Chapter 2

Two

Villain. No big deal.

Do not puke.

You totally got this.

Everything is okay and everything will be okay and ? —

Shit.

I lurch across the room to a trash can, hit my knees and heave.

Oh god.

Oh god.

Bran is beside me in an instant, his cool hand at the nape of my neck. He says nothing. Just lets me retch and vomit in silence.

When my stomach stops revolting, I suck in several deep breaths.

“Jimmy,” Bran calls, but no one comes. Probably she’s still busy with Bianca and Damien and Kelly. “Stay here, Mouse,” he tells me and then is gone.

I push away from the wastebasket and fall back on the plush rug. Stanley blocks out the ceiling light when he comes to stand over me, several tissues in hand. I take them quickly and wipe at my mouth.

The old man kneels again. I groan but he offers me his hand and says, “Just to help you up.”

I suppose I can handle that.

When I’m back on my feet, I amble over to the chair and drop into it and let my head rest against the backside, eyes closed.

There is this overwhelming urge to just sob and sob and sob, but no tears come.

“Do you know why I love The Greasy Spoon so much, Stanley?” I ask.

He’s quiet a moment and then says, “Why?”

“Because even when I was having a shitty day, I knew I could go to the diner and order a grilled cheese and as soon as it arrived at my table and I took the first bite, everything would feel all right again.”

He chuckles to himself and the chair groans as he sits in it. “Diners and melted cheese are good for that.”

I open my eyes. “I think I need that right now, more than anything. I need the comfort. I need something that’s—” My voice catches. “I need something that’s normal. I need to go somewhere where I’m not feared or loathed. Where I’m not a powerful tool or a villain.”

“When Bran returns, we could ask?—”

“No.” I stand up. “I don’t need his permission to go get a grilled cheese.”

“With all due respect, Your Royal?—”

“Please, for the love of god, stop saying that.”

His chin wrinkles up, his mouth pressed firmly together as he considers his options. If he really does believe I’m some fabled royal fae, he’ll listen to my commands.

“As you wish,” he finally says, and I swear the ground trembles beneath me.

Everything is changing and I am freaking the fuck out.

I swallow several times, taking in a deep breath. “Did you drive here? Or ride in on some magical faerie steed?”

He laughs again. “I drove.”

“Then will you drive me to the diner and make me a grilled cheese and super salty french fries?”

He bows his head just slightly and I don’t miss the act of reverence. “Of course. I’ll call ahead and have Judy get the fryer going. But Bran?—”

“Is my problem, Stanley. Don’t you worry.”

“Very well.” He returns his cap to his head and follows me out the door.

I’m not sure where Bran disappeared to, but we make it out of Duval House and into Stanley’s old sedan without anyone stopping us. I’m aware that I’m taking some risks here, but if Stanley wanted me dead, he could have killed me as an oblivious one-year-old instead of stuffing my face with grilled cheeses for twenty-one years.

And everyone and everything else that might pose a threat to me in Midnight Harbor will learn soon enough what I did at the Pledge Hall.

I won’t even have to open my mouth. They’ll scatter at the mere suggestion of it.

What’s the saying about power? Power corrupts absolutely.

My biological family tried to overthrow an entire kingdom.

What if I turn out just like them?

Don’t panic.

Breathe.

The lights are on inside The Greasy Spoon when Stanley parks out front, but the neon sign is dark. I can make out Judy behind the counter, her hair wound up in a claw clip.

“Is Judy fae too?” I ask as Stanley unlocks the front door with his key.

“She’s human.”

I’m not sure if I’m relieved by that or disappointed. I’m going to need all of the fae guidance I can get.

“Evening, sugar,” Judy says after the bell stops jingling overhead. “I take it the old man told you?”

“So you knew?”

She eyes Stanley over the glass donut case. “I did. Told him he should tell you. He said you weren’t ready.”

“She wasn’t,” Stanley says, his voice dry and grumbly. “She is now.”

