“Thank you.” Emma smiled at Bryn, suddenly feeling tired. All the hours of building anxiety, the long days on her feet, and the late nights with Zach were finally catching up with her. She’d been so prepared for a battle and now everyone was being kind and welcoming. The anticlimax was strangely exhausting.
Elizabeth led her to sit on one of the big sofas, and with Zach settling beside her, she slumped back gratefully.
Kay disappeared and came back with a bottle of twenty-five-year-old single malt and a cluster of glasses on a tray. “I propose a toast,” Kay said as she handed out the whisky glasses. “To new friends.”
Emma sipped at her drink, letting the burn distract her from the emotion clogging her throat. Zach was beside her, warm and solid. His hand was in hers, his skin touching hers, connecting them. And, for the first time in years, sitting in Elizabeth’s cozy Welsh home surrounded by the accents of her childhood, she felt truly accepted.
ChapterEighteen
Zach followedbehind Emma as they climbed the stairs in Bryn’s tiny cottage. The house was quiet and peaceful, but he itched to draw a Shadow sword. He wanted to fill his hands with weapons and cover his body with armor.
Or, failing that, to fill his hands with Emma. He could throw her over his shoulder and haul her back down the stairs and out the faded-blue front door. They could climb in his car and drive back to Elizabeth’s house. Or, better yet, all the way back to Emma’s light-filled home in Swanage. There would be a tang of salt in the air and fresh pastries in the oven. And they would be far, far away from James.
Zach had promised Ethan that he would talk to the man who’d been his friend. Everyone was convinced that James didn’t know anything more. They were certain that what he needed now was support, help to get out of bed, and encouragement to come downstairs and speak to them all. They hadn’t said it, but Zach knew they wanted him to forgive James.
The problem was, he didn’t forgive James. James had nearly killed Kay and Ethan. And himself. Fuck. Zach didn’t even want toseeJames, let alone tell him he was forgiven.
Emma paused on the landing and tucked her hand into his. “You promised me it would be fine, and it was,” she said softly. “This will be fine, too.”
Zach wanted to disagree, to explain that this was different. But how could he do that? She had walked into a room full of Shadow Weavers with so much grace and strength—despite the multiple ways the Order had failed her—and he didn’t even want to look at his oldest friend.
He’d relaxed while he’d been in the bakery with Emma. He’d let himself forget how terrifying walking up to James’s closed bedroom door had been. But now, as they reached the landing, he remembered how much he hated this.
James’s wounds went all the way into his soul, and no one knew what the damage to his Shadows meant for the future. Would James lose control of his Shadows, like Kay had? Or perhaps he would simply go to sleep one night and never wake up again.
It was the part of his story Zach never shared. People knew his sister had epilepsy. They knew she had seizures, and they knew that her heart had stopped. What they didn’t know—what he hadn’t told anyone—was that she died during the night. And that Zach found her. That he had gone into her room to wake her for school, and it was already too late.
Fuck. And now he was thinking about it, remembering the shock. Remembering how the horror and grief crashed over him. And how it nearly swept him away entirely.
He stopped outside James’s door and shoved his hands in his pockets so that Emma wouldn’t realize they were shaking. But, somehow, despite all the years he’d kept his emotions locked down, she still knew. She reached up to press a soft kiss to the side of his mouth. “Are you okay?”
No, he wasn’t. But if he said that, he’d have to admit the rest, and standing on the landing outside James’s door was the last place he wanted to do that. God, he was a mess. Half of him was terrified that James would die, and the rest of him was determined never to reveal another weakness to the man who’d betrayed them all.
Zach pushed it all away. This wasn’t the time or the place. The best way to deal with everything was to focus on the job he’d been given. To check on James. He grunted. “I’m fine.”
Emma tilted her head uncertainly, and he fought the urge to grab her and run. Instead, he reached past her and knocked on the door.
“Come in.” The voice was muffled and low, but unmistakably James’s, and Zach almost sighed in relief.
Emma pushed the door open, and they stepped into Bryn’s compact spare room. A desk sat under the window beside a bookshelf groaning under heavy rows of books. A narrow single bed was pushed against the wall. James lay on it with his back to the door.
James was a Guardian. He should never have been comfortable lying with his back open like that. It was deeply wrong. And fuck if it didn’t remind Zach of how James had lain curled in the fetal position on the cold grass of the dark abbey, more dead than alive after the blood Shadows were purged out of him.
“Hi, James,” Emma said softly.
James flinched at the sound of her voice, and Zach wondered if he was going to pretend he hadn’t heard her. Maybe then they could leave.
James groaned and pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to sit and face them. He looked terrible. He was pale with dark rings under his eyes, his cheeks were hollow, and his hair was standing in all directions. Clearly, James hadn’t been shaving or showering… or eating.
James ran his eyes over them both and then frowned. “Emma?”
Emma stepped closer, and Zach followed. As much as he would have liked to hover near the door, he couldn’t leave Emma to walk in there alone.
“Yes. Wow, you look just like I remember. But bigger,” Emma said.
Zach wanted to laugh, but he knew it wouldn’t be a nice sound. James didn’t look the same at all.
James cocked his head to one side, his eyes widening as his nostrils flared, and Zach knew without any doubt that he was looking at Emma’s Shadows. And he also knew that the next thing out of James’s mouth would be bad. Emma had warned him about how people reacted, but somehow he had been so wrapped up in his own fears, that it hadn’t occurred to him James might be one of them.
