Right. He’s my mortal enemy. It’s best if I remember that. “Fine.”
“We’ll say it at the same time, and maybe it’ll come true.”
I laugh because it’s ridiculous. He doesn’t laugh. Devlin’s still holding my wrist, his fingers burning imprints of heat into my flesh, imprints that I know will last well after he’s released me.
“Are you serious?”
“Why not?”
Why not? My gaze shifts to the star, a single star that’s winking at me from up in the heavens.
“Fine.” Anything to get out of here and get back to the ball. Chatty Cathy probably has Storm Grayson pinned up against a wall and is trying to get pregnant via osmosis or something so that she can trap him and steal all his money.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Ready.”
“I wish?—”
“I wish?—”
“That I’d never?—”
“That I’d never?—”
“Been born with this power,” we say in unison.
From out of nowhere, a fierce gale rips over the balcony, picking up my skirt and blowing it toward the ballroom.
Devlin’s still holding my wrist, but a wave of heat pulses from his hand and shoots down my arm, making it feel like I’ve been set on fire.
I screech and he drops me.
The fire shoots up to my shoulder and dives into my stomach, where it coils up like a snake before the power explodes out of me. As soon as it’s gone, a new force pushes in—a beam of energy traveling a thousand miles per hour. It slams against me and I stumble back.
Devlin does the same. There’s shock on his face. He stares at his hands, pats his chest, then looks at me.
“Did you feel that?”
“Of course I felt it. What was it?”
I feel different, strange, as if a part of me is gone. That power of mine which is always simmering is simply silent, like it’s vanished into thin air.
What the hell?
My gaze swivels around as if I can find answers out in a garden overflowing with gardenias and hydrangeas.
That’s when I see her.
My grandmother’s standing at the door, her ghostly face pressed up against a pane of glass.
She’s staring at us.
And she’s smiling.
8
“What have you done?” I demand.
