Chapter 38

We stood in the elevator, me fixing my hair in the mirror, Grant towering above me, perfect posture as always. To my surprise, he was the one who broke the silence.

"I would appreciate if you kept our conversation confidential, Miss MacArthur."

"Of course." I was actually a little touched that he had told me. That's when the panic hit. Why in the world did he feel like he should or could tell me all that? "The second we find Savannah, Bryce is going back to New York and never speaking to me again. You know that, right? Of course you know that—everyone knows that. So you know that Thomas and Nadira are fucking crazy, thinking I have some sort of secret power over him, that I'm the easiest way to get to him. Right?"

"Inhale, Miss MacArthur. It'll be better for you."

"Grant..."

"I told you what I did because it's tiring, being ignored all the time. You looked like you wanted to listen and needed to hear it, so I told you. That's all."

"Oh. Well, good."

There was the tiniest ghost of a smile on Grant's face as he continued, "I am, perhaps, a little envious of your ability to get him to listen to you after such a short period of time, but I wouldn't want to take advantage of that fact."

"He doesn't listen to me."

Grant smiled, far too amused by my transparent panic. "Of course not."

"Seriously, stop it."

"There's no need to look so worried, Miss MacArthur. Mr Nast's conduct may be the best I've seen from him in years, but even he knows it isn't enough." His smile became forced. "It is amusing to watch Thomas scramble at the threat."

The elevator doors opened and I stepped off, Grant following a step behind me, the perfect bodyguard as always.

I mulled over what he had said and tried not to freak out too much. Funnily enough, Grant had just contradicted Paulson. Or maybe it wasn't so contradictory. Maybe Bryce could still treat me like crap while treating me better than everyone else. Not better—the best. I liked that. Because I had never had that before. Not someone's best. Not with Dad where I was always Dana's substitute, or Mom, who wanted a mini-her and not a daughter. Even Paige and Mr Cortez, who treated me better than anyone, treated Savannah better. I didn't begrudge them that. But it was a different sort of nice to think that Bryce was giving me his best.

Even if I was still mad at him. I just hoped it was Grant's twenty years that made me trust his opinion and not my own personal preference.

Paulson was in front of the door as usual and he looked like he wanted to say something. But a look from his superior shut him up—the ugly bruise on his jaw might have prevented him from speaking, anyway. At least he hadn't been fired for leaving me alone. Grant took out a plastic card. A swipe and he opened the door for me. I slipped through with a grateful nod.

The first thing I noticed was the bottle on the table. I couldn't see Bryce at first, but eventually noticed the feet dangling off the edge of the couch. Shuffling forward, I didn't call out. I wasn't sure the words would come out properly.

"Please tell me you're Grant."

I leaned over the back of the couch, arms on the back and glanced down. It took Bryce a moment to glance up from the glass of Scotch he was holding, but when he did he didn't look surprised, just disappointed. And relieved. At least I wasn't the only one confused.

"Hi," I said. "My name is Grant. And you are?"

"Not amused." He placed the glass on the table and then quickly came over. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have let them bring you in—"

"They had to. Thomas would have just kept coming back to see me. This way we have a plausible reason for bringing in Alba. Though you shouldn't have hit Paulson."

"Grandpa's on the warpath and he left you? I would have fired him if I didn't think you'd complain about it constantly." He stepped closer, hand just brushing my elbow. "All that stuff I said to Grandpa—"

"It's not like you lied to him."

"God, Gillian, of course it was bullshit. You'd think you would be able to recognize that, being a self-proclaimed expert. Just because you're parents are officially useless doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. I don't think you're powerless and the Cortezes keep reminding me you aren't friendless. And the thing about Savannah was such an out and out lie...but it's the way Grandpa would think about you. I just wanted him...it doesn't make sense him not liking you. He should be indifferent to you and he's so obviously not it's insane. You might be a witch, but if Grandpa doesn't like you, then who the hell does he want me to marry?"

"Someone like your mother, obviously."

