AS I HURRIED DOWN THE SCHOOLHOUSE’S FRONT STEPS, the double doors burst open behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
“Jemmie, wait.”
“Screw you.”
Crowe quickly caught up to me. “There are rules. Without rules, we’d descend into chaos.”
I stopped abruptly and Crowe had to backpedal. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
He cocked his head to the side. “The difference between Alex and me is that I know how and when to break the rules. She disregards them entirely.”
He had no idea what he’d just done to me. No idea why I was so upset.
I started walking again. The Schoolhouse music faded behind us. There wasn’t a lot of civilization in this part of town save for a few workshops that had long since closed. It was one of the reasons the bar got away with its rowdy crowd and thumping music long into the night.
“You shouldn’t have made me do that,” I said, my voice wavering.
“If anyone else could have, I wouldn’t have asked you to.”
We reached the street. I’d headed this way simply to escape, but now that I was out here, I realized I didn’t have a ride home. If I wanted to go anywhere, I’d have to walk.
“Did Alex drive?” Crowe asked, reading my frustration easily.
“Yeah.” I crossed my arms over myself and rubbed my hands over my bare skin. The night had cooled off since I’d been inside the bar, and goose bumps rippled down my forearms. Still, the fresh air was nice. And necessary. Finally, my head was starting to clear from the muddle of magic and alcohol.
“Let me take you home.”
“I’m not riding on the back of your bike.” Too soon for that, in so many ways.
“I have my car.”
Spend time in an enclosed space with him? Ha. “Not riding in your car, either.”
He ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. Crowe didn’t have a lot of tells, except for this one. It was what he did right before he put someone in their place.
I braced for it. It’d been a long day, and I wasn’t sure I had enough left in me to fight him.
Hoping to cut the tension, I added, “I like walking.”
“It’s three miles.”
“I’m in great shape.” I peered down at my sandals. I was going to have blisters for days.
He sighed. “Just wait here. Please?”
“Fine.”
He jogged back toward the Schoolhouse, disappearing in the shadows on the north side, swallowed whole like a specter.
Less than a minute later, he pulled his black 1967 Nova into the street. He crossed the centerline, driving up alongside me at the curb, then leaned over and opened the passenger-side door.
Inside, the chill in my bones seeped away immediately, despite the fact that the car’s heater hadn’t had enough time to warm up. A heavy scent of cinnamon hung in the air, along with tiny pink shimmers. He’d used a cut to kindle a warming charm. Probably from his mom.
I glanced at Crowe as he shifted the car into gear and pulled back onto the road. “What?” he said, without looking at me.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
We rode in silence for a while, and I tried to calm down. Crowe had no idea why I didn’t use magic, or what it did to me—and that was because I kept my problem to myself. He’d wanted to make an example of Alex and me tonight, and he had succeeded. He couldn’t have known how scared I had been, how awful it felt to cast. Those thoughts cooled my rage and humiliation, making room for other realizations. I had managed to do a binding charm, and I hadn’t ended up on the floor or in the hospital. That… was actually a good thing. And if Alex would let me know that she wasn’t pissed or hurt, then I’d feel even better. Needing to turn my anxious thoughts away from my temporarily powerless best friend, I asked, “What was Old Lady Jane doing at the Schoolhouse?”
Crowe’s thumb tapped against the leather steering wheel while we waited out a red light. “Club business.”
“About the festival?” With a half-dozen other clubs in town, there was a lot of business to do.
The intersection was empty of traffic. Crowe tapped out a quicker rhythm, as if sitting still in the car, the brake engaged, was making him restless. “Jane’s been consulting for me on a few things.”
“Such as?”
“The future.”
I sighed. “Obviously. That’s what Old Lady Jane does. So what’s happening in the future?”
The light finally flicked to green and Crowe stepped on the gas. The car’s engine roared to life as we lurched through the intersection.
“Bad things,” he said quietly.
“You planning to break more bones?”
He leaned back on the headrest. “If I have to. But this is bigger than a few fistfights.”
“A lot of fistfights, then?”
“We haven’t run up against the Deathstalkers since last year.”
I sat up in my seat. “But hasn’t it been seven years since the Devils took their president down? I thought you guys had made peace.”
“Hardly. The Devils didn’t just take down the Stalkers’ pres—they took out all five of the officers, too.”
“Whoa,” I said quietly. “I didn’t know—”
“You were young. I’m sure your dad didn’t want you to know.”
“You were young, too.”
“I was old enough.” Weariness had seeped into his voice. “Anyway. I don’t think the fight is over.”
“But the Deathstalkers hosted us last year in New Orleans.” My hands got clammy as the memories poured in. “They didn’t seem to hold any of that against us,” I said lamely.
“Yeah, they were perfect gentlemen,” Crowe said.
“Your sarcasm is loud and clear,” I said.
“They murdered my dad, Jem.” His voice had gone low and husky.
“What? I—” I swallowed hard. Talking to Crowe about his dad’s death felt like playing catch with a loaded gun. “I thought it was an accident.”
“Wouldn’t it be easy if we all believed that?”
“Flynn told me that’s what it was.”
“Flynn wishes that were true. But I saw my father’s body. I know different.”
I stared out the window into the night. “How could you tell it wasn’t, um… natural?”
He sighed and shook his head. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it to you.”
“Why did you?”
