”
Camille held a burlap bag under his nose. “One hair, please.”
Alexei dutifully plucked one free and dropped it in, but when she presented the bag to Malcolm, he grimaced.
“We should have an objective third party to do the truce,” Malcolm said. “Are you going to enforce this?”
“Why do you care if I hate Alexei?” She sounded genuinely confused, and over her head, Alexei smiled.
Malcolm pushed a hand through his red hair and gave her a loose strand. She hopped up to perch on the edge of the hutch and whispered over the bag.
“So.” Alexei surveyed the room. “I’ll build the ritual to essentially create a meditative space that we will enter together. Everyone will contribute and should be able to have some degree of control once we go in. We’ll explore our memories of the incidents in question. Be prepared to take action inside the ritual, but most likely we’ll simply be watching, looking for an opportunity to unwind the spell in another, more structured ritual. Any questions?”
“Yeah.” Malcolm looked around. “What the hell does that mean? What did he just say?”
“He’s going to take some blood,” Sergei said. “We’ll go look at our memories. Pay attention.”
“Why didn’t he say that?”
Sergei shook his head like don’t ask me.
“What did ‘take action’ mean?” Malcolm looked between Sergei and Alexei for an answer, but both looked vague.
“You know,” Sergei said, “just feel it out.”
Malcolm grunted in exasperation. Jeremy had to stifle a giggle, though he didn’t know how he might answer more clearly. It was Luke who spoke: “It’s fairy-tale rules. You guys do energy patterns, right? Rock and fire?”
Malcolm nodded.
“Cool. We do the same thing, but smaller. Herb magic. They don’t do anything like that. Alexei just bleeds on shit and then he owns it. Fairy-tale rules. The witch, the king, whatever he is, he’s in charge. My theory is—”
Jeremy felt oddly bare, cut open and analyzed like a cadaver. Alexei made a dry scoffing sound, but he didn’t interrupt further, and Luke kept talking right over him.
“—the original ritual broke, because Alexei didn’t have control of it. It was his father. Ivan’s not here, but between you and my mom, you gave Ivan the power over that ritual, so you should be able to take it back. The goal is going to be to get the power back to Alexei, so he can repair the original break. Mom is going to figure out what she’ll need to make to counteract the candles, if we have to do this again. Alexei is going to examine his spell so he knows how to change it. And I’ll be watching for how I might uncross it, too.”
Helene smiled tightly, just stretching her lips. Luke put his arm around her, and though she didn’t look much reassured, envy ached in Jeremy’s stomach.
“You’re here to show us the other side of the story,” Alexei said, sneering down his nose at Malcolm. “I can look at my memories, but I need to see what happened at your house. All you need to do is stay out of the way.”
“While you root around in my head?” Malcolm crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.
Alexei ignored him, putting his bowl in the center of the rune-covered table with a heavy thunk. He had a glass of milk and a loaf of bread, too, symbolic gifts for communing with spirits. Helene raised her eyebrows as he put them in place, but if she disagreed, she didn’t say anything. “Most of you are here to complete the circle and fill out the memory. What I need you to do is focus on where you are, physically in this room, as well as what you’re remembering. It’s tricky to do both at the same time, but we almost got lost the last time we did this, and I was balancing fewer minds. Camille will be keeping an eye on us and can tear the ritual open if necessary, but it’s much more comfortable for everyone if we can exit smoothly when we’re done.”
He paused and surveyed the faces. “Any more questions?”
Everyone looked around, catching eyes, giving each other sympathetic twists of their lips or brows. It felt impossible that there weren’t, that they were just going to dive on in, but there seemed to be nothing else to say.
Alexei pulled a knife from inside his jacket—he was in a full suit for company—and sliced open a bag of blood. As it filled the bowl, its dense scent filled the air.
Camille pressed against the wall. “Is that human blood?”
“Cattle,” Alexei said.
“Where do you get cattle blood?” she asked.
“Cows.” Alexei winked, and Jeremy could see Camille remember she didn’t like him and wasn’t supposed to want to learn from him. She settled on the hutch, looking down at the truce bag as she turned it in her hands.
Alexei brought the knife to his own palm first, holding it over the bowl until a drop of his blood fell in.
“Mrs. Melnyk?” Helene gave him a hand—she turned her face away, grimacing, as he cut—and then Corey, who watched intently as his blood fell. Alexei took Jeremy’s hand with an encouraging smile, and cut the pad of his thumb so lightly he felt only a tiny burst of heat. His drop of blood rippled thickly in the bowl, and he put his thumb to his mouth, tasting salt.
“And Luke.” Alexei gestured him forward with the knife.
Luke shook his head. He wiggled a hand into his hair and presented a strand to Alexei. Alertness galvanized the room, Luke’s curl bobbing genially over the center of the table.