"He hates Belinda. He hates all of them—and he must really hate you because he's moving much faster than I thought he would on this. And he's playing dirty. He shouldn't have brought Sean into it. Sean has enough to worry about knowing the family won't ever approve; if he starts worrying about me, he just might be stupid enough to get married and I...I can't let that happen. And that means I have to move faster and that means...so I freaked and shouldn't have and...did that make any sense?"

"Sort of. You're doing okay, I think."

"Only okay? That sucks. I've been practicing since I got here."

"Before or after you went for the alcohol?"

"After," he said, starting to get annoyed. "Are you going to let me apologize or not?"

"Sorry," I said. "Continue."

"Thank you." He took a deep breath and then frowned. "I have no fucking idea where I was. Whatever. I messed up. But everything I said to Grandpa today was about him, even if it sounded like it was about you. Saying that shit is the only way I know how to get back at him for the way he keeps punishing me for...I don't even know what, at this point. It wasn't about you. Because I don't think you're any of that stuff...I actually think you're pretty wonderful."

"Wonderful? Exactly how many glasses have you had, Bryce?"

"Two—I'm clearly not drunk. Stop being annoying. I'm trying to grovel here."

"Groveling shouldn't require mass exaggeration."

"I was trying to be nice."

"Since when do you do that?"

"Oh for Christ's sake, Gillian. Just shut up and acknowledge the apology already."

"Have you ever apologized before?" But I was teasing, a little bit. And blushing a little bit more than that.

Bryce snorted. "Rarely. Sean never actually makes me say it—though this time I've got to because..." He had definitely crossed the line. "But he doesn't usually make me say sorry. Leech pats me on the back and Nadira sticks her tongue in my throat to show there are no hard feelings. Everyone else just gets over it."

"Yeah, none of those really work for me. To tell you the truth, I don't think I've had someone apologize like this before." There were only a handful of people that I let close enough to hurt me, and those people seemed to delight in it. "You want to shake hands or something?"

"No."

"Fine." I found myself grinning and he returned the gesture. It didn't last long. "He's going to come back soon, isn't he?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. I can't believe I ever thought this would be a good idea. He was always going to come after you. He's always hated anyone in my family who had the balls to hang around women they weren't repulsed by and we've basically said I think you're worth compromising everything I believe in for. I should have known he wouldn't take it well."

"I knew what I was getting into. I knew it wasn't exactly safe, but if they can find Savannah it'll be worth it, so stop apologizing."

"I should send you away. He'd keep his word, but you'd be safer if you couldn't keep running into him. I'd make sure he still helped find Savannah."

"If you think I'm leaving town while she's still missing you're crazy."

"Could you please think something through for once in your life, Gillian? Grandpa's not going anywhere. Sean made it pretty clear today that he does not like the fair sex, so I'm pretty much a thousand time officially more important than I ever wanted to be—which means you are a much bigger threat than is safe for you."

"Okay, you need to stop it, Bryce. This whole you trying to be nice to me is creeping me out. When you start trying to keep me safe it becomes a hell of a lot harder to march out of the room screaming that you're a soulless monster."

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Don't try and make me a better person than I am."

"Then stop trying to make yourself worse than you really are." I couldn't help adding, "You don't have to be just who your family wants you to be."

"Yes, I do."

His tone left no room for argument. I wasn't going to argue, anyway. Just because I wanted him to be wrong didn't mean he was. That was the trade—anything he wanted, as long as it never interfered with the company.

Bryce went back around the couch and poured himself another drink. I followed him and sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the couch as Bryce dropped to the ground beside me. He handed me the glass after emptying almost half of it. It didn't take me long to drain the rest of it.

He filled up the glass again, staring at the bottle. I lay my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. Keeping my voice down—I suddenly felt exhausted—I said: "It would be so much easier if you loved your grandfather a little less."

Bryce chuckled as he downed another drink. "Tell me something I don't know."

"It would take a hundred bucks for me to stop talking to Savannah."

