Heat radiates from the molten brown in Mason’s eyes. I can’t take the tension, so I try to laugh it off.
“So...” I drag out with a smile. “How many times did you want to punch Jester last night?”
He lets out a breathy laugh. “So many.”
In an instant, the tension drains out. Mason reaches for my hand and tugs me by it, our fingers intertwined.
“Is it all right if I...?” He gestures between us.
I’m not going to lie, his lean but sculpted form is a little distracting, but my modesty seems to have left me in Jester’s castle.
“It’s all right.” I give him a slight nod, my lips already parting in anticipation.
Mason pulls me by my hand and steps into my space when I lean in. It might have been the cold and lack of clothes, but I flush from the heat exuding from his body. Mason wraps an arm around my back, lifting me to my fingertips. I’m lodged against his firm chest. It’s impossible to resist. I slide a hand up to his collarbone.
“Listen, about tonight...” His whispers feel warm against my lips. “I can’t believe we let ourselves stay apart this long.”
Even though my body tensed at the beginning of that sentence, by the end of it, I’m melting. I nuzzle closer to him, brushing my lips against his.
“We don’t have to be on opposite sides of this,” he says.
I want to agree, but the words won’t come out. If I continue binding the circle, we will be. But I push that thought down. “We want the same thing—peace.”
Mason takes it as confirmation enough. He pulls me into a breathless, deep kiss. The hunger in our kisses gives me the creeping sensation that there’s a reason this can’t last. Even though I should know better by now, I smother the premonition in favor of this moment of bliss.
When Mason’s mouth moves down my jawline and neck, heat scorches my cheeks and I gasp. “Perhaps we shouldn’t.”
He bites a lip, his mouth hovering over mine again. “You’re right.”
He drops me gently, my heels touching the cold ground for the first time in minutes. We exchange smiles that hold the sparkling promise of more. Then, Mason plants a gentler, butterfly-soft kiss on my lips for goodbye.
“Bryar, let’s go,” he calls out to his sister.
Jean’s hands are on Bryar’s face for a goodbye kiss of their own, then the girls pull apart. Bryar walks past me with a smirk. I smile back, before taking a deep breath.
We’ve delayed the inevitable long enough. It’s time to find out if my machinations will work out. If Seff was right and if Jean is prepared to break every rule in the book.
The two of us stand in front of the glossy, black gate of her house in our borrowed nighties.
“Here we go,” Jean says and knocks three times.
Mrs. Gianni opens the door in a night robe of midnight blue, her hair spiraling in loose curls. An almost unfathomable sight on its own.
“Hello, Mother,” Jean says.
If I weren’t a banshee, I probably wouldn’t be able to sense the electric sizzle in her voice. The compulsion.
Mrs. Gianni’s eyes flash in momentary shock before they glaze over as if she can’t see us or make sense of seeing us anymore.
“It’s time for me to come home. You’re going to welcome me and bargain for my safe return with the hunters.”
“They’ll never accept you back,” Mrs. Gianni says with a voice surprisingly like her own. Not at all the monotonous drawl I had expected.
“Then we’re going to have a chat with them to convince them.” Jean sounds more confident than I feel. I suppose she needs to be for the compulsion to work. “Cami and I have a couple of arguments they’ll have to heed.”
Mrs. Gianni opens the door wider in response. “Please, come in.”
Chapter 16. Mason
EVEN THOUGH I’M TIRED as death itself, I shower and find Father while Bryar snoozes.
He closes the door to his study softly and invites me to sit in the leather chair opposite his. In one go, I tell him everything. The last of my resentment toward his secrecy has died out now that Bryar knows about the legacies. I’ll need his help to save her from Andreev’s crew.
True to himself, Father listens without commenting. Even after I’m done retelling the weekend’s events, he keeps silent.
“So? How do we keep Bryar out of Andreev’s grasp?” I nudge him when I can no longer help it.
