“You said I was never even allowed touch the car,” Jamie grumbled.
“Well, get that good-looking and I’ll let you do anything you want,” Nick told him. “Also, stop moaning or I’ll remember that today I want to start you on sword practice.”
“Sword practice?” Sin echoed. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that.”
“Nick fences,” Mae informed Seb. “The little white outfit and the metal beehive helmet? He wears those.”
Seb looked deeply amused.
“Do you know Nick from ballet?” he asked Sin.
“Er,” Sin said. “What?”
Mae wasn’t any good at putting on a show, but she knew how to smooth over a situation when she had to.
“I’ve seen Sin dance,” she put in tactfully. “She’s fantastic.”
“Yeah, plus I look fabulous in tights,” Sin said, catching on. “Not as good as Nick, though.”
“Naturally,” Nick drawled. “I’ll go get the swords.”
“Cut it out, Nick,” Alan snapped from the depths of his deck chair and his book, and when Nick’s back stiffened, Alan directed a meaningful glance toward Seb. “Now’s not the time.”
Alan’s tone was perhaps a little bit too sharp. Nick’s eyes narrowed.
“Has it ever occurred to you,” he said softly, “that I get very tired of playing nice?”
There was something dark in the air between them now. Mae glanced at Seb warily, and found him looking a little pale.
“Yes, actually, it has,” Alan returned. “What are you going to do about it?”
“This.”
Nick wheeled on Alan, who dropped his book and suddenly had his gun out. Nick’s magical knife flashed in the summer sun: a thin blinding line of light that dazzled Mae one moment and grazed Alan’s arm the next. The gun fell out of Alan’s hand and to the grass with a thump; three drops of blood fell on its gleaming surface.
Nick moved into Alan’s space as Alan stood, knife coming around in a shining circle, and then he froze. Alan held the dagger from up his sleeve against Nick’s throat, forcing Nick’s head back until Nick gradually lowered his knife. Alan smiled a small, tender smile.
“Oh, baby brother,” he said. “Too slow.”
He tucked the dagger back into his sleeve, neat and precise, and Nick stepped away from him.
“See?” Nick said, touching the graze along his throat, ring flashing in the sun the same way his knife had. “We don’t have to play nice.”
The look Nick shot Seb was a challenge, daring him to make something of the sudden appearance of weapons at a barbecue.
“You want someone to play with, I’ll play,” Sin said, finishing Mae’s braids. Mae pushed off the side of the car and saw Sin reach behind her back again, fingers closing around the hilt of her knife.
“I can’t wait to see you two dance,” Mae said brightly.
Sin let go of her knife with a sigh. “We could do that.”
Nick threw the old guitar into Alan’s hands, then went over and tipped Sin backward in his arms so the ends of her hair brushed the grass, and as she started to laugh, Alan started to sing.
Mae had known he had a beautiful voice, but she had not heard it low and sweet on a summer afternoon, wrapped up in the sound of long-still guitar strings turning into living music under his hands.
Only the thinnest glittering sliver of sunlight could be seen between Nick’s hips and Sin’s. The burning of Mae’s mark was actually making her feel sick.
She slid her arm around Seb’s waist and shut her eyes, face pressed into his shoulder.
“Come into the kitchen a moment,” she whispered.
He came with her slowly, the grass slithering warm around her bare ankles, her fingers linked with his. When he closed the door behind them, she stepped up close to him in the cool, shadowy kitchen and kissed him on the mouth. He stood there, and she stepped back, watching him, suddenly uncertain.
“Do you not—” she began.
“No,” Seb said. “Yes. I’m sorry. Come here.”
He curled a hand around her shoulder, careful, as if he was scared to touch her. His eyes looked darker than usual, the green lights drowned, and for a moment she felt like she was looking up at someone completely different.
She could hear Jamie singing off-key, the exuberant noise mingled with the sweet, pure sound of Alan’s voice. Her bare feet were sticking to the cork tile. Seb’s face was very close to hers.
He tilted her face up just so, his fingers trembling against her jaw.
“Your eyes are …” Seb said, stumbling over the words, his breath faltering and warm against her cheek. “They’re just—beautiful.” He leaned in closer. “I’ve wanted to tell you that for years.”
He shut his eyes, leaned in, and kissed her like he meant it, soft and a little hesitant but focused. She’d had kisses before that felt like questions. This kiss felt like Seb was begging her for something, and she tried to give it
