Page 125 of Magic of the Damned

“I’m thinking of making it into a necklace and wanted Forest to check it out,” I lied. Of the many interests my brother had, he’d dabbled in jewelry making but soon lost interest.

“May I?” my father asked, joining my mother. I was grateful when my mother dropped it into his hand, giving me the opportunity to come in contact with him, the object, and me. He seemed less impressed. No tug. No magic in them.

Sure that I’d given Zareb enough time to get out the car, I returned to it to close the door before following my parents into the house.

“Rental?” My mother inquired, the skepticism tight in her voice as she gave the Range Rover another peek over her shoulder. My brother pulled his attention from it long enough to give me a long hug. Despite his sinewy body, he gave the kind of hugs that made the world fall away. They were the embodiment of a security blanket, and I held him tighter and longer than usual. Staggering away, he looked puzzled by my unusual display of affection. I was surprised by it as well. The dysfunction of the royals had given me a new appreciation for him and my family. I wanted to be near him, touch him, and know that if given the ability, he’d never try to claw my face or sic a violent person on me to have his magic returned. I doubted he’d ever give me a reason to take his magic.

“Can you make this into a necklace?” I asked, flashing him a grin that I hoped provided an excuse for my off-putting show of affection.

He examined it, his brows drawing together. “Really?” he asked, returning it to me and giving me another peculiar look when I grasped his hand to take it from him. Another negative result.

Forest’s eyes narrowed as he put more distance between us. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Can’t I just be happy to see you?”

“Yeah, but don’t be weird about it. Okay?” He gave my parents a look which tacitly gave them the same orders. He shoved his fingers through his hair, which was longer than he’d ever worn it. He had a new tattoo on his hand.

“So, what misguided friend of yours gave you access to a ride like that? He must be new in your life because he doesn’t know you well.”

“That’s quite presumptuous of you to assume it’s a man.”

“Your friends are smart and they’ve seen you drive. And after seeing you park, no one who values their vehicle is going to give you access to something that expensive. Clearly this man’s decisions are being influenced,” he teased.

I made a face and found myself fussing with his hair before he knocked my hand away. I was being weird and needed to stop. I was being more suspicious than the hellhound could ever be.

“That’s what insurance is for,” I shot back, putting some distance between us and making an attempt at normal behavior.

“Who’s the new man, Luna?” he pressed. I could hear the enthusiasm.

“Just a new friend,” I said, making a face that urged him to pursue another line of questioning. My parents looked like meerkats trying to get snippets of my life without being intrusive.

“I wish Emoni had joined you,” he said, taking the hint. She’d only come a few times to family dinner and had been offered an open invitation by my parents to return whenever she’d like. My brother enthusiastically cosigned on the offer for an obviously different reason.

“She only likes you for your comfy hugs that you dole out so infrequently. It’s our little indulgence,” I teased.

“And my charm,” he countered. “Don’t forget, I’m charming, too.”

“Let’s discuss this alleged charm over dinner,” I suggested, hooking my arm around his waist and moving to the kitchen. “And the new body art,” I added.

Sitting at the kitchen table, I looked over the new addition to the multitude of tattoos on his body. “Thinking about getting one?” he asked.

I had never paid as much attention to them before, which caused my parents to stop mid-set up to wait on a response. They wouldn’t care that I wanted one, but they didn’t seem to be wholly convinced that I was over Jackson, and the addition of body art would only serve to confirm it.

“No, not now. But sometimes I want to cover my birthmark,” I admitted.

“Your birthmark is a conversation starter,” my mother asserted, placing lasagna and bread on the table.

“What conversation is that? ‘What’s up with that freaky mark on your back?’”

“It’s not freaky, it’s adorable. The only thing freaky about it was it got darker instead of fading. By the time you were five, it was noticeable.”

“What?” I stumbled out.

She shrugged. “I took you to the pediatrician about it. He said it was odd but never seemed concerned about it. I didn’t think you had a birthmark, it went unnoticed for so long. I didn’t feel like mother of the year for missing it.”

You didn’t notice it because it wasn’t there. My head flooded with questions that I wasn’t sure she would be able to answer twenty-one years later. Was there a seismic event, like me being lost for several hours only to be found and marked, or something as simple as a stranger touching me to give me a compliment, that my mother failed to tell me about in the many recountings of my childhood?

Shoveling salad into my bowl, I reined in the racing questions so that I could probe without causing alarm.

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