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“Vultures gather far more quickly than you think. One can’t be too careful.”
“Zeng.” His voice still carried that sharp, wounded quality. “You need to get out of the house.”
“Run,” said Callum. “Now.”
No one ever got murdered by shadowy occult forces on the high school robotics team.”
if two daughters of Asian immigrants can’t bond over the shared recognition of rich white dude entitlement, what hope is there for any of us?
“Don’t you flirt in front of your date like that, Callum Solomon,”
Reluctantly, I tried the crab cake. To my fury, it was in fact delicious.
“Ah, cheer up, squishy wizard.” Callum patted me gently on my—decidedly meager—biceps.
“Calm down, squishy wizard,
His palms landed on either side of my head.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHJHHHHHHGHHHHHHH
It was a weird little moment. Look, let’s be honest here: I’m not the kind of girl who spends a ton of time getting aggressively straddled by guys—or anyone, for that matter.
I was suddenly so aware of the weight of his hips on mine, or the breadth of his shoulders looming over me. He smelled like laundry detergent and fresh mint. It was pretty sexy, actually, a thought that I’d rather take to my grave than ever admit to anybody.
Those blue eyes of his had gone wide—with surprise or fury, I wasn’t sure. “Hot damn, Zeng.”
“We should have hung out more.” He paused, then corrected himself: “I should have hung out with you more.”
We were halfway through the usual routine one afternoon, on the day we both nearly died.
But it appears you’re about to meet our father’s mistress.”
“Dad never particularly favored me, so why should it matter at all which of us he did favor?
My sad little attempt to struggle back to my feet was quickly stymied by his weight on my chest as he sat down smugly on top of me.
Callum’s fingers closed around my wrist, all high school athleticism, before I could fall. He tugged me to my feet. Automatically, my other hand grabbed his shoulder, steadying myself. It brought us nose to nose. “Well?” he breathed, looking right at me. “You think I killed him?”
Callum glanced at me, startled. Then the smile returned, a little shy, playing about the edges of his mouth. “Maybe I should have.”
I leaned toward him, one hand drifting listlessly toward his face.
Then, because apparently I hadn’t already made myself enough of a fool, I patted him on the shoulder. Also very awkwardly.
“Tabatha Zeng. You are no longer my apprentice. I declare you, from this day forward, a prophet-sorcerer in your own right, and as such, I bequeath unto you the legacy of the Solomon family sorcery. It is my word. So shall it be.”
“You are good at this, squishy wizard.
Callum Solomon would rather stay at my side—just as his father had once begged me to stay at Callum’s—than pick up his family’s mantle.
I hate myself a little for the way my gaze slipped automatically toward his mouth. The fullness of his lips, and how prettily they sat on a freshly shaved jawline. I realize how shallow—how inappropriate for the gravity of the situation—that sounds.
Because lying like a discarded doll, tossed to the side of the foyer—and clearly long separated from its owner—was a single, beautifully tattooed human hand with familiar, matte black nails.
I didn’t know what he meant by that. And I didn’t have time to ask, either, because a split second later, his lips were on mine.
All that mattered was Callum, Callum, Callum, and the way he fit himself around me, spread across my bed, gently pulling me closer so that he could keep kissing me.
Somehow, I’d wound up straddled across his thighs. When the hell had I climbed on top of him? The top two buttons on his shirt collar were undone.
Propping himself up on his elbows, he swung his legs over the side of my bed. He reached over and, with painstaking care, tucked a stray lock of my hair behind my ear, his palm lingering on the side of my face. Just for a moment. Then he dropped his hand. “I’ve never had a Nancy Drew to my Joe Hardy before,” he said. “It was pretty great.”
“I’m sorry, Tabatha, but it can’t wait. It’s about the Solomon boy. And the most recent death in his house.”
What.
But I could swear that out of the corner of my eye, retreating into the dark along with the shadows, was a telltale shock of thick golden hair and Callum Solomon’s bright, watchful blue eyes.
“Hi, Tabatha,” said Callum, and with an exaggeratedly casual air, he dropped his sister’s body at the edge of her twin’s room. It slumped to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. “Surprise.”
Someone’s arm wrapped over my shoulders, protective even now, wool-clad and strong. I could smell a faint whiff of clean, pine-scented soap. Callum. Callum, trying to pull me to safety amidst all this chaos.
“Even in the end, I really did just want him to tell me, for once, that he was pleased with me.”
I didn’t get to finish my grandstanding lecture about taking your fate into your own hands, because quite abruptly, his mouth was on mine. My eyes fluttered shut. For a long moment, I stopped thinking about fate, or death, or sorcery. I stopped thinking about anything at all except Callum, Callum, Callum.
“I think,” I said, “that we get to decide what fulfilling it means.” And kissed him again.
