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“Ready?” I asked Max.

“No,” he said. “You?”

“I guess we’ll find out. C’mon.”

Together we left the study to follow our mother. She wasn’t far. The door to the study led out into the main hall, which connected to the grand staircase in front of the foyer. The outer door was shut, but I could hear a car pulling up along the driveway, tires crunching on the gravel road.

I took up my position beside my mother. Max filed in next to me. Our mother looked at us both, eyes scanning up and down. “You went with your hair loose?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

I suddenly felt like I had forgotten to wear pants. “I thought it looked better…” I offered.

She made a sound, then; a kind of full stop that came from behind her pursed lips.

Great.

Super motherly.

I heard my father’s footsteps before I saw him. He came rushing down the stairs, fastening the buttons on his shirt cuffs as he descended. He didn’t give me a cold shoulder, or a disapproving look. Instead, he nodded at the three of us as he went past.

A few moments earlier, I had felt him use his magic; likely to lower our mansion’s defenses to let the Diaboli in. I could see the concern in his eyes. He was putting on a brave face, but I could see the tension in his clenched jaw and jumpy movements.

He felt vulnerable, and that made a lot of sense in the circumstances, but it only served to heighten my nerves. Rarely did my father look or feel vulnerable. He was the kind of man who always had a plan. Always. Right now, it looked as though that plan was flimsy as all hell. Still, he smiled at us all, and said, “Let’s forge better ties.”

My mother smiled at him. “For the family.”

“For the family,” I echoed, along with Max.

When my father opened the door, several people were gathering outside of their sleek, black sedan. My father went out first, the door swinging slightly closed behind him. I heard him give them a greeting. There was a handshake, a slight chuckle from another man. A moment later, the door swung open again, and my father stood there, alongside the patriarch of the Diaboli family.

He was about as tall as my father was, but he looked a little older—somewhere in his fifties, perhaps. He had short, well-kept grey hair, and silver stubble. It was his eyes that stuck out to me, though.

They were red.

Not quite the cherry red of a sports car, but more like the deep crimson of blood. It was unsettling, but the smile on his face was disarming… and oddly familiar, somehow. I couldn’t place it, but I thought I had seen him somewhere.

Behind him came a woman I could only assume was his wife. She was younger than he was, easily twenty years his junior, with long, wavy black hair. She was wearing a crimson dress that matched her husband’s eyes.

Stunning came to mind, but the thought was instantly replaced when I saw the man who came in after them.

My heart wedged itself in my throat, my mind started to race, and my chest instantly tightened. No, I thought. No, no, no. How? He hadn’t spotted me yet. He was too busy greeting my father with a solid handshake.

I probably looked like I was about to start hyperventilating.

“Bee,” Max whispered. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I said, keeping my voice down. “Just fucking dandy.”

He finally entered the house, a polite smile drawn across his face. When he saw me, that smile vanished, and all the blood seemed to drain from his cheeks. He stopped in the doorway, my father awkwardly standing behind him. It took him a moment to take a step deeper into the house, a step closer to me.

I didn’t know whether to laugh, scream, or run.

How is he here?!

Why is he here?!

This can’t be happening!

“Hello,” I said, snapping out of my own thoughts to accept the hand of the man now standing in front of me. His father. “I’m Beatrice, and this is Maxwell,” I added, autopilot kicking in to save me from an otherwise bungled first impression.