Luke rang the girls up without talking to them, since they were deep in their own conversation. The next person in line was a young man with questions about where to get food in the neighborhood, and Luke opened right up, full of ideas. Last came an older lady, and Luke switched to Spanish. Even Jeremy could tell Luke’s Spanish wasn’t very fluent, just the necessary words for the store, but he slathered it with those wide grins and the woman was smiling, too, as she left.
Jeremy forgot to hide his fascination, and Luke turned and caught him. He bumped Jeremy’s elbow. “What are you looking at?”
“It’s cool how you can do that. Just know the right things to say to different people.”
“Huh. I guess you learn, working like this.” Luke cut Jeremy another glance, grinning. “I think it’s cool how you’re always just saying whatever you think.”
What he meant was it wasn’t cool. Jeremy had said something most people would have known to keep to themselves, and Luke was being nice about it. But it was hard to mind as Luke took Jeremy’s wrist again, rubbing his thumb over that tan line like there was a ridge on Jeremy’s skin.
Luke took a very deep breath.
“Luuuuuuuuuuuke!” The shout was a long, low syllable, like a booing crowd. Two boys walked into the store, one very tall with the stooped posture that came with being unsure about all that height, and a shorter one with tighter, hectic movements who led the way. He was the one who had spoken, and he locked onto Jeremy like a target.
Jeremy recognized them, though they’d never met—it was more intel from Instagram. It made him feel all pervy, and he opened his eyes innocently wide, as if he’d never seen these, or any other, people before in his life.
Into Jeremy’s ear, Luke said, “Don’t listen to a word they say.” The tall boy reached across the counter to clap Luke’s hand.
Before they could say anything, Luke did the introductions: “Jeremy, this is Straight Wesley and Short Wes. Wesleys, Jeremy.” He touched Jeremy’s sleeve, and Short Wes grinned.
He wasn’t all that short—he was a hair taller than Jeremy—but he seemed so next to Straight Wesley, who was at least six-six. Even a recluse like Jeremy knew not to comment on people’s bodies, and he wasn’t going to say anything, but Luke nudged him. “You might as well ask. That’s the whole point of their thing.”
Jeremy took another glance around all their faces before he ventured a try. “Okay. How come you’re not Tall Wesley and”—he hesitated—“LGBTQ Wesley?”
Straight Wesley snickered. “L.”
Jeremy froze and scanned their faces again—he would have hated if someone made a girl joke about him and would have resented the person who laid the trap for it—but Short Wes only snickered back.
Luke was smiling proudly. “The first reason is when people say ‘Gay Wesley,’ he gets to give them his angry bisexual lecture.”
Short Wes nodded and unrolled his hand, an elegant concession. “Congratulations, you passed the test. Anyway, you can’t call a person Bi Wesley, that’s offensive.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “You grow up with Alexei, see if you can forget about bi people.” He remembered too late that he’d resolved not to talk about his brothers, and as their faces started to show the connection—Bi? Alexei? The famous one?—he quickly added, “I think Short Jeremy would be way more offensive than Gay Jeremy.”
Straight Wesley shook his head. “Blond Jeremy.”
“What if the other Jeremy was blond, too?”
Luke made an urgent noise, but Short Wes got there first: “You’re one of Luke’s, though. Everybody knows about Luke and blonds.”
Luke snorted, but Jeremy felt a giddy rush. He was Luke’s? He leaned over the counter and kicked his feet up. “Is this why he told me not to listen to anything you say?”
Short Wes gasped, pretending to be wounded, and Straight Wesley nodded sagely.
“Absolutely.” Luke opened his hand against Jeremy’s waist and made the floor tilt, but he was only nudging Jeremy down the counter, shining his smile on more customers. “Keep not listening while I handle this.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Jeremy’s side kept heating Luke’s palm as he rang a group of girls up. It took a long time, and he couldn’t hear what Jeremy and the Wesleys were saying over the girls’ talk. Short Wes pulled out his phone to show Jeremy something, probably on the Tumblr he tended like he was dating it. Jeremy and Short Wes both laughed, and Straight Wesley even cracked a smile.
