I heard something from up in the attic: a heavy thumping sound.
Bridgette snaked a hand forward. She grabbed my elbow and yanked me back. “What the hell is up there?” she hissed in my ear, her breath slicing across my neck and cheek.
I felt that undeniable sense of inevitability. I swear it was tolling in my mind like a bell.
We heard the unmistakable sound of footfall as someone continued to walk around in the attic.
“Who’s up there?” Bridgette insisted again. “We can’t fight them – you’re already injured,” she reminded me with a hiss.
Which was a good reminder, as I’d clean forgotten. My mind was too focused on the possibility McCain had somehow fallen into my time.
I’d kind of blanked out the fact there was a hole in my thigh and countless injuries scattered over my arms and legs. The fact, nonetheless, struck me right in the center of the head as I felt a pang of nausea cross through me. And yet, I fought it with all my might as I rapidly came to a decision.
We were close to one of the spare bedrooms. Silently, being a heck of a lot more stealthy than I thought I was capable of, I tiptoed over to it, gently opened the door, and pushed Bridgette inside.
She shot me the kind of unmistakable look that asked me what the hell I was doing.
I simply parted my lips and mouthed, “Trust me.” Then I closed the door.
I turned. I felt my heartbeat reverberate in my chest, practically try to strangle me with its suffocating rhythm. But I wouldn’t let it stop me. Not yet, not ever. Because it was time for McCain to lift his curse.
I strode forward. I reached the base of the stairs. I pushed a hand out, clamped it on the wall, and started walking up. As soon as my footfall struck the resonant wooden steps, the sounds in the attic stopped.
I reached the top of the stairs, my head cresting into the attic.
The attic wasn’t a particularly large room, and yet now it felt as small as a matchbox. It wasn’t that someone had somehow altered the space using magic or just plain mechanics to crush the room into a suffocating point. Nope. It was that in a single moment, my eyes locked on him and my worst nightmares were confirmed.
Max McCain. There was no doubting it. He may not be in the same tough hides and hessian shirt I usually saw him wear. Instead, he was in a white polo shirt and brown trousers, with a dinner jacket strung over his shoulder. He also wore what looked like an extremely expensive gold watch. Oh, and his sword. It was still strung at his side, and my gaze darted toward it. I saw it crackle with an unmistakable charge of power.
His back was to me, his body hunched over the desk as he pored over my family contract. Slowly, every single muscle rippling up and down his spine and through his pronounced, large shoulders, he turned to face me. At first, a look of anger swept across his features. But in a second, that changed as an expression of pure greed took hold.
I’d never seen anything like it. The way his eyes lit up, the way his lips slackened and then pulled so tight it was as if somebody had rolled them out with a rolling pin.
He shifted around, turning and shoving back into the desk, the simple lamp on top shuddering under the impact. He leaned into the desk and crossed his arms in an unmistakable move I’d only ever associated with Max.
And then? Then the bastard smiled at me. It was truly one of the most sickening things I’d ever seen. It brought attention to his jaw, to his mouth – framed them as every tiny, tight movement of his lips seemed to climb his face like a wild animal. “You came to me,” he said triumphantly.
I clenched my teeth together, squared off my jaw, tilted my head back, and faced him. “What the hell have you done to Max, asshole?”
He chuckled. “What is this asshole?”
“It’s an insult, you bastard.”
“Ah yes, an insult. Don’t worry, I’m familiar with your modern tongue,” he said. “I’m familiar with this entire world,” he proclaimed as he brought up his watch, latched a hand onto it, and tapped a finger on the expensive glass. “Because I’ve watched,” he said, that same smile spreading across his lips. “Learned. You see,” he tilted his head even further to the side, “I’ve always been present in Max’s mind. No matter what he did,” McCain brought up a hand and slowly tapped it on his jaw, indicating whatever Max had done he’d done it with his mouth, “I was there every step of the way. Every second. Every kiss.”
I paled, feeling so sick I could have lurched backward and thrown up down the stairs. I swallowed. “I don’t care,” I spat. “But you’re gonna release Max. Whatever spell you’ve cast, you’re going to get rid of it.”
This time it took McCain several seconds until another one of those smiles raced across his mouth like wildfire through dry wood.
He took a step toward me.
I shook back and almost fell down the stairs. I had to jolt a hand to the side to catch myself in time.
McCain took several steps toward me as he clicked his tongue. “Now, now – be careful. I can’t have you dying in some kind of accident. Not when I waited so long for you.”
A kick of true fear spiraled through my gut. More than anything, it was at the unmistakable desirous look in his eyes.
“I don’t care what you want. I won’t help you,” I said, voice so tight I could hardly cram my words out. “I won’t help,”
