Groaning, I sat on my bed and asked myself, again, why I’d agreed to this plan. Wait, had I agreed? I remembered the conversation, but I didn’t recall explicitly saying yes.
“Again!” Kai had commanded during a training session weeks ago. “Don’t slow down.”
“I—I can’t,” I panted, my legs trembling and arms as limp as marshmallows bobbing in hot chocolate right before dissolving into sugary goo. “I need a break.”
“Keep going!” he barked, holding the blocking pads between us.
Teeth gritted, I jumped forward and unleashed the pattern of blows I’d been repeating for the last … I didn’t even know. So many repetitions my limbs would be twitching in my sleep. Pounce, right jab, left hook, side kick, retreat. Pounce, right jab, left hook, side kick, retreat. Over and over and over.
“Good,” Kai finally said. “Take a breather.”
I stumbled back and braced my hands on my aching thighs. “You’re a sadist. I’m glad I’ll be getting a break from this over Christmas.”
“Who said we won’t be training over Christmas?” Aaron asked, the words interspersed with panting breaths as he ran hard on the treadmill. Sweat darkened the back of his t-shirt. “We never go more than a few days without a workout.”
“You can’t make me workout on my own,” I informed him with petulant satisfaction. “I’ll have a blissful two weeks to eat Christmas cookies nonstop on my sofa while you three are gone.”
Kai smirked in a way that made my spine prickle with warning.
“No, you won’t.” The treadmill beeped as Aaron slowed to an easy jog. “You’re coming with us.”
I straightened out of my exhausted slouch to peer at him. “Coming with you where?”
He arched his eyebrows. “My parents’ place? We’ve only been talking about it since November.”
“Yeah, I know.” And I’d shrivel with jealousy and loneliness every time they brought it up. “I don’t see what that has to do with my Christmas.”
“Well, initially, nothing,” Aaron admitted. “But that’s only because you left us with the impression that you wanted to spend Christmas with your brother.”
“But then,” Kai said, “you let slip that your brother will be in the Netherlands.”
Uh, had I mentioned that? Oops. “You guys have your own holiday traditions and I don’t want to—”
“—ruin our Christmas by staying home alone?” Aaron finished for me, rolling his eyes. “Obviously we’re not leaving you behind.”
“But—”
“We already bought your ferry ticket,” Kai added.
My head was spinning. “But—”
“Besides,” Aaron concluded airily, “it wouldn’t be a family Christmas without you.”
I might have teared up at that point.
But right now, I was the opposite of emotional. Glaring at my insufficient closet, I considered whether I could get out of their diabolical plans to ensure I wasn’t alone on a holiday. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to spend Christmas with them, but this was Aaron’s family. As in Aaron’s parents.
As in his rich, powerful, famous parents.
They ran the Sinclair Academy, the most prestigious mage school/guild on the west coast. Did I mention they were rich? Like, “Aaron bought a house with his trust fund and didn’t even put a dent in it” rich? Whereas I’d spent my formative years learning to tightrope walk the poverty line.
Grumbling, I threw another pair of jeans onto my bed beside my suitcase, then grabbed my phone and texted Sin. We needed to make an emergency shopping trip for a dress. What kind of fancy-ass academy threw a formal party to celebrate the end of term? And why did I have to attend it?
“Noooooo!”
At the high-pitched howl, I leaped up so fast I staggered. I lunged for the door and whipped it open as a crash echoed through my apartment. I flew into the room in time to watch a second lamp hit the floor, the bulb smashing.
“Stop!” The shriek came from the short green faery standing on the back of my couch, his oversized hands flailing. “Give it back!”
Up at the ceiling, a second fae hovered, her long silver tail undulating. Her pink eyes glowed, antennae twitching as she watched Twiggy shake his fists. In her small front paws, she held the TV remote.
“Mine!” Twiggy snarled—and before I could speak, he grabbed a framed photo off the end table and threw it.
Hoshi darted out of the way. The frame hit the ceiling, glass shattering, then fell to the floor and snapped in two. Hissing, the silvery sylph dive-bombed the faery and knocked him off the sofa with a snap of her tail. Twiggy hit the floor, bounced up, and launched at her with a high-pitched WWE roar.
Diving forward, I grabbed him out of the air, then barked angrily, “Hoshi!”
The sylph guiltily released her prize—while still hovering at the ceiling. The remote dropped eight feet and hit the floor. Bits of plastic skittered in every direction.
“No!” Twiggy howled as he twisted out of my grasp. He seized two pieces and tried to force them back together. “It’s broken! My favorite show is on! If I miss it, I’ll never find out if Margaret’s terminal limp-foam-moms will be cured before—”
“Twiggy, calm down.” Why had I gotten the pop-culture-obsessed faery addicted to afternoon soap operas? So much regret. “And do you mean lymphoma? Terminal lymphoma?”
“Limp-foam-moms,” he repeated with certainty, then his face crumpled again. “She might die in this episode!”
Yep. Definitely needed to ban soap operas next.
“She won’t die,” I told him. “She’s the main character.”
“But she might!” Heaving a sob, he looked up. “This is all Hoshi’s fault!”
He hurled the broken remote. Hoshi dodged the projectile and it soared across the room and collided with the wall, leaving a nice chip in the paint. The sylph lashed her tail and hissed at him. Yelling furiously, Twiggy leaped onto the coffee table.
I caught him around the middle and tucked him under my arm. He writhed in protest, his twig-like hair scraping me. Hoshi dove from the ceiling and swirled around us, hissing and sticking her small pink tongue out at Twiggy.
I grabbed her as well and trapped her under my other arm. “You two are worse than a pair of toddlers! Why can’t I leave you alone for even—”
“Uh … Tori?”
Choking, I whirled around.
A man stood at the bottom of the stairs that led to the front door, a green-and-gold gift bag in his hand. His shocked hazel eyes flicked between the two fae.
“Oh,” I said breathlessly. “Hi, Justin.”
My brother cleared his throat. “The, uh, door was unlocked, so I …”
“That’s fine,” I said, forcing a cheerful note into my voice. “Um, I guess you haven’t met my … roommates.”
Hoshi flicked her tail. Twiggy sniffled loudly, muttering under his breath—something about “Margaret” and “doomed.” I didn’t want to know.
I released Hoshi and she faded out of sight, too shy of strangers to hang around. I carried Twiggy over to the TV and reached around to the hidden row of buttons on the back. With a press of the power button, Margaret’s anguished face filled the screen in all its soft-focus soap-opera glory.