Father’s eyes darken. Not with anger or menace, but with sadness, which leaves my mind blank for what to say next.
“She might be persuaded to keep quiet for Jean’s sake, but if Andreev senses she knows the truth, he’ll want her to join.” I recover at last. “And then she’ll...” I hesitate. “She’ll be in the same danger as me.”
Father rubs his face with his hands for what feels like an eternity. I’m tempted to burst out at him when he finally levels me with a stare.
“She’s not like you,” Father whispers.
I take a beat, frowning. “Bryar? Well, she has to be.”
“She’s not.”
The silence seems to fold in on itself as I connect Father’s blank stare to his statement. The answer has always been right in front of me, in the brandy-colored eyes I’ve inherited from Father, so different from Bryar’s clear, green ones.
“I love Bryar,” Father says. “I always have and always will, but the fact is, she isn’t like us.”
She isn’t his.
Though I’m sitting down, it’s as if the ground shakes beneath my feet. As messed up as it is, our family is my foundation—the first thing I knew to be solid. I’ve taken it for granted, for the absolute truth. Nothing will make me abandon or stop loving my sister, but the idea that a secret lies at the very foundation of my family shakes me to the core.
Now I finally know why this house is always quiet, secretive, and somber. I wasn’t paranoid about the darkness lurking in my parents’ past.
I exhale through my teeth, so it comes out as a low hiss. The way I regard Father must have changed because his expression softens. The wall between us comes down at long last. Behind it, I finally see the built-up tension, the reason for his reclusive existence. It all served a single purpose—to hide what he and I are. Perhaps even from Mom.
I have no choice but to let the truth wash over me, sweeping away all my previous doubts. Without understanding what exactly makes Father and I different or why we need to hide, I trust in him fully now. He’s an ally I’ll never doubt again.
“Tell me what you can,” I say with determination. “Tell me what I should do.”
“I only know what my father told me, hushed old tales,” he says in a low and hoarse voice. “There are whispers among the hunters of a selected few who can sense the legacies easier than the rest. It took me a while to piece it together, to believe that I’m one of the super hunters, resistant to many of the legacies’ abilities.”
“I pushed Awan’s protector back inside him,” I interrupt. “And Cami’s screams don’t have the same effect on me as they do on others.”
Father nods. “I know a few more. The cold ones can’t compel you well. You’d only stray from your objective for a short while or you could break through it completely. You are also better equipped to see through charms.”
“So, that’s why Andreev wants me on his crew? Because of these abilities?” I almost choke on the last word.
There’s a flash of warning in Father’s warm eyes. “The abilities are helpful to the hunters, yes, but there’s a reason they dress them up as a mere instinct. The rumors, even more hushed among the hunters, are that these abilities make us more similar to the legacies than the hunters.”
I swallow as Father’s entire life finally makes sense to me. That’s the reason he isn’t close with the hunters.
“So, what? They don’t accept you as a true hunter?”
“They doubt the loyalties of those like us, so they pay us extra attention. They want to make sure we wouldn’t side with the legacies.”
“Is that what happened when you and Cami’s Mom brokered the peace?”
Father hesitates, his lips moving the frown on his face a little. “That’s exactly what happened. Carina and I never bought the premise that the heightened instincts are meant to sniff out the legacies easier. We believe people like us exists as a way to keep the legacies in check, to prevent them from becoming too powerful by being able to resist some of their abilities, so we can have a seat at the table—a chance to argue the humans’ case. That’s what she and I did when her circle started growing out of control with their enhanced abilities.”
“We’re mediators,” I say. “Why don’t the hunters like that?”
“Well, because it impacts their agenda. Many hunters mistrusted me, but I had enough support to convince them to accept the peace negotiated with Carina.”
“Instead, the likes of Andreev probably wanted war.”
This is why he’s been training us, even though we’re at peace. It’s why he was willing to risk attacking Cami at her Claiming and why he’ll never accept Jean back.