He burst out laughing at that, his whole body shaking. "Sure, Gillian."

"Okay, maybe I'd hold out for a thousand."

Still laughing, Bryce said: "Please. To return to what you just said about Grandpa, if you didn't love Savannah so much you might actual do the smart thing once in a while. "

"Savannah? I barely tolerate Savannah—she's a bitch."

This time, I was the one who was too busy pouring that I couldn't make eye contact. "So what?" Bryce asked. "My grandfather's a certified bastard and I still love the guy."

"I don't love, Savannah," I snapped. "I'm only helping her because that's what I do. Because..."

Because that's just what I did. Savannah and I had always had a strange relationship, but love? Ew. Love had nothing to do with it. Maybe it was a little more than obligation...obligation had me checking on Paige's door every night, not trying to get myself killed on the off chance that something could help. I had friends. I wouldn't have walked through L.A. in the dark right after witnessing a murder for those friends. But love?

My desperate need to talk to her when I was upset, to make sure she was always okay, suddenly made a little bit more sense.

"I love her."

I had never thought about it that way before. She was always the thorn in my side, the bitch who talked down to me and ordered me around. Except she wasn't like that at all. I gazed at Bryce in wonder. Could it really have been that simple all along?

I reached for the bottle and just drank straight from it. He was right. It was that simple. How did I miss something like that?

"You sound surprised. Completely surprised. God, Gillian, even you can't be that emotionally stunted. You had to have realized..."

Maybe it was the anguish on my face. Maybe Bryce was just genetically engineered to be a dick. Whatever the cause, he said, "Are we still both talking platonic love at this point?" When I didn't dignify that with a response he sighed and tried to wrestle the bottle from my hands. "I don't think I've turned anyone into a lesbian before. Interesting."

I let go of the bottle so I could hit him in the arm. "Not that way...just like..." I searched for the appropriate description. When I found it, it took me a moment to get it out. "Like a sister."

"Obviously. Do we actually have to have a conversation about this?"

"What do you mean obviously? It wasn't...obviously?"

"I figured it out before I ever took you to Leech's house, so yeah, it was pretty obvious."

"Oh."

"There's no need to sound disappointed about it," he said, slowly. "It's not like it's a bad thing."

If only that were true. It's not like I prided myself on not loving people like some Nasts that I knew, but at the same time, I couldn't have this. This was a disaster of epic proportions.

I bit my lip and whispered: "I can't lose another sister."

Bryce sighed and put down the bottle before he pulled me so that I was leaning against him, surrounded by long legs. I played with the hairs on his arms as I tried not to freak out. What was I going to do now? It was far too late to stop and I couldn't just keep hiding my head in the sand now that I actually knew what was going on. Closing my eyes, I found myself fixated on how I could have missed this.

I lay my head back on Bryce's shoulder and admitted to myself I hadn't noticed because I couldn't handle it. If I loved Savannah like a sister, than I could lose her the same way I lost Dana. She could run away without ever bothering to look back.

Bryce pressed his lips to my exposed throat, but seemed to think better of distracting me that way. His mouth moved to my ear.

"We'll find her. She's the only sister my family's ever going to have—we have to take care of her."

"You can't be sure."

"Yes, I can. We're being punished. Everyone knows it. They used Nast resources, they came after me just to show they could, they buried Yi on our fucking property—the Eisenbergs are out for blood. Killing Savannah would make Grandpa happy, so they aren't going to kill her. Not until they try and take us out when we come to rescue her."

"Forgive me for not finding that comforting."

"Maybe they'll take out Grandpa for us."

I interlocked our fingers. "I don't want him dead, you know. I used to want to make him pay and now...hell, now I think he's already punishing himself for me." I was just sorry he took it out on his family, too. "So what do we do now?"

"Have another drink."

Neither of us moved. I was already a little too lightheaded to want much more so I just sat there, staring at the way his legs towered over mine. Stupid tall person. My hands rested on his knees as he played with the hem of my shirt.

