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Chapter 21

Bad Mommy

~VELIS~

The splash of the fountain mutes whatever those two are conversing about.

What in the hell? Even if I turn invisible, Father will likely detect me, but I can’t ignore whatever betrayal this is. The only way Amoira could set foot on our grounds is if Father himself lifted her banishment.

I drag a hand down my face to shield my visible appearance, then sneak around the backside of the fountain, trying to catch a word of their discussion. As I start to follow them, they begin to walk away—Amoira in one of her usual trailing robes, and Father in one of his sports coats, flashing smiles at one another, her hand on his arm like they’re...

Impossible.

I trail them down one hallway, then the next, stopping when a manor maid cuts them off. One of Beckham’s. She rises on her toes to whisper something in Father’s ear. He glances over his shoulder once, and I worry he’s finally detected me, but Caliko’s magic seems to be holding. He waves the maid off, then continues on, Amoira’s hand now woven through his arm as they pass under one of Mom’s portraits.

Fucking unreal .

I race to catch up to them, no longer caring if I’m detected, determined to find out what they’re discussing—

And slam into an invisible wall blocking the way forward.

At once, the image of Arrik’s mother and my father disappears, and the wall becomes visible. I’m in a completely different part of the manor than I was a second ago, and I’ve just walked into a wall.

And that’s when I realize—

“Hey, bro. Where’s Master Dolly?”

I’ve just followed an illusion into my brothers’ quarters.

I spin, a ball of nymph’s fire blazing in my palm, and come face-to-face with—

“Beckham!”

Wearing a dark smirk, he sidesteps my attack, and I hit a hanging tapestry instead. It bursts into flames as Beckham darts aside, his eyes glowing that unnatural, grotesque red. But he doesn’t retaliate.

“Vel!” Over my shoulder, Dolly’s voice cries out for me, and I can’t help but divert my attention.

A punch slams into my jaw, hard enough to send me crashing into the wall. Dolly isn’t here, but Beckham’s charm magic is a mindfuck, and Cal’s luck is failing me. I never should have taken it from him. He wasn’t strong enough to lend any, and now I’ve left us both vulnerable.

“Argh! Enough, Beckham!” I hurl a spray of ice daggers at my dick of a brother, but he rolls out of the way.

Then he’s behind me, as I expected. I spin and catch him by the throat.

But it isn’t him.

It’s that maid from before. “M-my laird?!”

Fuck!

I release her, but she shifts back into Beckham, still wearing that smirk.

I need to get him the fuck out of my head! Focus on what I know to be true. Focus on what feels real .

Or I could just erupt the entire hallway, property be damned?

That sounds better.

I slam my foot into the polished floor and summon all the power of the manor, my veins searing with blue energy drawn from our protected lands. I’m willing to leave them defenseless, if only for a moment, if it means catching this rat once and for all.

My brother didn’t expect that. The red of his eyes flickers when he sees my veins erupting with power. I roll my neck and shoulders, adrenaline and ancient wishes surging through me, pulled from a thousand sacrificed souls.

I’m going to end him. I’m going to end this entire wing!

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Beckham holds up his hands and stumbles backward at the sight of me.

And then he’s gone.

There’s no way he’s really gone.

I scan the corners of the corridor, keeping my attack prepped, my skin, hair, and eyes blazing in djinn blue. “Beckham?”

Silence.

I let the manor’s power recede, ready to summon it again at a moment’s notice.

In the aftermath, I find myself directly in front of Beckham’s door. However ineffective, it does feel like Cal’s luck is still with me, and it also feels wrong to move on. I place a hand on Beckham’s doorknob, but it sears hot, forcing me to yank my hand away. I should have rights to it with my new clearance. This seems to be Beckham’s doing.

I suspect he’s inside.

“What’s wrong, Beck? You started it, come out and finish it.”

“Vel, why would I do that?” His voice is muffled through the door. “You have an unfair advantage on manor grounds. Now, if you were to take this out to the outskirts, I’d be happy to—”

“Ha! An unfair advantage? What do you call all your illegal illusory magic? I should have you arrested. Actually—Father has been looking for you, hasn’t he?” Might as well use the backup when it’s at my disposal. I take out my Ray. “Hello, Evaris? I’ve got a situation over in the—”

The Ray flies out of my hand as Beckham materializes before me.

Which I also anticipated.

My fist makes a satisfying crack against his jaw.

I’m not letting Evaris have him.

Fired up with the heat of the manor, I tower over him as he scowls up at me, wiping blood from the edge of his mouth with his thumb. “I don’t know why you let us go last time, Beckham, but it changes nothing. I’m ending this now.”

“Oh yeah? Then why are you stalling?”

“I’m deciding how I’ll do it. Magic would be quicker, but by hand? That would be far more satisfying.”

By hand it is.

For Dolly. For Vafer. For Arrik. I’ll proudly wear my brother’s blood on my knuckles. I stalk toward him, my eyes locked on his, wondering why he isn’t fighting back, why he’s just sitting there with that infuriating grin, his gaze shadowed.

