“Something feels wrong.” I say to Damien.
“You’re adjusting to the transition. It’s going to take time.” We stand together, and he crosses the room to reposition a pillow on the green velvet sofa. “I remember the day you summoned me to this room… naked.” He offers a wolfish smile and cocks an eyebrow. It’s an obvious ploy to lighten the mood, take my mind off what’s bothering me.
Maeve laughs. “I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Why? It was your idea, witch.” Damien’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and I wonder if he’ll ever forgive Maeve for the part she played in his captivity, or if she’s still alive for my sake. Because he’d never hurt someone I loved.
I think back to that night. To that spell.
Maeve’s footsteps on the wood floor echo in the room when she stops in front of the fire. My gaze drifts to the corner where the grandfather clock stands. Silence.
“Eloise, are you okay?” Maeve asks.
“The clock has stopped.”
Maeve shrugs. “It probably just needs to be wound. Don’t these things usually have a crank or something?” She walks over to it and sticks her nail in the lock that holds the cabinet shut. “Your ancestors probably did it before, just like watering the plant.”
I move closer to it and raise a hand to the clock face. Maeve is probably right, but it feels so much bigger than just a clock in need of maintenance. A heaviness forms deep inside me, like I’ve lost something precious that I didn’t even know I had.
Phantom appears next to the clock, eyes flashing green. Their mouth moves, but I can’t make out my grandmother’s voice. I can’t hear them at all. But then, I haven’t heard the fox speak on behalf of my ancestors since my transformation. I thought it was simply because I couldn’t yet feel the buzz inside this new, strange body, but now I wonder. I search for the connection between us and?—
Pop! A clink comes from the front window, and a piece of the mantel bursts into shards.
Maeve draws a breath into her lungs like she’s about to scream.
Some deep instinct has me throwing myself in front of her. Pop, pop, pop. Glass rains across the sofa, the rug.
Damien forms behind me, shielding me. “We’ve got visitors, little dragon.”
A bullet passes through his side and wedges in mine with a dull pinch. I look around Damien to see men in my front yard. Six men in dark suits who all look too much like Tony to not be Denardis. They walk toward us, guns raised.
“How many cousins does the bastard have?” I ask no one in particular.
The clink of metal hitting the floor draws my attention to the bloody bullet my body has just expelled. Maeve stares at it, her face ashen. She’s a powerful witch, but she isn’t bulletproof.
“The attic. Let’s go!” I move Maeve, shielding her as I lift and carry her to the base of the stairs.
The second I set her down, she sprints toward the second floor.
I whirl to find Damien staring through the broken window. Bullet holes riddle his white shirt and jeans as well as the sides of his long, dark wool coat. His eyes, diamond blue and hard as ice, meet mine.
“We need to talk, Eloise,” one of the men says in that patronizing way Tony and Jared spoke to me. “Come out and no one needs to get hurt.”
“You don’t want to do this,” I call back. “The FBI is watching the house. They can see everything you’re doing.”
The man snorts. “We’ve taken care of the cameras. Next we’re gonna take care of you if you don’t cooperate.”
I see red. I’ve had enough of the Denardis. This is supposed to be my homecoming, my safe space, my rest. I refuse to entertain these fuckers for one more second.
“You don’t need to be afraid anymore, little bird.” Damien holds out his hand. “Shall we?”
I flip my bright red curls over my shoulder and give a low, deep chuckle. “Oh, we shall.”
Together, hand in hand, we step up onto the couch and out the broken picture window. Our boots land in the front lawn. We get one more step in before bullets shower from their guns. Damien moves in front of me, taking shots to the chest, the stomach, the legs. One slides past him and lodges in my biceps. It hurts but not too bad. I take one to the cheekbone, which stings.
When the bullets finally stop, Damien flashes me a flirty smile and reaches out to wipe the blood from my already-healing wound. “He’ll pay for that.”
We both turn our attention to the men who are only now realizing there’s something not human about the two of us. I glare at the Denardi who stands at the center, the one who appears to be their leader, and raise an eyebrow. “This is going to hurt.”