Jeremy must have said something about Sergei or Alexei again, because when Luke finally sent the girls on their way, Jeremy was saying, “Yeah, he’s my older brother.”
Two Wesley jaws dropped. “Maybe not Blond Jeremy, then,” Short Wesley said significantly. Jeremy flinched.
“Hey, are you done ruining my game?” Luke asked. “Don’t you have anywhere better to be?”
Short Wes shot him some eyebrows, but they let Luke herd them out of the store. There was no way they weren’t going to find Camille and start jawing, but that was tomorrow’s problem. “See?” He returned to Jeremy. “Ignore them.”
“I liked them,” Jeremy said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned my family.”
“Why not? You can have whatever family you want. They shouldn’t have been assholes about it.”
Jeremy’s lips quirked in a way that could have been a smile or a frown. Luke was pawing a lot and ought to stop, but he reached over again, closing his fingers around the line at Jeremy’s wrist. He was ready to go in for a kiss right there, but it was too public and Jeremy seemed shy. He wondered what the Wesleys had said about him, what everybody knew.
Jeremy didn’t seem bothered. He seemed, mostly, focused on the place Luke’s hand held his arm, like something worth watching was happening there.
The floor tilted under Luke’s feet, a slow, swimming shift, and he was smiling and stepping closer before he understood it was not because of Jeremy, that was real, something was moving—
The ground churned, throwing Luke sideways so his hip knocked the counter hard, and something around him, the building or the earth, moaned like a whale. Screams scattered from the customers, but as soon as that high pitch rose, everything calmed.
The door to the back room flew open, and Yuri and Helene spilled through. They were both staring at him—and at Jeremy in his arms. Luke caught up long after his instinct had made him do it—he had an arm around Jeremy’s body, the other hand tucking Jeremy’s head against his chest. He’d turned his own back to the shuddering glass in the windows.
Luke had to think about moving before he could step away, and Jeremy’s fingers were slow to uncurl where he’d grabbed Luke’s T-shirt.
“Does everyone want to leave through the back?” Helene called, and the customers hurried toward the door. Jeremy’s phone rang, Alexei’s face on the screen, and when Jeremy swiped the call open, Alexei’s tinny voice said, “What’s wrong?” before Jeremy could speak.
Yuri twitched his fingers to beckon Luke to the door. They went out into the sun and found the red insides of some unidentifiable animal strewn across the sidewalk.
They reeled back, hands over their faces against the stink, in the same motion. Yuri said a word that wasn’t English.
“Fuck,” Luke said.
Yuri pulled his collar over his nose. “Don’t swear. What is that?”
Luke shook his head. It felt nasty—a rotten vibe enveloping the mundane horror of entrails on the pavement. Luke looked for plaid and didn’t see any, but there was a scatter of stones, like the ones he’d pulled out of the curse bags. “Malcolms?” he asked. “Did they try to blow up the building?”
There were customers in the store, a dozen families in the apartments. People would have died.
“Tough to say.” Yuri looked over his shoulder. “That might not have been the attack. It might have been Alexei’s binding playing defense.”
Luke followed his gaze. Inside, Jeremy and Helene were speaking together into the phone. “What is he
doing here?” Yuri asked.
Luke crossed his arms. “He was hanging out.”
He stayed steady—I’m not doing anything wrong, I’m not doing anything wrong—as Yuri studied his face.
Finding nothing there, Yuri turned, shaking his shoulders in exasperation. He stopped short and threw his arm in front of Luke, who searched the street for what he’d seen. Halfway up the block, two men were walking away.
They were on fire, the sun catching heads of red-gold hair. Luke didn’t know the taller one, but Corey Malcolm was built like a ram, short and wide. The rumors about the Malcolms were a tempest: they did ancient, brutal Druid magic; Corey Malcolm had sacrificed his own sister to his gods; they kept a sacred fire that had burned, fueled by blood, since the fifth century.
Of course, their people probably said the same things about the Kovrovs. Rumors were only rumors. Maybe there were rumors about Jeremy, what he was to the Kovrov family.
They watched until Malcolm was gone. Yuri moved toward the door, but stopped Luke when he tried to follow, pointing to the mess on the sidewalk. “That’s you.”
