“You’ll see.” She walked away from the bathroom, then returned. “There’s a scarf in one of the pockets for flair. I think you should wear it.”
Lucky for me, the garments my aunt created were spelled to accommodate themselves to their wearer. Gazing down the front of my body, I watched as the waistband cinched in and the bottom of the legs shortened until the hems grazed the tops of each foot.
I towel dried my hair and ran my fingers through the tangled waves. The scarf was a pretty floral pattern. I wrapped it around my neck to hide Rémy’s sigil and Gosia’s snake before admiring my reflection.
Tía Mari had managed to make a utilitarian garment sexy. At least, until I had to go tunneling again. I swished water through my mouth, spat it out, and opened the door. Bare feet on cold wood reminded me my boots were somewhere in the deep, cold waters of the cavern.
I replayed my interactions with Rémy, and with Gosia and Jadzia as I jogged up the stairs. I was in the middle of bitching to myself about Magicals and cryptic messages when I arrived at the third-floor landing and stepped into the workroom. It was no surprise to see my sisters, Maritza, and Alabastair. I recognized Kostya’s broad-shouldered back.
What stopped my forward momentum was the man bent over one of the big tables, his attention on whatever was pinned down by his palms. His attire—tailored black pants tucked into heavy black boots, a white tuxedo shirt with the sleeves rolled to expose massive forearms laced with platinum-colored tattoos, and an extremely tight, extremely erotic black vest—was a confusing blend of formal wear, combat gear, and sex.
Oh. My Goddess.
The only direction I could take was toward him, toward the long white braid shot through with silver streaming down his back. My joints weakened first, starting with my knees and followed quickly by my toes and hips. I grabbed hold of the table but collapsed anyway, onto my knees, then onto my back.
The demon turned toward me in slow motion, unfurling his body over mine. The metallic blue of his eyes pinned my shoulders, elbows, wrists, hips to the floor. His full, lush lips were moving. He was speaking English. But I couldn’t parse what he was saying. The only thing I understood was that this man was mine. I felt entirely at home with that knowledge even as I recognized the threads connecting him to me were not of my making. Or my aunt’s. Or my mother’s.
These threads—brown, black, red—were old, older than any living family member. These threads were comprised of metal, dirt, roses, blood, magic, memories past and present.
“Clementine?”
“Laszlo?”
The demon was on all fours, crouched over me. He smelled glorious. The top two fasteners on his tux shirt had come unbuttoned. The ends of the bow tie swept forward. Silk caressed my cheeks. He lowered his head and rubbed his ornately decorated horns across my upper chest before burrowing his nose into the as-yet-unclaimed side of my neck. “I’m pleased to meet you,” he said, his lips skimming my earlobe. “Now, would you kindly explain what the hell kind of magic you’re using and stop it at once?”
I grabbed his biceps, intending to squeeze the muscles and push him off me. My fingers met solid marble. Or a marble-like substance. I tried to move him, but between how he’d positioned himself and whatever spell was binding us, I couldn’t.
“She’s not using her own magic, Laszlo,” Maritza said. “The Demesne is unstoppable, once it has made its decision.”
Laszlo turned his head at a glacial pace. His braid slipped over his shoulder and settled between my breasts as he addressed my aunt. “The what?”
Instead of answering him, she stepped closer until she was crouched by my head. “Clementine, can you move?”
“I—I’m not sure,” I whispered. My hands would not release their grip on Laszlo’s cool, hard arms. Over his shoulders—his broad, capable shoulders—I caught zigzags of lightning beyond the domed skylights.
“Let go of the demon, mija. He’s not going anywhere. It’s time for you and your sisters to hear a little story.”
“O-okay.” I stared into the demon’s mismatched blue eyes and ever so slowly released one finger, and another, until all I felt was the crisp cotton of his shirt. He held my gaze and sat back on his haunches, giving me room to roll to my side. I crawled away, then stood. Laszlo remained on his knees, running his fingertips across the floor where the damp imprint left by my hair was still visible.
Maritza gestured for me and Alderose to sit with Beryl. My limbs had trouble obeying instructions. We perched along the edge of the table in birth order, as we’d been doing our entire lives, and waited for our aunt to compose herself. Kostya and Laszlo stood behind us on the opposite side of the table. I could see Kostya out the corner of my eye, arms crossed and a vertical furrow between his brows.
I knew Laszlo’s posture was the same. I could feel the shape of his body pressing against my back. Even with a table’s width separating us.
“Centuries ago, our matriarch, Mira, crossed paths with a shaman. Mira was lonely and wanted nothing more than to find her true love. The shaman prepared a concoction based on the hallucinogenic plant medicine his people were known for and told her to drink it. She did, and after she emptied the gourd her entire being expanded until she was as big as the sky. When the plants were finished sharing their medicine Mira shrunk back to her normal size and returned to her village, knowing she had been blessed with the gift of sight.
“The sight opened her eyes and her heart to experiencing the infinite connections between her people and their surroundings—the cacti, the trees, even the animals. Mira used her expanded sight to create love matches between her people and those in the surrounding villages, always with her