"That's not going to make it stop hurting for very long."

"Fine. What was it that Savannah recommended? Handcuffs? We could do that."

I turned around to kiss him right in the corner of his mouth, hand stroking the side of his face. He hesitated and then his mouth was on mine, his arms wrapped around me tightly, crushing me as I explored his mouth slowly, savouring every crevice I found. After I pulled away, I curled up into his chest, hoping the world would stop shifting soon. Maybe I should have had more than a salad for lunch before trying to polish off a bottle of hard liquor.

Bryce was muttering above me, voice catching in my hair. "You picked the wrong person to comfort you, Gillian. I'm not good at this, nor do I have any desire to be. I don't know what I'm supposed to say. Should I tell you that this is just a temporary setback, something that will just make the two of you closer on your way to some sort of sisterhood happily ever after? I don't know. What do you want to hear?"

"I don't know. Just...I don't know. Tell me something true. I can't remember what that sounds like anymore."

He snorted. "Here's something true, even if it isn't shiny and pretty. It doesn't matter if we save Savannah or not, not really. All it'll do is delay the inevitable."

"We all die? How original."

Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but it was a fact and that's all I had asked for. But that wasn't where Bryce was going. Not at all.

"Everybody leaves."

I would have preferred it if he had just hit me. I think it would have hurt less. How did he manage to sum up the tragedy of my life in two words? Sometimes I really hated Bryce.

He continued: "Even if they don't want to—but for the most part, most people just pick up and don't look back. It sucks but there you go. The only thing you can do, really, is make sure you don't miss them when they do go."

"There are exceptions," I insisted. I had to believe that.

"There's Grant. I've lost count of how many times he's refused to be promoted. But he's mine—and one of these days Grandpa's just going to fire him because that's what Grandpa does and that'll be that. So really, everyone will just let you down in the end."

"Sean would have done something sooner if he realized how much this sucks for you."

"Yeah, because you can always count on Sean."

I think he must have believed it at one point, because he wouldn't have sounded so bitter now if he hadn't. Maybe he was right. What did I know about Sean Nast, anyway? But I hated hearing Bryce sound that disappointed. I didn't want to think about this. I didn't want to think about anything at all. So I turned fully around, wrapped my arms around Bryce and kissed him like something depended on it.

He was thankfully quiet, even when biology demanded we pull apart to breathe. There was no sound—even when we separated slightly to undress there was none of the usual playfulness. Just the silence. It was all quiet, muffling moans in shoulders and anything else that was around like we were teenagers and my mom was downstairs. It had less to do with Paulson who had listened to enough from us and more to do with a strange sort of fear, that a noise might just break this pathetic facade we kept clinging too.

The darkness was growing as the day began to end—why hadn't I turned on the light before? It didn't matter. The shadows were playing havoc with the room, but I could ignore them and focus on the man underneath me. Blue eyes gazed up at me as I gasped in pleasure, watching me, always watching me. The corners of my mouth pulled into a smile and then—at least I wasn't empty anymore.

Still it was quiet; even his laboured breathing was almost impossible to hear. As I lay my head on his shoulder and tried to slow my racing heart, Bryce placed a light kiss on my forehead. I could feel the tips of callused fingers drawing comforting circles on my back. As he brushed the hair off my face, he muttered an apology against my skin.

I wasn't sure what he was sorry about—whatever it was, I think it was a little too late for both of us.

I woke up before Bryce the next morning, sometime around six. It was strange seeing him asleep. It didn't really suit him well. He was always fidgeting when he was awake and it was strange to see him not moving.

No sooner had the thought entered my head than Bryce shifted in his sleep. He always had to prove me wrong. Smiling to myself, I climbed out of bed and got dressed in the dark. Six o'clock might be outrageously early for normal people, but the Cortezes weren't normal people on the best of days and had become even less so since Savannah went missing. They might be up and I should tell Paige about the spell.

I opened the door to find that only Paulson was on duty. Even Grant needed to sleep sometime. It was lucky for me, because while Grant might have been the better bodyguard he didn't have Paulson's skill.

