More than anything, Mom adored a reason to dress up. The following evening rolled around in a frenzy with Dad in the kitchen all day preparing dinner and Mom nagging about everything. She insisted I wear something lovely. Like I knew what that meant. I wasn't born with a sense of fashion and I wasn't taught one, either. Lovely, to me, was a pair of sweats and a sweater. Lovely to her, I was sure, meant nothing in my closet. I never understood why people made dinners stressful by trying to be fancy. Dinner was supposed to be about eating!
Unmotivated and too depressed to wait downstairs, I sat at my desk reading the paper Rhett had shoved into my letterbox. The marriage was front-page news and nothing was off-limits. They wrote about my curse and referenced an article from when I was nine. The only good thing about the article was that they hadn't dismissed me as a lowly college student. In fact, they had big expectations because I was a lowly student and somehow caught his eye. If they only knew.
Because of this, I had stacks and stacks of letters piled on the floor—and those were only the ones that got through before I submit a request to reject unapproved senders. I didn't read any of the letters. I didn't want to. I only read the mail I received from Naomi, Rhett, and Nix. Blake hadn't reached out. I considered writing her, but the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I didn't have it in me to play nice.
A knock sounded at my door. It came as a surprise that anyone in that house would knock. I waved them in as if they could see me. "Come in."
The knob twisted and the door opened. There stood Lucien Lacroix.
"Oh," I said blandly. "I didn't hear you arrive."
"Your mother caught me at the door and suggested I collect you so that you do not hide up here all evening." Lucien strode in with an amused smirk, his arms folded behind his back and his gaze unobtrusively cast to the side. "Are you ready?"
"I guess." I stood, flattening my hands against the long skirts of my old, school uniform. They were a soft, wool material and gray. I figured it would pass muster with a black turtleneck.
Lucien offered an arm. "I suggest you not open that mail."
"I won't." Too tired to make a fuss, I took his arm and we made our way down in an uncomfortable silence that had me wanting to turn tail and crawl into bed.
Mom appeared from the arch of the dining area, a grand smile lighting her face. "Ah, good. Jordan and her partner are here too, but I saved your seats. Elise couldn't make it."
"Gee. Wonder what she's doing here."
"Oh, stop," Mom said, chuckling as she vanished into the dining room.
My hand tightened on Lucien's arm. "Watch out for Jordan. She's a journalist."
"Worry not. I am adept at navigating these situations."
Despite my faith in his ability, I was anxious about having dinner with my sister. She'd done worse than throw family on the wayside for a story, and she had a knack for needling information out of people.
Inside the dining room, Jordan rose from her seat and threw her hands out, fanning the sleeves of a shiny, indigo dress that fit snug around her plump frame. She always did like the spotlight. She flashed her perfect teeth at me in a predatory smile and dusted black bangs from her eyes. "My baby sister. It's been so long."
Not long enough. We never were able to get along as children, not like Elise and me, and something told me she didn't come for a bonding experience. "This is my sister, Jordan, and her partner."
Her partner raised a hand in an awkward wave, offered a bare smile, and dropped their hands in their lap. "Spencer. They/Them, please."
I didn't know Spencer very well, but I didn't mind them. Not yet. They were on the quiet side, which was likable. We met once before, the last time I saw Jordan, and the only thing I knew about Spencer was that they had stunning, amber eyes and elegant hands. Oh, and that they worked for The Origin Review.
"A pleasure." Lucien inclined his head at them and prompted me toward the two open seats. Freeing my arm, he pulled my chair out and pushed it in as I sat. He then took the seat beside mine.
"I simply have to know how this started," Jordan said, gesturing to us. "There must be a story here."
"Forgive me, but I would rather hear about you," Lucien said as the food was dished out and passed around. "Vera has told me little."
My sister was never known to not tell a story when asked. She began in gusto, "Oh, well, I should begin where Vera got her curse. It was in these woods, right behind us. After we found her, nothing was ever the same." She dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, careful of her winged eyeliner. "It might have been her curse, but it was difficult for all of us to see this bubbly little thing turn into such a cold girl."
"Maybe you can talk about anything else," I said, stabbing a fork into some green beans. I glanced at Lucien to find him as impassive as ever.
"Her shyness is new." Jordan giggled with my mother, earning a glare from me. "But as for me, I graduated and went on to Origin. Found I had a knack for journalism. It's where I met Spencer. We got jobs together at The Origin Review and, um, we haven't been back in The Mundane in years, actually."
"Truly?" Lucien twisted a glass of wine, his lips curling up as he studied Jordan. "This surprises me given the bloody history of Origin. I always imagined that witches would feel strongly about living in both worlds."
Jordan cocked her head to the side, her brows pinched. "What do you mean?"
"I suppose it is hardly important enough to be taught these days, but for some time, Origin was the only place witches were allowed to live."
"Why, though?" I asked, lowering my fork to the plate.
"My memory is fuzzy, so forgive a lack of details, but the council, then, was over-reaching and power-hungry. They claimed The Mundane was meant only for mortal-kind and that ammortals, or witches, and immortals were meant for Origin."
"What happened?"
Lucien's stare turned to me, his gaze soft. "For a century, witches did as they were told and trapped themselves off from the Mundane realm. It proved to be hazardous, making more feral witches in a century than any before it."
"And the immortals?"