Alexei paused for a beat and pushed a hard, frustrated breath out through his nostrils. His voice, as always, stayed cool. “Very well. You may be limited in the ritual.”
Luke shrugged. Alexei took the hair and dropped it into the bowl, where it sank and left the red surface smooth.
The heat, the smell of blood, the little burn in his hand, and the claustrophobic press of the room all came together to make Jeremy queasy. “I have to go catch my breath,” he whispered.
Alexei nodded. “I�
�ll call you when we need you.”
Jeremy stepped into the hall and out of sight of the room. He should have taken that Xanax. He should have known better than to try this at all.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Luke imagined a thread between himself and Jeremy, tangling when they got too close and yanking when they went too far. Jeremy left and the thread pulled. Luke had meant to stay and make sure he understood the spell, but as Alexei started murmuring over the bowl of blood, Luke sidled around the room and followed Jeremy down the hall.
He was in the peachy-pink downstairs bathroom with the faucet running and a damp hand on the back of his neck. His eyes were closed, lashes a thick gold fan against his cheek. Luke kept himself past the threshold. “Jeremy.”
His eyes opened, and he turned off the faucet with a quick, stiff motion. “Oh, what?”
Luke put on a grin. “Why do matryoshka dolls make terrible friends?”
Jeremy tried to glare, but Luke had caught him by surprise, and there was a smile threatening around his lips.
“Say ‘why.’” Luke stepped closer.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“‘Why.’”
“Why?” Jeremy made the shape of the word, barely any sound in his voice.
“Because they’re full of themselves.”
Jeremy sighed, but he definitely smiled. “That’s the worst one yet.”
“No way. That one’s almost legit.”
“Terrible.”
“It’s not as bad as the peanut joke.”
Jeremy’s face said, Yeah, I guess so, and his words said, “Did you want something?”
“Yes.” Luke stepped into the room, close enough to touch the water droplets running down Jeremy’s neck or the smooth skin inside his elbow, though he didn’t. He caught Jeremy’s eye and found him looking, though he glanced immediately away again. “I have to clear something up,” Luke said. “When you came over, when we—when I was running my mouth instead of being with you, I wasn’t saying I don’t think I’m your true love. I was asking if you were mine.”
Jeremy’s eyes fluttered closed—like he was sick, like Luke had poisoned him. “You made it sound like I was cheating on you, or something. You made me sound horrible.”
“I know. Look, I was overwhelmed, and I wasn’t ready, and I put it on you.”
“I can’t stop thinking about it.” Jeremy hunched over the sink. “Whether I was using you. What I was even doing with you.”
Luke couldn’t have that, rewriting history—they had messed it up, but for a minute, it had been great. “I think you were with me because you wanted to be, and it was good. Other people’s mistakes aren’t your fault.”
Jeremy threw his shoulders back to stand. “Then why didn’t you ever ask me anything, instead of deciding how it ought to be?” He huffed. “You should have told me about Natalya. That you’d warned her.”
“You should have listened when I did tell you.”
Jeremy’s jaw dropped. “You were right about the magic. I told you, I know. But you went about it all wrong.”
Luke shut his eyes. “I know. And I’m sorry. Does it help if I was trying to protect you?”
“No.” Jeremy’s voice had gone soft, and Luke opened his eyes to find him staring at the ground, chewing on his lower lip. Luke’s thumb wanted to pull it free, nudge it into a smile.
“I’m sorry,” Luke said. “For real. Give me another chance, and I’ll tell you every time.”
Jeremy stared. Luke would have liked—something. A kiss, a confession. But he also wanted this boy, who was working so heartbreakingly hard to be brave and still definitely going to stand there getting redder until Luke made another move. He reached forward and took one of Jeremy’s hands, moving his finger over the knuckles.
Jeremy didn’t pull away. “You should get ready for this ritual. It’s going to be heavy. Even just looking at Alexei’s memories was almost more than we could take.”
Luke nodded, but he was more scared that nothing would happen—they’d go watch some bitter old memories and find no way to change. What mattered was the difference Jeremy had already made. “I know you can take it. You’ve already done more than the rest of us ever managed. Kovrov and Malcolm in there, no guns, acting almost civil? That hasn’t happened in decades, and that is all you.”
Jeremy looked quickly at Luke, and again. “It’s you,” he said softly.
Luke ducked closer, stilling to be sure he’d heard right. “What?”
Jeremy went slowly red. “It’s for you. I’m trying to—to meet you halfway. Fix all the messed-up stuff you were right about. Maybe we can have another first.”
He stared out the door, and Luke ducked lower to catch his gaze. Luke was warm all over, smiling irrepressibly. “I’d like that.”
Jeremy shook his head, still looking too sad for his sweet words. “And then what? You’ll come over and have family lunch with Alexei like everything’s fine?”