"Nice bruise," I said, tying my hair back in a ponytail. "How's that feel?"

"Like five thousand bucks." Paulson smirked, though he added: "Though we agreed that doesn't cover forgiveness."

"Nice. So is Paige up? And alone?" Because that had been awkward and Paulson had enjoyed it way too much.

"She's in the middle of a meeting."

I couldn't help feeling a little relieved, even if I did have to talk to her about the spell sometime. Just that second, I wasn't sure I could face her. If Paige had just left me alone back then, I wouldn't give a damn if Savannah Levine was dead or not. It wasn't fair of me, but I couldn't help feeling betrayed. And grateful, too, that she hadn't let me just shut down and drift away. But why did fixing me up require making me vulnerable?

All I said was: "Meeting?"

"She's in there with her husband, Jaime Vegas, the werewolves and Adam."

"Which werewolves?"

"The big three." Jeremy, Clayton and Elena—so it was too important or too private for me to interrupt. Good. "None of them is happy with the illustrious Nast family right now."

"Should we invite them to join our club?" Paulson smiled and I knew I was forgiven for speaking the truth yesterday. "Is Sean up?"

"Brushing his teeth." Thankfully, he didn't ask what I wanted with the Cabal heir, just said, "He's alone."

I took off down the hall. While Bryce would apologize himself later in the day and Sean would pretend he had never been hurt (because he hadn't realized what he was asking of his younger brother and he was the type who would feel guilty about that), I wanted to talk to Sean myself.

After the door opened, Fitz silently told me to wait while he informed his boss I was here. After announcing my presence, the result must have been favourable because he ushered me inside, even offering to get me something to eat. I really hoped Bryce hadn't ordered all the bodyguards to make sure I was fed, but I wasn't holding my breath.

I had just said I was fine when Sean came out of the bathroom.

"Good morning, Gillian. What can I do for you today?"

"I wanted to thank you. For yesterday." I couldn't help smiling, because it was too absurd. "I think you might have been the only one in that room that realized you were all standing around arguing about my body, so I figured I should thank you."

"You're welcome—though I wasn't doing it for you."

He sounded much angrier than I had expected, though it shouldn't have come as a surprise. He didn't know we were lying—and he knew Bryce was not happy with this. Why shouldn't he resent me? I was the gold-digger who was playing his baby brother. It was in Savannah's interests not to give the game away and it's not like I needed Sean to like me—I never knew how to get nice guys to like me without playing helpless, anyway.

"I know. I just wanted to thank you anyway."

Maybe Sean's accidental insults had hurt more than I had admitted, because I found myself wanting to tell him the revolting truth even though it was none of my business. But Sean should have lied. He should have spent his whole life living a lie because it would have protected his brother. That's what he was supposed to do, what older siblings were supposed to do (someone once told me), but he didn't bother just because his life was a little imperfect.

But Bryce wouldn't forgive me for hurting his brother so when Sean said, "You're welcome," I just nodded. Sort of. It didn't take a genius to realize that, considering they had been brothers for almost three decades, they were pretty stupid when it came to one another. It couldn't hurt to point that out, right?

From the safety of the doorway, I turned around and said, "Whatever you think about me, Sean, I'm never going to manage to hurt your brother as much as you already have. There's a whole host of reasons why you're better than me, but that's not one of them. Just FYI."

"That's not fair. He didn't tell me—"

"You didn't tell him first. But he's your brother, so he figured it out, because it's important to you. So how do you not realize what he'd be willing to do for you without you even asking?"

It shut Sean up for a long minute. I tried to leave, but he reached for my arm and I stopped, even though he never did make contact. Some people didn't go around grabbing girls half their size. I let him figure out what he wanted to say, anyway.

"How in the world am I supposed to figure him out?" he demanded sadly. "He doesn't tell me anything. He's never told me anything. He's never...he doesn't trust me."

