Page 80 of One For my Enemy

“You lied to me once before,” Marya noted disapprovingly.

“I did,” Bryn agreed, and then added, probably foolishly, “You weren’t free then.”

To that, she gave a sparkling, delighted laugh. The sound of it fizzed like crisp champagne, both delicate and cold.

“What makes you think I’m free now?” she mused, rising to her feet, and before Bryn could answer, she had her hand around his jaw, sliding her thumb over his lips. “You don’t even know whether you prefer me or Dimitri, do you? It’s power you love, Bridge. Power that excites you. It must destroy you, then, being so close.”

It did.

But he suspected the words meant more to her than they did to him.

“How did you know Dimitri would come to me?” Bryn asked her.

Her touch faltered briefly. “Because I know him.”

“But—”

She tightened her grip, shaking her head. “Better not to ask,” she whispered.

To that, Bryn twitched his hands, drawing a bit of Koschei’s magic. It still felt new, vaguely out of touch; he still had to ask permission to use it, and even then, it was raw and misbehaved. Marya, on the other hand, breathed hers in like second nature, putting out the fire of his before the spark was even lit.

“That power was stolen, Bridge,” she reminded him, “and it will never work for you as well as mine will work for me.”

She closed off his breath with a smile.

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three—

“How long would it take to suffocate?” she asked him softly.

He felt his eyes droop, and she sighed, releasing him.

“Lucky for you, I still need you,” she said as he fell to the floor, gasping for breath. “You’re doing so well, Brynmor,” she murmured, dropping to touch his cheek, and as he shrank away, she gave another bubbling laugh. “In fact, you’re doing so well I almost trust you.”

She slid the tips of her fingers over his lips, reducing him to a shiver.

“Almost?” he echoed.

“Almost,” Marya confirmed, and then she straightened.

She was twice as lovely as she’d been in life, Bryn thought, and twice as still.

Dead things were always so perfect. So very, very difficult to move.

“Get some sleep, Bridge,” she advised. “Perhaps I’ll teach you how to use those stolen powers of yours tomorrow.”

He nodded numbly, and she sighed.

“No snappy comebacks?” she asked. “Disappointing. And here my expectations were so high.”

“Title of my memoir,” he said.

“That’s better,” she ruled, nodding with approval.

In a blink, she was gone.

“Fucking witches,” Bryn grumbled.

Then he reached for his glass and drained it, resting his head limply against the floor.

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