Luke shrugged. “There was a lot about working with Alexei I liked. Some of what I didn’t like is changing. I don’t know. Do we have to plan a whole life just to get a new start?”
“My family’s always going to be my family. I have to figure it out eventually.”
Luke swallowed hard. “The world’s going to stay complicated. You don’t have to fix every piece of that.” He paused, his jaw tight. “You just have to decide what you want to fight for.”
With a crease between his brows, Jeremy moved his thumb over Luke’s bicep, the fine, pale scar where Alexei had cut him. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I won’t let them hurt you again.” He stopped talking but kept his hand on Luke’s arm, and Luke didn’t answer, letting the touch speak for them.
Finally, Jeremy hit him with the big eyes. “What if we do all this and I kiss you again and it still doesn’t work?”
Luke looked steadily back. “What if I kiss you again, and it does?”
“I know I should know.” Jeremy shook his head. “Marta and Alexei keep saying I’ll just know, but I never just know anything.”
Luke touched Jeremy’s shoulder, and when he didn’t flinch, he pulled him closer. “I know. Let me be sure for both of us. My dad made this whole speech about what love is, but you know what? I just know. I’ve never felt like this before. This is something real.”
Jeremy shook his head but didn’t move away. “What was the speech?”
Luke rolled his eyes. “It was like, you’re with the right person when you’re doing the right things. The person who brings out your best. It sounded good, but it was another abstract thing to try to pin down.”
Jeremy absorbed that slowly, teeth on his lip. Luke gave in, using his thumb to pull it gently free, and Jeremy’s gaze popped up.
“Even if the ritual doesn’t change anything,” Luke said, “even if you’re crossed, I want to be with you. I missed you like hell. Not the crossing, or the job. You.”
Jeremy dropped his head forward, collapsing on Luke’s chest, and Luke wrapped an arm around his back and hugged him in. He still spoke so quietly that Luke had to duck to hear him. “I don’t think that sounded abstract, what your dad said. About love. That is what we’re all doing here. That is exactly how I feel about you.”
It was Luke’s turn to blink all dumbstruck. Jeremy lifted his face close to Luke’s ear. He whispered Luke’s name, his voice breaking over the long vowel.
Luke put his hands on Jeremy’s waist. “Yeah.”
“What’s the difference between a hippo and a Zippo?”
Luke jumped in surprise. A silent laugh shook Jeremy’s ribs, and Luke was smiling before he told his face to move. “What?”
Jeremy leaned back to look in Luke’s eyes. “One’s really heavy and the other one’s a little lighter.”
A laugh punched out of Luke’s mouth, and another. Jeremy gave him the smuggest little face he’d ever seen and slipped out of the bathroom. Luke stayed against the sink, dissolving into hysteria—the more he tried to stop
laughing, the deeper it sank in. Alexei called his name, and he went back down the hall, gulping in air and wiping his eyes. He got himself together and pulled the door closed behind him, taking his seat next to Jeremy.
Alexei touched Jeremy’s shoulder. “Would you do the candles?”
Jeremy breathed into his hands—one, two, three—and blew forward, sending light dancing around the room. A bubble touched each unlit wick, and the rest found perches on the plants and walls between. Camille brushed one away from her hair, frowning, and that seemed funny, too. Luke started laughing again, taking Jeremy’s wrist. His mother squeezed his arm severely as she took hold of it, but it was too late. The vertigo of the ritual took him over and ripped away the last of his self-control.
“A little lighter,” he repeated as the room faded around them. “Oh, man. I think I love you.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
The room was darker than Jeremy, a city boy whose blackest nights were topaz and purple, had ever seen. He strained to see through candles that cast more smoke than light. They would have stung his eyes, if his eyes were really there.
He couldn’t feel his body, nothing except the slow bump of Alexei’s pulse under his fingertips. “Alexei?” he thought, looking for the easy reassurance of his presence, and when he didn’t get it, a red surge of panic washed over him.
“Jeremy?” That was Luke. Jeremy focused there, keying into him. It was wrong that he couldn’t find anyone else, but Alexei had built something complicated. Maybe they had scattered somehow.
Luke’s voice in his heart said, “She looks like you.”
Jeremy pushed his focus out of his own mind, to the vision: a stooped man with an even heavier hammer face than Sergei’s; two younger men at his shoulders; the girl in the plain, drab dress. She had big, dark eyes in a gaunt face and strands of fine hair escaping from her cap. She seemed younger than Jeremy expected, maybe twelve years old, or maybe that was hunger.
“Maeve,” Jeremy said. Her eyes stayed fixed on the Kovrov.
“I have come to beg your protection, sir,” she said. If this were not inside his mind, Jeremy wasn’t sure he’d understand her. Her brogue was different from the Irish accents in movies the way this smoky darkness was different from Hollywood’s candlelit rooms, thick and impenetrable.
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