"No, he doesn't want to tell you the truth because he thinks he'll disappoint you because he respects your opinion more than anyone else on the planet." Duh. "You're supposed to be the smart one, right? Your brother isn't exactly subtle—he's not that hard to figure out."

Sean snorted, an actual through the nose animal noise. "Okay, Gillian. Sure."

"It's true. He's less subtle than Savannah and that's saying something."

There was a tiny smile on his face. "Hey, if you ever need a job, I'll pay you to translate for them."

"As long as it doesn't interfere with my classes, I am all yours."

How in the world was Sean going to take over from Thomas? As he gazed at me, I could read him like a book. His anger faded away as he saw just how tiny and young I looked, as he came to the conclusion it wasn't fair of his brother to ask me to do anything I wasn't ready to do no matter what his inexplicable religious beliefs were, that I was far too innocent to enter his family's fucked up political games without it being someone else's idea. He might as well have had a loudspeaker; it was just so obvious.

No wonder Thomas was going crazy over succession. Kristof hadn't exactly left him the best candidates.

"Have a good day at the office," I said and took off before he could start feeling sorry for me.

Hurrying back into my hotel room, I saw I only had a few minutes until six thirty. I went and brushed my teeth, combed my hair and then headed back to the bed. Bryce was still dead to the world but since there was only a few minutes until he to get up...I lay down gently on top of him and began placing kisses down his neck.

It didn't take long until his eyes fluttered open. His mouth quirked upwards and then his arms snaked around my waist, hefting me a little higher so he could kiss me properly.

"You taste like toothpaste," he muttered when I pulled back. "A refreshing change from your horrible morning breath."

"I really wouldn't talk if I were you, mister," I warned. "You have horrible morning breath and you need to shave."

"Shut up. Why are you dressed?"

"Well, I couldn't very well leave the room naked, could I? I had to get up and be a horrific bitch."

"A productive morning then."

"And then I was planning to seduce you before asking your opinion on the spell."

Bryce groaned, and not in the fun way. "Always the spell. Sometimes I think you're just using me for my magical powers."

"Actually, I'm after your magical fingers." He laughed and his hands slipped down my body to prove they really were magical.

And as he cupped my ass, pulling me tighter against him, I had to ask, because if anyone would know, he would: "Bryce? Do I love you, too?"

It should have been impossible. He was a Nast. I couldn't—not a Nast. And a sorcerer. And those were just the superficial reasons to hate him. Then there was his personality. He talked down to me, he hated everything, he insulted me, he made fun of everyone, he had no concepts of consequences, he hurt me...And there were the things he did—had done, would continue to do—as a member of the Nast family that I couldn't dare to think about.

Everyone he knew looked down on me—and him by association. It had been abundantly clear for the beginning that this was a relationship with no future. It was going to end the second he said so and knowing he had all the power had always been ridiculously degrading. It should have been a bright neon warning sign.

He drove too fast. His tattoos would look ridiculous in thirty years. His taste in music was elitist and just a little scary. Complaining about everything was practically his hobby. He cheated at video games. We couldn't kiss if I didn't have a stool.

But sometimes lying to yourself gets tiring—I didn't hate him. I could admit that. I...I think I liked him. No. I knew it. I liked Bryce Nast. The same way I liked Savannah? God, I hoped not.

Even if the sex was really good. And he wasn't hard on the eyes. He made me laugh. I liked the way he could be crass and lazy one second and then polished and professional the next; his mood swings were starting to grow on me. I could almost predict them now.

As for working for a Cabal...that was a lot less of an issue than I thought it should be. I was a Cabal brat. Growing up, it had been the only way of life I had known. And if he did the occasionally morally questionable thing...if I was honest with myself, it didn't actually bother me. I just thought it should. But I had grown up thinking that was just what people did—my father bragged about selling tanks to Afghanistan when I was younger and it had taken me a long time to realize that wasn't the way things were supposed to be. It was just the way things were. As long as none of that happened to me, I was ashamed to admit I didn't much care if it happened to others. Selfish, I knew, but I was a selfish creature. Maybe I hadn't always been that way, but I had become what I was to survive and I was so tired of apologizing for it all of the time. Bryce never apologized—even when he did. He was what he was and that was that.