“You sure you want to do that, Velis? Word is, I’ve got something you need.”

“I need nothing from you.”

He flips his hand, revealing a small leather-bound book I haven’t seen since I was a child. “Not even this?”

Another illusion. How would he even know I was looking for it?

“Whispers travel fast, Velis. And you lack discretion. Where have you been today? The pantry, the gardens, the servants’ quarters. How is my good friend the leprechaun?”

“Fuck off!” I lunge for the journal, but he’s already down the hall, waving it like a toy, taunting, “Try to destroy me, and this goes with me.”

“Go ahead! It’s all just an illusion anyway.”

“You’re not so sure about that, are you?”

I hold my attack, eyes narrowed. “Where would you even get it?”

“Someone left it on my bed.” He flips it over in his hand like it’s a curious artifact. “Odd, though—Who would leave this on my bed? This little book you’re so interested in.”

Does he not realize it’s my mother’s journal?

“Shame it’s locked,” he continues. “I’ve been trying to open it since it appeared last night—with this.” He holds up a single white feather, and my throat tightens. “Maybe a bird delivered it.”

Last night, our time, was when that stranger led me through the jungle. And Beckham seems to genuinely not know where that feather came from.

Is this a setup? A trap? Did that hybrid Celestial plant it with Beckham to lure me here?

“Give it to me,” I demand.

“Why would I do that when it seems to be my only bargaining chip?”

I hate him. And I will kill him.

“Well, now that you’ve revealed this object is important to you, I suppose we can stop with the pretenses.” He leans against a wall. “How about a trade?”

“Are you serious? A trade?” I scoff. “After everything you’ve done? I’m going to get that journal, and I’m going to kill you in the process.”

“So it’s a journal?” His mouth curls as he turns it over. “Whose, though?” His dark gaze flicks to meet mine. “Master Dolly’s?”

That’s the second time he’s brought her up. “Keep her name off your tongue .”

This time when he says it, it’s like he’s savoring it. “ Mmm aster Dolly.”

I’m before him in a flash, one hand on his throat, the other on the journal.

But I’ve just strangled a suit of armor, and he’s on the opposite side of the hall, rubbing his thumb over the rose imprinted on my mother’s diary.

“Enough, Beckham!” An onslaught of nymph fire assails him, but when he holds up the journal as a shield, I’m forced to douse my own spell with a wave of water. I dart after him, and he darts away, and we spend several frustrating seconds ping-ponging around now that I can’t fire spells at him.

“I’ve been looking for a cure for my boredom, Velis. I suppose this will suffice. But why are you here chasing after a book when our master is off somewhere on her own?”

“She isn’t your master!” I lash out.

“Oh, but she is. I’ve been bonded to her twice now. Which is more than I can say for any other master. And that, dear brother, is a connection that will never fade.” He closes his eyes to rub it in that he’s also felt her soul. “I smell her in my dreams. I’d like to smell her for real. Where is she?”

I conjure my Ray again, and again, it flies across the floor.

“Tsk. Tattling to Evaris? What are we, twelve ?” He lets out a derisive snort.

“When you were twelve, I was six, you psychopath. It was fitting for me to call for help when I was a child!”

Fucking monster. How dare he stand there and mock me with my mother’s journal in his disgusting hands! After everything he’s put me through! After everything he’s put Dolly through!

I shoot one final blast at him, prepared to throw everything into it, regardless of what may happen to the journal, fueled by hatred and vengeance and propelled by manor-borrowed power—

But my surge of emotion provokes an unexpected response.

“Engh!” Beckham doubles over with a cry of pain, clutching the center of his shirt in his fist.

It’s a trick. Fury blurs my vision as I drive into him, slamming him like a rocket down the corridor, leaving a streak of blue in our wake—but I stop just short of the far wall .

Because when he looks up, there’s something I’ve never seen from him before.

He’s . . . crying?

None of them have ever cried.

Trick or not, it’s unsettling enough to make me freeze, my hand gripping his collar as I inspect him. It’s like he doesn’t even realize what’s happening. He reaches up, touching the small drop of moisture pooling in the corner of his eye like he doesn’t know how to process it.

We stand there like statues as I try to blink the illusion away, but it doesn’t break.

Eventually, he pushes me off him, as if I wasn’t just about to kill him, marveling at the glistening tear on his finger. “What is this?”

“It’s a tear, you fucking idiot.”

“ Obviously , but why did I produce it?” He takes a step back, holding out his wet finger. “It was because of you. I felt... something. Emotion, but inside.”

I’m still convinced this is just another distraction. Another illusion. Another classic Beckham trick.

Yet when I probe him . . .

Confusion. Fear.

And if I press harder, if I dig deep through the layers of tar—

His eyes bulge, his brow furrows, and his finger is still out, as if he’s preserving a precious relic instead of a tear. And then he’s gone. I kinesis myself to his doorknob. This time, it’s cool, unlocked, and the room beyond is empty.

He wasn’t lying. There’s a pile of Celestial feathers on his neatly made bed, almost like a nest.

What in Makaya is going on?

Bastard’s still got my mother’s journal.