“The Hunter’s Guild is so close to eliminating the legacies. They’ve imprisoned many of those roaming the world outside of Elmwick, making this town the last safe place for the legacies. I promised Carina I would keep it this way, that I’ll protect their safety here, so long as they don’t harm anyone. I also made them promise not to reveal themselves to you or Bryar, but that was for my benefit. I didn’t want either of you in harm’s way, mixed up into these secrets.”
My throat pulsates with the rhythm of my heartbeat. “But the hunters don’t answer to you anymore? They attacked Cami.”
Father nods slowly. “That’s what I mean by getting mixed up into this. I was able to broker the peace, but the discontent of that decision still festers among the hunters. Many think it was a mistake. They regret wasting the opportunity to wipe out the legacies for good. And they blame my abilities for what they call a meekness when it comes to the legacies. This is your mother’s logic as well, by the way. That’s why we split up.”
I stare into the space between us, unblinking.
“So, do you see now why I didn’t want you involved? Now that you’ve joined the hunters, they’re going to keep a very close eye on you for any sign of the abilities I showed. They’re going to want to assume control of you and sway you from my influence or any proximity to the legacies.”
“And what if I reveal to them that I’m like you?” I don’t mean to rebel, but I refuse to believe that Mom would have placed me in any danger by making me join Andreev’s crew.
Still, Father’s warning from the night of Cami’s Claiming crashes into me. They will kill you.
My extremities prickle at the memory of those words.
Father only shakes his head with a grave expression. “There’s one last rumor among the hunters. The rare few like us insisted we could co-exist with the legacies, that we’re the key to balancing out the supernatural chaos. You’d only be safe among the hunters if you made that happen.”
I stew in the impossibility of this task. Even if my supposed abilities make it harder for the legacies to use their magic on me, how am I supposed to balance them out? They’d never listen to me.
“Why hasn’t anyone tried to do this before? One of those like us?” I ask, but I’m afraid I already know the answer.
“Hunters with our instincts tend to disappear upon discovering that we possess true abilities to negate the legacies’ powers.”
There’s a beat of terrified silence. I’ve never seen such raw honesty and dread in Father’s eyes.
“That’s why I didn’t want you becoming a hunter. The closer you are to The Hunter’s Guild, the easier it would be for them to suspect you. You need to hide your abilities from them at all costs. And you need to stay far away from the legacies, so they don’t have a reason to suspect you befriending them.”
That’s easier said than done. Cami’s face flashes into my mind. How can I keep the promise I made her now? Even though we want the same thing—peace—there are plenty of good reasons to stay apart.
A cutting pain appears in the back of my head the harder I think about this, so I object to Father’s other request first. “I don’t even know the full extent of these abilities. How am I meant to hide them?”
“You’ll do what the legacies do,” Father says. “You’ll nod along with whatever the hunters say. You’ll act like them, talk like them, and put all your efforts into seeming inconspicuous.”
My throat bobs. I’ve needed this talk for so long that even though the answers aren’t the ones I wanted, I finally feel seen, understood, less alone.
“What about the legacies? Cami wants peace, just like her mother. We agreed on it.”
“And while I’m sure she’s doing her best to keep the peace her mother forged, she’s too young to know the full extent of her powers. They might catch her by surprise. She could bind the circle without meaning to.”
“She won’t,” I cut him off. He may be fooled by Cami’s gentle appearance, but he hasn’t seen her stubborn determination, the sheer force of her character. “I believe her.”
“Good,” Father says calmly. “But you still can’t be seen with her. It will tip off the hunters that you might be aware of your abilities. It will make them spur into action. You have to promise me you’ll stay away from her and the rest of the legacies. For your own safety as much as theirs.”
My brain rebuffs the idea, but I fight to school my face into calm acceptance. I’ll have to figure this out later, but the idea of pushing Cami away is as foreign to me as Father’s newfound honesty.