“Me?” Luke gawked.
“With great power…” Yuri made a smug smile, but it faded fast. Dryly, he added, “Stay there. I’ll bring out a bucket.”
What do you call an Irishman who sits on your front lawn?
What?
Patty O’Furniture
OH NO!!!
Oh yes. Any news?
No. Was your dad OK? He seemed mad I was there.
He was okay and mad. Not your fault
Oh no.
It’s fine I’m tough. I’m still going to kiss you
OK. See you Monday.
Camille wasn’t there to lecture Luke along with their parents, so she hunted him down the next morning. At least she brought coffee with her lip, throwing Luke’s door open after he tried to sneak to the bathroom and back to bed.
“What is this thing you have about blonds?” She gave him a mug and stood with her hand on her hip.
“It could be genetic. Mom liked blond boys, too.”
That made Camille scream, even though it was true. Yuri shaved his balding head now, but when he and Helene fell in love, he was a tall, broad-shouldered rock-star type with blond hair to the middle of his back.
“Also, by ‘this thing,’ what do you mean, the two?” Luke said, bitter. If he had to live with a reputation, he wished he’d had more fun earning it.
“What a two, though.” She sat down on the bed. “That brat and then the baby prince of the Kovrovs. You’re going to break his sheltered heart and get a hit on yourself. And me. I’m too young and beautiful to die.”
Luke closed his heavy eyelids, inhaling coffee steam. She was too young and beautiful to get killed by Corey Malcolm, too. And not every kiss ended in heartbreak. “It doesn’t have to be that serious. No one’s talking about true love.”
“It’s that serious if you’re going to start messing around with a Kovrov!”
“Messing around. I’ve made it as far as his wrist. At this rate, I’ll manage a kiss by New Year’s.”
Camille didn’t scream again, but she made the shape with her mouth and smacked his arm with the back of her hand.
“Stop bugging me, and I’ll take the store again today,” Luke said.
It didn’t work. “You can’t possibly like him. You’re having a rebound thing, or a—” She cut herself off, giggling. “I was going to say ‘physical thing,’ but it’s too weird. Jeremy Kovrov!”
“What does—look.” I had a vision, so if you think about it, it’s already happened. Or, Well, he’s under a secret crossing. Or, It isn’t about magic; it’s about him. Luke surprised himself with that one and turned the thought over carefully. He’d been flattered, and then intrigued. And what now? It was a cocktail of curiosity and protectiveness and hope. It was so easy to spend time with Jeremy. He’d laughed with Short Wes and hadn’t been too cool to hold Luke’s hand, and if there was anything more Luke wanted, he didn’t know what it was. The idea of Jeremy was safe, even though he made the whole world more dangerous.
“Sure I like him. I never—he’s shy and…he’s really sweet.”
She stared. “Sweet.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s like we’re talking about two different people.”
She was right about that. “You just have to get to know him a little,” Luke said.
Camille let a pause drag. “Truly. Be honest. Was that your gum in that mojo bag?”
Luke hid in his coffee again. He thought he’d escaped that question. “I don’t know. There’s no way to be sure. But maybe, yeah.”
“Maybe.” She didn’t sound impressed.
“It could have been yours. You think I don’t see you snapping your gum at Wes? Or his. Or anyone’s.”
“It could have been.” She leaned in. “But was it?”
Luke’s mouth twitched, and he sipped significantly at his coffee.
“Alexei Kovrov killed a man in front of you three days ago,” Camille said.
“You think I don’t know that?”
Camille opened her hands to the heavens like only they could help her. “Corey Malcolm’s attacking us for no reason at all, and you’re going with denial.”
Luke shrank around his mug. “What do you want me to do? Fight Malcolm? I don’t know anything about him, and Alexei told us to stay out of it. If I can’t fix it, what’s the point of worrying about it?”
She pointed at his nose. “That is a terrible way to think about your problems. That is why you always worry about your boy problems first.”
