“I like the quiet. You’re not quiet.” The corners of the vampire’s mouth deepened, not quite a smile, but as close to one as Adam could get. I knew he was trying to soften his words; he hadn’t meant them as an insult.
“I wouldn’t mind a quiet life,” I protested.
Adam just walked out, leaving the door open behind him. I waited for that familiar heavy metal to blare through the stillness, but after a few moments, I only heard the clink of tools. It took another moment to realize that Adam was working without music in case I took him up on the offer to sleep in his room. The vampire really was thoughtful, in his own way.
Tempting as it was to stay here and hide from everything I didn’t want to face, I needed to go home. I had to check on my family, and I desperately wanted to brush my teeth. Biting back a yawn, I found my gym bag and the keys to the van. They glinted in my hand as I bent to write on a sticky pad resting on top of Adam’s desk. Thank you. I set the pen down where I’d found it and left.
I blasted music the entire way back.
As soon as the homestead came into view, I took stock of the cars parked out front. Damon had left for the day, but Emma’s vehicle was in its usual spot. The moment I got out and slammed the door shut, I noticed a figure crossing the driveway. He was obviously just leaving; he held keys in his hand and his sunrise hair was still damp from the shower. I stopped, my eyes widening. “Cyrus,” I said. “Cyrus, I’ve been meaning to—”
“I don’t want an apology,” he said.
I blinked at the interruption. “What?”
“You blame yourself,” Cyrus asserted, his expression strangely calm. “You always blame yourself. But I made a choice, too. I’m an adult and I knew what I was doing.”
A thousand responses clogged my throat. I guilted you into doing it. I took advantage of your kind heart. I put myself first. I still longed to say the words, but was it for Cyrus’s sake… or mine? As we stood there, I resisted the urge to embrace him. Cyrus disliked being touched even more than I did. “Can we hang out soon? Maybe watch an episode of that show you like?” I said after a pause.
His eyes brightened. “Succession?” he replied. “Yes, we left off on episode six, season two.”
I smiled. A real smile. “Great. Text me the nights you’re free.”
Cyrus nodded, muttered a swift goodbye, and walked to his car. He’d forgiven me so easily, I thought. Cyrus Lavender was proof of the good left in this world. Still smiling, I slipped inside the barn and ascended the stairs to the loft. Stanley came around the corner to greet me, his tail wagging so hard that it affected the rest of his body. If he was here, Cyrus must’ve had a long shift ahead of him at the bar. I scratched behind the dog’s ear and kept going up.
A few steps later, the air began to reek of ketchup and meat. I recognized the smell, and then there came the hollow sound of china being placed upon wood. Oh, shit. My stomach curled in dread.
Emma’s meatloaf.
For an instant I considered slinking off to my room. But then I heard her voice drift down the stairwell, “Fortuna?”
Trying not to drag my feet, I nudged Stanley out of the way with my knee and entered the kitchen. I drew closer to the island, setting my bag on the floor. An empty bottle of vodka shone in a ray of sunlight, catching my eye. I didn’t remember leaving it there. Frowning, I started to apologize to Emma. Then she turned. When I saw her expression, I went silent, my throat thick with guilt. The bottle had been put there on purpose.
Emma turned from the stove, holding a glass pan. She didn’t look at me as she came closer and put it down. She pursed her lips at the bottle, driving her point home. “I can’t lose you, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I don’t think I would survive it.”
It felt like someone had rammed a butcher knife into my heart. I thought of the day I’d just spent at Adam’s, and the feeling worsened. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll try harder, okay? I’m going to get better,” I swore.
Falling silent, Emma scooped some meatloaf onto a plate and placed it in front of me. At this proximity, the smell was overwhelming. “I made lunch,” she said.
I plastered a grin on my face and reached for the fork she’d brought. “I see that. Thank you, Ems.”
The old woman mustered a smile, too, and nodded. She pressed her hand on my shoulder before she walked away, heading for her room. I stared at the steam rolling off the meatloaf in front of me, clutching the fork tightly. Stanley rested his big head on my thigh, looking up with pitiful, drooping eyes. Whispering not to tell Emma, I set the plate on the floor and fled.
I was about to disappear into my own room when I noticed Nym’s open door. Curious, I wandered toward it. Hello followed me down the hallway, and she darted through the opening when I poked my head into Nym’s room. The faerie sat on the bed, his back resting against the headboard. His bare feet peeked out from the hems of too-long jeans, and there was a sketchpad propped against his legs. His thin arm moved in quick, rough strokes.
“I need to ask you something,” I said, startling myself.
As my words floated between us, Nym made a dismissive sound. Hello jumped up and curled into a ball against his thigh. “Muddy water is best cleared by leaving it alone,” he replied.
I ventured closer, peering around at the drawings on the walls. They seemed to be getting darker—several of them depicted a hulking shape, surrounded by smears of darkness that were either flames or shadows, I couldn’t tell which. I wanted to ask about these, too, but one question burned brightest in my mind.
“Have you ever looked into my past, Nym? Maybe when Collith was trying to find me?” I blurted.
Nym shook his head, moving his pencil more vigorously. I’d clearly agitated him. I began to retreat, nodding.
“Okay. I do have one more question, though.” I released a slow breath, pausing. “Do you trust him? Collith?”
Once again, the faerie gave no answer. His pencil scratched over the paper. He seemed to be jabbing at it now. My shoulders slumped, and I turned back to the door, worried that I’d made a mistake in inviting Nym to come here.
“No one is completely trustworthy,” he said, the suddenness of his voice startling. I turned again, but Nym looked past me, his eyes hazy. “Not in this game. But of all the players on the board, His Majesty is the one I choose to stand beside. That means something, doesn’t it?”
Quick as that, he sounded like a child again. He met my gaze, imploring, and sadness for him breathed over my heart. Would Nym ever recover from what had been done to him? “Yes. Yes, it means something,” I said.
I left the faerie alone after that, closing his door with a gentle click. But later that afternoon, after waking from a restless nap, I discovered a new drawing on my bedroom floor. I bent and picked it up slowly, tracing the image over and over with my eyes. I touched the gray lines with awe.
It was a portrait of… me. The face that I saw in every mirror. But in this picture, I stood atop a hill, wearing full armor, a sword clutched in my hand. My hair streamed in the wind. I was surrounded by werewolves, faeries, humans, and even a dragon. I was everything fierce and certain and beautiful that I’d always dreamed of being.
It wasn’t a mistake to bring Nym here, I thought, sending a silent thanks to the faerie.