“I know,” I say. “Some kind of witchy goop for perfect skin.”
“Interesting.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Not really, I was trying to get you to drop it.” Luca turns back to the stove to continue herding the food around. Steam fills the air with the mouthwatering smell of rosemary, garlic, and melted butter.
“Harsh. Dinner smells good.”
“Don’t expect much,” Luca says. “It’s just one-pan chicken and veggies.”
My stomach rumbles. It’s pathetic, but I haven’t had a home cooked meal since I came here. The idea of consuming a dinner that wasn’t frozen ninety seconds before it reached my mouth is ridiculously nice. I keep that thought to myself.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, seeing a text from Sheena. The tone of her message is flat. I silently curse my brother for taking so long to figure this out. With the grumpy fae getting involved, it shouldn’t be this hard.
I clench my hand around the phone, wishing, ironically, that I could do more. I’ve offered to come back and help—ten times now—but Sheena won’t let me. The feeling of helplessness won’t go away, and I wonder if I would have been better off not caring. Her friendship is the best thing to happen to me in years, but if I lose it?
A chill rolls over me, even though with the stove on, it’s plenty warm in here. Pushing my worries to the back of my head, I half hope they’ll get lost and decompose before I’m forced to confront them again.
“Is your friend okay?”
I look up from my phone, a bolt of energy shooting through me as I find Luca’s hazel eyes fixed on me. Surprise follows my unease, joined by something I can’t identify. He remembered.
“Yeah, she’s fine,” I say. It’s true, if you’re free and loose with your definition of fine, but this secret isn’t mine to tell. It is, however, mine to keep, and I would relive the year I turned fourteen a million times before I would betray Sheena.
“Dinner is almost ready,” Luca says, turning back to the stove. “And it’s mostly dark. I bet we can expect”—a brisk knock interrupts him, and he shakes his head—“Alistair to be here soon.”
Shaking off my stress, I walk to the doorand work my way through the deadbolts. There are three. That’s a lot, but I’d actually like to multiply it.
“It’s a little toasty out here,” Alistair says through the door, tension in his tone.
“You should have waited until it was dark,” I call back, unlocking the final lock then swinging the door open. Alistair’s face is visibly red beneath the hoodie he’s wearing. “Gods, get in here, you maniac.”
I step out of the way, and Alistair darts inside, letting out a deep breath once the dying rays of the setting sun can no longer reach him.
“Are you trying to broil yourself?” Celine snaps, appearing in the hall, hands on her hips, no goop in sight.
“I’m fine,” Alistair insists, his tone biting enough to call him a liar without anyone else having to go to the trouble.
Luca shakes his head as he plates the food, deliberately meeting my gaze. I shake my head.Is he trying to call me out for claiming the same?
Alistair picks up his bag and heads to Celine’s room, his fingers brushing her cheek as he passes. “Your skin is softer than rose petals,” he murmurs.
I shake my head—what a corny fucking line—then laugh out loud when I see the triumphant look Celine is leveling me with.
“Choo choo,” I call out as they disappear down the hall together.
“Fuck off,” Celine shouts. “And don’t touch my paintings again.”
TWENTY-NINE
Unspoken rule of the Fringes #43:
Watch your own back.
CELINE
Imani corners me in the dressing room, crossing her arms. “What’s going on, babe?”