"I cannot speak for all immortals, but the vampires refused."
"And you were there?"
He shook his head. "I am only a hundred and seventy. The reformation happened over three-hundred years ago, but this is a history all vampires are made to learn."
"What ended it?" Spencer asked, their head cocked to the side.
"A terrible civil war. My kind intervened upon request and took dominion over the council until the reformation."
"Wow," Jordan said tartly, her lips curling into a smirk. "You've been around a while."
"Jordan," Mom warned, flashing a mean glare that Jordan didn't seem to pay any mind to.
Chuckling, Lucien grabbed his wine glass and rolled it in his palm. "That is quite all right. I understand. You must share a deep bond with my wife."
My cheeks burned.
Jordan leaned back in her chair with a put-upon huff and crossed her arms.
Dad, ever the history buff, leaned forward eagerly and said, "You must have fantastic stories."
"You would be surprised how little I remember, but forgive me for going on. I would enjoy hearing about you—"
"Why did you and my sister marry?" Jordan said quickly. She wasn't smiling any longer, and her eyes were set in a harsh squint. She was done playing the game. "I can't seem to make sense of it."
"It's none of your business." I glared at Jordan. "So butt out."
"Vera," Mom said, voice tight.
Sneering, I picked up my fork and continued eating.
Jordan forced an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. It's difficult to turn off my journalistic instinct."
"That is quite all right." Lucien bowed his head. "There has been enough pain in Vera's life, as you know. It was my desire to see her protected. I believe that should tell you all you need know about my intentions."
I froze as Lucien's hand fell over mine, unmoving and somehow chaste. Harmless, even. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to hide beneath the table or dramatically wrench my hand away. There was no way I'd give my sister that kind of ammunition. She would write about it. Instead, I glared at my plate and gathered a bite of roast, thinking of everything but his hand.
"I see," Jordan said unconvincingly.
Mom cooed and reached toward Dad, unmistakably pleased. "How sweet!"
I spared a glance at Jordan. Lucien's response has done enough damage to get her off his back. She muttered quietly to Spencer as Lucien asked my parents about their relationship. At that point, it was safe to tune them all out.
All I could do was pray that dinner would end soon.
After seeing Lucien, Jordan, and Spencer off, I returned to my lair for a much-needed recovery. I changed into sweats and a sweater before a bell rang at my desk. The letterbox. I took up the letter and tore it open. Rhett wanted to come over. That was good. I had some lasting curiosities about what Pat meant the day before and it would be as good a time as any to ask. I responded with a simple yes and sent it back.
A knock sounded at my door roughly ten minutes later. I set my book face-down on the bed and rose, pausing as I heard a voice on the other side.
"Vee!"
Puzzled, I stared. That didn't sound like Rhett. I crossed the room and opened the door. Naomi bolted in, followed by Nix.
Rhett shrugged, leaning on the doorframe. "Hey, Vee."
"What are you two doing in Hillfort?"
"Thought I'd come for moral support," Naomi said behind me. "When I told Nix, he insisted on joining me."
"They showed up at my house." Rhett entered the room as I gestured him in. "My parents were all too eager to allow them to stay there instead of at the Moonwell. Figured I'd make them your headache for a little while."
"Hey! We're not that bad," Nix said, sticking his tongue out.
I shut the door and observed the madness of my friends. Nix bounced on my bed, looking out the window, Naomi sorted through my mail with a snicker here and there, and Rhett stood at my desk, looking at the drawings on my wall. I wouldn't be able to ask Rhett any questions, but it was nice to be in good company.
Naomi gasped. "You got a letter from Penelope Ross! Can I open it?"
Rhett rocketed across the room faster than I could answer and snatched the letter. "Don't. She wouldn't send this letter. Propriety dictates letters of congratulations be sent to the spouse whose name is taken. A witch like her wouldn't do anything so improper. You'd be better off throwing these letters out. God only knows what's in them."
"Oh." Nix slid off my bed to crouch by the mail. "We're not supposed to send mail to Vee?"
"That's different. We're friends." Rhett tossed the letter in the wastebasket. "Penelope Ross is a stranger. Honestly, I don't know how you three have survived all this time without me."
"A real miracle," I said playfully, lifting my book from the bed. It was a history book. After that interesting conversation with Lucien, I wanted to know if there was any mention of the events prior to the council's reformation. There wasn't. "Now what?"
My bed squeaked as Naomi pounced beside me. She waggled her brows at me. "I hear you had a family dinner with Lacroix."
"I did." I glanced at Rhett with an inward sigh. "I'm glad it's over, too. My sister came. She's a journalist. I'm sure you'll read all about it in The Origin Review tomorrow."
"The Origin Review? Prestigious paper." Rhett leaned against the desk. "What's her name?"
"Jordan." I glanced out the window. Beyond our patio was a field of white that led to a wall of pines weighed by snow. "Would you like to sit on the patio? It's heated. My room isn't fit for four. I can get cookies, too."
Naomi bounced to her feet. "Sure."
Nix rubbed his hands together. "You had me at cookies."
"You stole the words from my mouth," Rhett said, approaching the door. He pulled it open as I slid some sneakers on. "And while we're eating, you can tell us about your dinner."
"You're all a bunch of gossips," I said, smiling some.
Nix waggled his eyebrows. "You wouldn't want us any other way."
No, I wouldn't.
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