She was not wrong. It made Luke jittery to think about his gum in the bag, but he could handle thinking about Jeremy, about Jeremy’s crossing and how his hair had ended up in Malcolm’s hands and what Luke needed to do to keep him safe. “You want to disobey a Kovrov’s orders to go harass a Malcolm? Be my guest.” Luke paused. “Don’t actually do that.”
Camille shook her head. “I’m not. That’s not what I want you to do.” She put a hand on his arm and made her eyes serious and liquid. “I want you to let Dad get you out, and find a boy to chase who isn’t a Kovrov.”
“Jeremy isn’t—” Luke snapped his mouth closed too late. He’d promised to keep the crossing a secret. He wanted badly to say Jeremy isn’t a Kovrov. Jeremy was a normal boy who’d gotten caught up in that nightmare family. He was stuck with Sergei, who didn’t understand him at all. Luke was going to help him escape.
He took a deep breath and lifted one hand, fingers open and palm down. Camille’s eyes popped wide, but she tucked the back of her own hand under his palm. Together, Luke clapped his other hand underneath, and she clapped hers on top.
They smiled together—they hadn’t done that in years—but Camille sobered fast. Their handshake sealed secrets.
“He’s not a Kovrov.” A knot unwound in Luke’s chest. “He’s stolen. The Kovrovs took him to pay off a debt.”
Camille’s jaw dropped, and time slipped as Luke watched his own reaction on her face. “What? The Kovrovs do that?”
Luke sat back, relaxing as she shouldered some of his burden. “It’s an old contract—Sergei’s as stuck in it as Jeremy is. They’re crossed. I have to figure it out.”
Camille didn’t argue. She simply nodded. “What have you tried?”
“Not much.” Luke had been so focused on the idea of that kiss, the past-future-vision one he remembered and anticipated at the same time. “He doesn’t like to talk about it. But I’m working on it.”
“Have you been able to feel out the mojo?”
“There’s a symbol.” Luke wrapped a hand around his own wrist. “One of the bracelets he wears. It’s got that Kovrov vibe, but his is different.”
“Well. That is interesting.” Her eyes drifted toward the corners of the room, and she tapped her chin in thought. “What’s the plan?”
Luke had spent the whole day before planning for a kiss. “I don’t know. Try not to get shot, then ma
ke a plan.”
She tilted her head to a scornful angle. He shouldn’t tell her about the binding—but she saw his hesitation and pounced, catlike. “What else are you hiding?”
“I broke a binding,” Luke said. “I just asked him a question. I didn’t even know I was doing it, but the magic cracked right open. That’s the plan—get to know him a little better and figure out how it works.”
Camille tucked her chin so she could get that extra height from her skeptical eyebrows. “Get to know him, huh?”
He shoved her playfully. “I’m serious. You want to help? You could look into the stories.”
“You mean fairy tales?”
Luke nodded. “This is some weird Rumpelstiltskin shit.”
“Ah! Rumpelstiltskin has a Russian name, too, what is it?” She frowned in his face, as if he had any idea.
“I don’t know. This is why I’m asking you.”
She grinned. “All right. I’ll look into it.”
“Cool,” Luke said. “Listen, you can’t tell anyone. Not even Mom and Dad. I promised him. I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Sure.” Camille studied him with a distant gaze, like he was a strange artifact. “You still have to be careful. More careful.”
“I know.”
She snapped out of her reverie and stood. “Just remember, if you can’t take care of yourself for your own sake—you can’t uncross anybody if you go and get yourself killed.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Luke worked alone in Sergei’s warehouse all morning, radio fuzzy and light dim. He didn’t lie to himself—he walked back and forth and waited for Jeremy.
He opened a box of black-painted jars, but he didn’t know where they needed to go. A lap of the warehouse didn’t reveal any clues. There was a lot of magic at play in the room; maybe more shelves were hidden from him.
Luke stopped and stood still, hands on his hips. He wondered what his family was doing that day, whether they were talking about him. If he let himself think about the dirty metallic scent of the basement air, it slipped into the way that restaurant had smelled after the attack—blood, fear, and magic. His conviction started to waver, but when the door opened, his attention turned like a light switch. Jeremy gave the boxes by the door a cursory glance. “Oh, look. You’re already done.”
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