A one-shoulder shrug was all I got for an answer. I let my vision go unfocused as I considered that Michael Medici might have been murdered—by Deathstalkers, no less. And if Old Lady Jane was right and something big and bad was going to happen, I could see why he was tense. With the Kindled Festival coming up, it was the perfect time for someone, anyone, to try to get revenge on Crowe for the pain he’d inflicted in the past year. The perfect time for someone to strike out at any of the Devils. Any of the Medicis.
“You just had me bind Alex’s magic—what if she needs to protect herself?”
“I’ll have people watching her back. Don’t worry about this, okay?” Crowe turned onto my street. “Whatever is going on, I’ll handle it.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I scooped it out, hoping it was Alex.
Crowe glanced at the phone before pulling up in front of my house. “Who’s ‘D’?”
“None of your business.”
“Girl or guy?”
“Guy.” It was true, but also, I wanted to see his reaction.
He shut the car off and leaned back in the bucket seat, his body angled toward mine. A streetlight cast half his face in shadow and half in bright, silver light. Crowe had that perfect Italian skin and bone structure. The way he lived—drinking regularly, sleeping little, high stress and anxiety—you’d think he’d look haggard and older than he was. He didn’t. He looked like he drank kale smoothies for breakfast and ran ten miles a day. I didn’t know how he did it. Maybe his appearance was doctored by Flynn. Maybe Crowe Medici’s handsomeness was just an illusion.
“This D guy a dreck?”
“Not all of us get off on dating for power.” I pushed the car door open. “Why?”
He looked away from me, out the windshield to the empty street beyond. “I just want to be sure you’re safe is all. Seeing a dreck is an unnecessary risk.”
“So you think I should date only kindled?”
A half smile turned him devilish in the light. “I think you should embrace girl power and all that and stay single for a while.”
“You’re a shitbag.” I stepped out and slammed the door shut.
“Jemmie. Wait.”
I stalked around the front of my house to the back door. On the porch, I dug in my bag for my house key but didn’t find it fast enough. Crowe caught up by the time I turned the deadbolt.
“Why are you still here?” I said as I dropped my bag on the kitchen table, giving the house a quick scan. It was dark save for the light above the stove. It cast a soft golden glow around the room. A package of thawing ribs and another of sausage were sitting out on the counter—clearly Mom was planning on making her special slow-cooked feijoada—but from what I could tell, she wasn’t home. Thank God.
“I think we’ve had enough of each other for one night,” I said.
I rummaged around inside the fridge and pulled out a takeout sandwich left over from last night. When I turned around, Crowe was standing in the middle of the kitchen, his car keys hanging from his index finger. He just stared at me.
The house seemed to shrink in size around him, and I took a step back, pressing myself into the counter so I didn’t have to crane my neck to look at him.
“You always going to treat me like this?” he asked evenly.
I set the sandwich down and propped my hands on the edge of the counter. “Treat you like what?”
“Like you hate me.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Jemmie,” he started.
I cut him off. “I should have walked home.”
I moved past him for the living room. His hand snapped out and grabbed me by the wrist. Heat spread out from his touch, engulfing me, and I wondered if he felt it, too, this volcano that erupted between us whenever we touched. Only some of it had to do with magic, but I was already breathing it in as it snaked out in amber streaks around us, dark and dangerous and pulsing.
He hadn’t touched me purposefully in a long time.
A strange smell hit my senses, not magic. It was acrid and sharp, slicing through the sweet amber haze. It was accompanied by a very distinct sound.
The ribs and sausage were sizzling, the plastic around the packages melting onto the meat, smoke curling up toward the ceiling. Crowe cursed, his eyes sliding shut.
Crowe Medici rarely ever lost control of his magic.
“I’m sorry,” he said when he finally looked at me again.
“For the meat, for following me into the house, or for something else?”
The question was baited, and he knew it. He took a step closer to me, and I stepped back until I was pressed against the doorway between the kitchen and living room and Crowe was pressed against me.
I could have sworn the earth shook.
“You don’t know the whole story,” he said, his voice low and throaty.
“I know enough of it.”
“No, you don’t. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t,” he answered.
“Of course not. Because it’s complicated, I’m sure. Or maybe it’s club business.”
He exhaled with frustration. “Everything is always complicated in our world. You know that.”
“Except what happened had nothing to do with magic, and everything to do with us.” My voice rose as I went on. “You kissed me that night and I kissed you back, and what did you give me for it? Silence. Absolute fucking silence.”
“Jemmie,” he growled. I could barely see him through the shimmering fog of his magic. My tongue was coated with it. The meat on the counter popped and hissed some more—and then the sausage caught fire.
With another curse, Crowe stepped away, crossing back over to the kitchen counter. He swept both packages into the sink and turned on the faucet. “I’ll have someone bring over more.”
“Don’t bother.” I leaned over beside him and shut off the tap. “It’s just one more reminder that you ruin whatever you touch.”
His expression turned into a hard scowl. “Fine,” he said, and the meat caught fire again despite having just been doused. I coughed from the mixture of smoke and sweet magic, holding on to the counter to stay upright.
“I hope it’s reminder enough for you.” He turned away from me, tore open the back door, and slammed it shut a second later.
I couldn’t help but watch him through the windows as he strode away, a dark shadow in a dark night.
I was better off without him.
Kissing him that night at his house, over a year ago now, had been the biggest mistake of my life. We had both been drunk, too caught up in each other. I wouldn’t make that mistake ever again.