Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
“Is that what this is? You letting down your guard?”
“More than you know, Ember,” he says, and there’s a bitterness to his tone that says we are not okay and all the kisses in the world cannot change that, but it’s too late to question the whys and why nots.
He rifts with me in tow. It’s fast, and I’m coming to know that the distance matters with a rift, the short ones feel as simple as a blink, and the long ones are something far more colorful and exciting. Almost instantly, we reappear inside a half-circle-shaped dining room, with Silas sitting at the head of a long table and a McDonald’s hamburger in front of him—which I know from the double arches on the open box—the view of the ocean beyond the floor-to-ceiling window behind him positively breathtaking.
Micah isn’t standing beside me but rather across from me, the table between us, and I’m uncomfortably aware of this divide.
Silas finishes off a bite of his burger and reaches for a fry while I eye Micah, only to find his attention fixed on Silas while Silas flicks a look at me instead of his Overseer and, dare I say, friend. “Did you come to kill me, Ember, or eat McDonald’s with me?” he asks, amusement in his tone.
If he fears me, if he intends to kill me, he’s a damn good actor, but his eyes on me and not Micah tell me he’s not all that comfortable with me. But for reasons I cannot explain, I think I might actually like the man. Or Nephilim. I’m not sure of the proper term. I’m not sure of a lot of things, but I know that my path to understanding Micah is through those who are closest to him.
But I didn’t exactly get off to a stellar start with Silas.
I pull out a chair and sit down, acutely aware of the rustic farmhouse kitchen to my left, with a wooden island and floors scuffed with history. This place has been well occupied, and I find it almost more interesting than I do the main house.
“It’s breakfast, you know,” I say, motioning to Silas’ burger.
“It’s dinner somewhere,” he replies.
Well, he’s not wrong. For all I know, it’s dinner time in Texas right now, and my parents, or whatever they are to me, are sitting down to a meal, if they are even back home, if that is even home at all to them. And since I need to practice using my magic anyway, I decide to put it, and me, to the test. I wish for an order of hot fries and spicy mustard sauce, as well as a Diet Coke, which appears in front of me.
“I see you learned how to use your magic,” Silas replies, finishing off a fry of his own.
“I think this place is helping me.”
“It can only help you use what is already yours,” Silas replies, repeating what Micah has already mentioned to me.
Micah’s hands come down on the back of a high-back leather and wood chair, and he doesn’t appear in the mood for small talk or a tasty fry, for that matter. “What did you find out?” he asks, still rocket-focused on Silas.
The grimace on Silas’ face tells me this is going nowhere good, and he wasn’t paying me extra attention out of fear for me but rather answering Micah’s query. I open my mustard, deciding I need a hot fry before my appetite is ruined. Silas abandons his food and shifts his body toward Micah. “You know the answer.”
Micah remains unmoving, steel that will not bend, for what must be a full minute before he pushes off the chair and stalks toward a winding stairwell where he disappears. “What just happened?” I ask.
Silas picks up his burger. “I’ll let Micah explain.”
I don’t like this response, but I respect it and him. Micah trusts Silas for a reason, and his zipped lips speak of loyalty and honesty, two things I value greatly. Two things I think I’ve known less of in my life than I ever imagined, and the reality of that truth is a wrecking ball to my heart. I don’t even know if I can really trust Oliver, and I envy Micah the trust he shares with Silas, and deservingly so, it seems.
At least at first impression.
I push away from the table and hurry toward the stairs in pursuit of Micah. “All the way down,” Silas calls after me. “Are you going to eat your fries?”
I ignore him and focus on pursuing Micah, but I hear him mumble, “She can spellcast more if she wants them.”
I’d laugh if this were another place and time, but right now, finding Micah and understanding what Silas’ answer means for him and me, for all of us, and for the world, for that matter, is all that matters.