All I know is that I can’t lose the elusive sense of collaboration between us, not after craving it all my life. So I nod.
“Good,” Father says. His mouth scrunches into a deep frown, which leads me to believe he wouldn’t be asking it of me if it wasn’t crucial. Then his expression smooths. “Now, we’ll need damage control to keep Bryar out of this. Your disappearance over the weekend hasn’t gone unnoticed.”
“We can tell them Bryar and I went camping?” I spit out the first excuse I can come up with. “They’ll listen to you, like they did at Cami’s Claiming.”
But even as I utter the words, I know it’s a long shot.
Father’s lips pinch into a sour expression. “We’ll pay the hunters a visit, all right. But they’re tired of my arguments. The only reason they listened to me at Cami’s Claiming is because I used the memory of the War of Powers to scare them into letting me handle it with Allegra. But they’ve had time to process things now, and they’re weary of my involvement in their affairs.”
My jaw stiffens. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Are you saying there’s nothing to be done?”
Father breathes out slowly. “I didn’t say that. My arguments don’t carry much weight anymore, but actions speak louder than words.”
There’s a dead beat of silence as I take in his words.
“This is how our kind lives, hiding in the shadows,” Father says. “It’s a game of chess. Sometimes you open yourself to an attack, deliberately, so you can win the ultimate battle. If we want them to trust us, we’ll have to do exactly what the hunters will do when they find out that Jean is back. And we’ll have to do it before them. It’s the only way to win them over.”
I don’t have it in me to argue back. I feel as clumsy as a newborn duck in this whole conspiracy.
“Now, I’m going to make the call,” Father says, reaching for the receiver on his desk. “You just worry about pulling out all the stops to sell our story.”
Believe me, Father, I do.
Chapter 17. Cami
JEAN COMPELS MRS. GIANNI to hold off the questions until we can shower and change. Then, my friend spends the early morning in arguments with her mother, despite the compulsion. It isn’t as easy as commanding Mrs. Gianni what to do. We need to prep her and craft a story the rest of the legacies will buy without compulsion.
No
t to mention the hunters. She’ll need to convince them as well.
I end up dozing off on the couch while they argue. My sleep is uneasy, filled with verbal attacks from their fight, intermingling with a lecture Vanessa suffers through in her home, and scenes from the vision of Mom’s death.
The screech of metal as Mom flips the police cars onto their sides with a scream. The oozing white foam from her wounds. The burn the gold left on her skin. The man in the midnight blue trench coat, his face obscured in shadows under his wide-brimmed hat.
It’s that last image that prompts me to wake up with a gasp.
AFTER HOURS OF DISCUSSION, we spring into action. If Jean is to return to Elmwick Academy tomorrow, then this all has to be smoothed out today. Jean and I dress in her least eye-catching clothes, trying to seem innocent and unimpressive. I roll the ends of the black jeans she lends me, so they fit my shorter legs.
We crash the apparently recurrent meeting at the church on Sunday afternoon. We’ve received all information we could from Mrs. Gianni, but I don’t feel the tiniest bit prepared for this when Jean, her mother, and I walk into the church.
Our steps echo—loud clinks against the stone floor.
The speaker addressing his fellow hunters, Andreev by the sound of his accent, stops mid-sentence to stare at us as we approach.
“What is the meaning of this?” His growl grates against my brain. “What is she doing here?”
Menace in his eyes, Andreev steps off the podium. We don’t miss the tension that goes through the hunters sitting in the first few rows. My ears pick out the sound of knives unsheathed.
“Easy,” Mrs. Gianni says. “We’re here to talk, not fight.”
“We already discussed the matter of your daughter, Allegra.”
One of the hunters in the second row stands, but I don’t need to look at him to know who he is. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. It’s Mr. Fowler. My jaw drops when I spot Mason next to him. He gives me the slightest of shakes with his head, as if to mean “It’s not what it looks like.”
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