Her conclusion draws a rush of air from me.
“Not everything in our dreams is real, Callie,” Tarian reminds her gently.
“Am I—or am I not—currently housing triplets?TripletsI dreamt about.”
Our overlord glows with pride.
“Here I thought you’d gotten the timeline and details wrong,” I tell her.
“What dream?” Malachi asks.
“She saw Reeve in Atlantis.”
Reeve gapes at Calanthe.
“Dreaming is my superpower,” she declares.
“She has a lot of dreams. Very vivid ones,” I explain.
“Why are you grimacing?” Tarian asks.
“Because I’m subjected to their vividity more often than I’d like.”
Tarian hikes up a brow. “How muchvividityare we talking?”
Calanthe joggles her head. “I leavesomedetails out.”
“She doesn’t,” I tell Tarian with mock despair. “I wish she did.”
“No, you don’t wish I did. Youlivefor those details.” Calanthe’s grin turns incandescent when a flush stings my cheeks. Thank Gaea my back is to my parents.
“Not to interrupt this intriguing conversation,” Dad says, “but any final words before we dump Gael in?”
When I turn, I find Gael standing beside his open cage, studying the shrub at his feet as though it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. Although my parents don’ttouch him, their magic does. It blows against him, catching in his grimy hair, forcing his spine straight.
“No,” I say.
“Rafferty?” Tarian says.
Reeve tips his head to the side. “You had everything, Monta. You were married. You had magic and an extraordinary daughter who was ready to build something with you. Why did you waste it all?”
Gael lifts his gaze off the plant and fastens it on Reeve. “Attachment is a liability. Might want to remember that. Also, careful about takin’ bites of the apple, for it never falls far from the tree. In case my analogy ain’t landin’, I’m Electra’s tree.”
“The hell you are,” my father growls. “You’re not even a dried-up piece of bark. You’re nothing, Monta. To her. To us. You’renothing.”
A crazed grin seizes Gael’s mouth. “How many Hunters didyoukill, Yosef?”
“A person’s worth isn’t measured by the number of lives they’ve claimed,” Tarian says. “Only by the number of lives they’ve enriched.”
“Says the greatest murderer of us all,” Gael drones.
“Stop engaging him,” Mom snipes. “He’s obviously lost his mind.”
“Losing it implies he had one,” Malachi chimes in. “Can we expedite this? I need a drink.”
“No, you don’t,” I say at the same time as Calanthe says, “No drinking for you.Ever. Under no circumstances.”
At Reeve’s frown, I whisper, “Mal’s allergic to alcohol.”
