Page 56 of The Rusalka and Mr. Right

“Damn, son. Bitten byallthe love bugs. Just don’t get too crazy, too fast.”

“Oh, it’s too late for that. She’s the one. Bringing her home for Thanksgiving.” I swallow hard as I walk back to the health annex entrance, lunch break over.What if this doesn’t work? What if I lose her? How can I ever celebrate anything ever again without her? Am I stupid to tell Dad to expect her for Thanksgiving?

Ican’tlose her. If she doesn’t turn up for family dinners, it’s because I won’t be there to bring her.

Death and demons being so close, so real—it messes with me for a minute. Ice fills my stomach. Tomorrow night is the night of our “ceremony,” but that’s not what scares me. It scares me to know that I could lose her. “I’m getting her a promise ring.” It’ll hold until we can call it an engagement ring, until we can put a wedding ring on top of it, too. “And you can just have an extra plate ready from now on. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, all of it.”

Dad’s voice turns into a firm rumble. “Slow down, Kev.”

“May wedding,” I say.

God damn it. I’m not being smart right now.

I’m doubling down, and I never gamble.

Marina’s not a gamble. She’s a risk worth taking.

“Son. Kev—”

“No matter what, I love her. No matter what happens.” My voice is serious.

“Okay, okay! You’re a grown man. You were never the wild one. Never tried to take two dates to the prom and keep ‘em from finding out about each other.”

“You knew about that?” I hiss.

“You think we didn’t know that your brothers were a handful and half? That you were the level-headed one leading a pack of tornadoes? Naw, son. We knew. Also, I think you’re making a mistake saying ‘Don’t tell Mom.’ Kevin, your mother has had your back every step of your life.”

That’s code for “She’s tailing me like an FBI agent.” I’m smart enough not to say that out loud.

“If she gets into your business, it’s because she doesn’t know any other way not to let you get hurt. When your brothers get hurt on the track or in the pool—pulled muscles, sprains, torn tendons—that’s physical. She can help with that. She’s a damn fine nurse. She canseethat kind of hurt. When her first baby boy goes out and starts looking for a girl to give his heart to, of course she’s going to be overprotective. She can’t see if they hurt you. She wouldn’t know how to put a compression wrap on that kind of injury.”

I kick a rock in the entranceway of the annex. “Guilt trip much, Dad?”

“Deserved.”

“Geez.”

“The way you are so smitten with Marina is no different than how smitten your mother is with her three babies. Not in the same way, but that same intensity. Ain’t no one loves you like a mother. I’m sure Marina’s parents feel the same.”

“Her mother died. No dad in the picture,” I blurt. I don’t fully understand supernatural family dynamics myself. I’m sure as heck not going to try to explain them to my dad.

My dad is silent, then lets out a shaky laugh. “I’m taking the bus to Hell for saying this, but good—for you.”

“What?!”

My father’s voice holds an exasperated, amused note. “Your mother hasalwayswanted a daughter. Can you imagine what’s going to happen when you bring her home some pretty little thing to love on and fuss over? And planning this May wedding? When there’s no mother-in-law to compete with, and your mom can take your girl shopping and get their nails done together? Damn, son. That’s terrible about her family, but you have no idea how much in-law drama you just saved yourself from.”

“Thatisterrible—but I think you’ve got a point about Mom. And Marina—Marina would love someone to love her like Mom loves me.” My voice is thick. I think of Big K—in my head, it’s Big Fat Bastard K—and I think that my dad is lucky he doesn’t know about the “in-law” drama that’ll be unleashed in two weeks.

“MAYBE WE SHOULD CALLEmmy Van Helsing?” suggested Alban Wymark, the tall, handsome warlock with a head of perfect brunette waves. “Her family knows how to hunt demons—no offense, Marina.”

I pace in Minegold’s living room. “I am sure she knows how to kill vampires—sorry, Jakob—”

“Don’t apologize, and hold still.”

Janet yanks me back down onto the couch and pulls my hand back onto the small tray table set between us. “Stay still, or your nails will never get finished. What do you think?”

I admire the subtle white-capped waves on the tips of my blush pink nails. “Very thematic,” I mutter weakly, “but we have more important things to worry about than my promise ceremony. We have to figure out how to kill an ancient regenerating demon. It’d be so much easier if it were justan ordinary necromancer or warlock enslaving me—no offense, Alban.”

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