Bryce always looked at me. He might yell and scream and say terrible things, he might sulk and pout and mutter things under his breath, he might purposely ignore every contribution I made to a conversation—but he was always aware of me. When he ignored me, he thought about me while he did it, glaring and hating. He always paid attention, even when he didn't care. And he did care. I wasn't as idiotic as I pretended. He did care about me—in whatever way he could.

I had always been a sucker for people who pretended they cared. What in the world would I do with someone who actually did?

Under his breath, Bryce muttered something about me being emotionally retarded (again), rolled his eyes and told me: "Don't use words you don't understand. You might hurt yourself."

"I just...I don't, right? Even if I do like you, I don't love you."

"Careful, Gillian. That was a compliment."

"Yeah. It was."

And since he saw I was being serious, Bryce decided to actually answer the question. "No, you don't. You love all the shit I can give you, all those Cabal benefits you can't help loving even if you hate them. But you don't love me. You hardly know me."

"Are you sure?"

Lying on top of him as I was, when he sighed it felt like the whole world moved. "Unless Savannah goes missing for years, this isn't going to be anything...maybe an intense fling. Not that it matters. I already told you—I'm not going to let you get in over your head."

"That doesn't make me feel a lot better," I admitted. "You screw up for a living, Bryce. You trying to stop something practically guarantees it'll happen."

"Oh, shut up," he muttered, grabbing me around the waist, twisting us around so I was pinned underneath him as I giggled. He was placing kisses along my stomach, making me laugh harder, when the phone rang. It was the same morning wakeup call that had happened every morning and he didn't even bother to listen, just picked it up to hang it up.

"You have to go."

He reluctantly pulled away, but his face was all kinds of serious. "You might not believe this, but I actually did something right, once upon a time. It feels like forever ago, but I'm pretty sure I didn't hallucinate it so...yeah. Berkley was...great."

It had been more than that, more than he felt comfortable putting into words. There was such a wistful longing in his voice that it hurt me and I was doing my best not to care.

"I'm sure it was."

"Yeah," he muttered, getting up to get dressed. As he stretched, the cross of his back contracted, but as soon as he stopped Kristof was easily readable. I stayed in the bed, knees pulled to my chest. As he pulled on clothing, he said, "You never did tell me what you found out about that spell."

"It's not a spell. I don't think."

"It was in her grimoire. With other spells. And they're making Savannah learn it."

"Yes, but—it can't be a spell. The translators said it was a prayer to Osiris, the Egyptian god of the underworld and of the dead. He was killed by his brother Set, but brought back by the devotion of his sister-wife, Isis. It's a prayer for new life after death."

"So why can't it be a spell?"

"Because if it is a spell, it would a resurrection spell."

"What?"

It was so beyond anything anyone imagined was possible with magic that even a Cabal prince didn't believe me. Because there were some boundaries even magic couldn't cross.

"If it is a spell, then it's a spell for the dead, to bring them back not as they were, but as they should have been." Not in the pieces that Osiris had been cut into by a vengeful brother, but something whole and new and better. "If it's a spell, it's the most powerful piece of magic I've ever seen."

"Something you'd need a very powerful witch to perform?"

"I don't think there's anyone on the planet powerful enough to perform it without having it kill them. Maybe—maybe—if the kid had just died a couple of days ago and had died of something easily curable, the most powerful spellcaster on the planet could survive casting. But if you want the spell to fix his very genetics when you bring him back, you're going to need more power than normal. You'd need..."

"More power than anyone could possibly have."

"Exactly. Not even Savannah could..."

"So there's no way it could actually work, right?"

Did he want me to reassure him? There was a reason I was pretending it was just a random prayer. It couldn't be possible—but what would it mean if it was?

"I really hope not."