“Well, have a seat. We’ll get you fixed up with some good old-fashioned comfort food if you’d like. Is that what you’d like?”

“It’s what I need. More than anything in the world.”

There’s that familiar burn in my eyes again, the unsettling in my bones, the world swaying on its axis. My mother is dead. My sister is in a coma. My boyfriend is afraid of me.

I feel utterly alone.

I want to run away. Even more than I did before I became entangled with Bran, back when I thought I was human and leaving would be easy.

If I ran now, there’s nowhere Bran couldn’t find me. I’m sure of that. Not that I want to leave him. I just…I want things to go back to normal, goddammit.

And I know they won’t.

How the hell do we move forward though?

I just want someone to tell me everything is going to be all right. But my support system is dwindling by the second.

Except for Sam.

“Can I use your phone?” I ask. I purposefully left my cell phone at Duval House.

“Of course.” Judy hands me an old cordless telephone and I’m extremely grateful I memorized Sam’s cell number in case of emergencies just like this.

She answers on the first ring. “Sweet baby Jesus,” she says, her voice thin. “Where are you? What is happening? I just heard about your Pledge. The Guard is there now but we can’t get any more details on it.”

Elbow on the countertop, I scrub at my face and clutch at the phone with the other hand. “Where are you now?”

“I’m at the bookstore. I just finished closing up.”

“Come to The Greasy Spoon and I’ll tell you everything.”

I can hear keys jingling through the phone. “I’ll be there in less than ten.”

Judy keeps the front door locked to avoid walk-ins, so when Sam arrives, Judy turns the deadbolt with a loud thud and then suddenly Sam is rushing me, her arms wrapped around my neck. “I hate hugs but I know you need this,” she says.

I squeeze her back. “You have no idea.”

“Well, I’ll have an idea when you tell me.”

“Anything to drink or eat, sugar?” Judy asks, a pencil sticking out of her wound hair. Behind the counter, Stanley drops in a basket of fries and the oil snaps and crackles.

“Diet Coke,” Sam says as she slides onto a stool. “And a grilled cheese and fries.”

Judy fills a red plastic Coke cup with ice, then soda from the tap. The carbonation fizzes when Judy puts the cup in front of Sam. “Food will be up in a few minutes,” she says, then leaves us alone.

“All right.” Sam tears off the wrapper on her straw and jabs it through the ice. The chunks plink against the thick plastic. “Tell me what I’ve missed.”

A half hour later, after giving Sam the condensed version, she stares off into space, absently eating her fries one by one.

“Say something.” I nudge her with my foot.

She chomps on another fry. She hasn’t blinked in at least two whole minutes.

“Sam.”

Wiping the salt and the grease on a napkin, she turns the stool slowly toward me. “You remember when clogs got really popular in school and we were like, ‘Ummm, no.’”

“Yeah?”

“And then we bought a pair because fuck it, whatever, and we realized secretly we loved them? Hideous but easy to slip on and go, super comfortable.” She rolls her eyes. “Like so comfortable.”

“Yes. And?”

“And maybe this whole thing is like foam clogs.”

“You must be joking.”

“Maybe you’ll realize you like being the villain. Maybe you like being royalty. I mean, have you even asked if there’s a crown? A throne? Like what do you get out of this?”

“An entire fae race hunting her down,” Judy answers from behind the counter.

“War, surely,” Stanley calls.

Sam waves it away. “If you’re a siren, then use your voice.”

It’s an echo of what Bran keeps telling me. Something I’ve always been afraid to do. And now, looking back, I realize it was a learned behavior. My mother was always telling me to be careful what I said and how I said it. Keep your voice down. Don’t be bossy.

I just thought she was doing what mothers do and now I think she was trying to teach me not to use my powers, even though she’d already bound them.

My stomach clenches and a flare of anger sends warmth across my chest.

Mom robbed me of a lot, most of all choice.

And there’s nothing I can do about it now. I can’t scream at her. I can’t give her the cold shoulder. I can’t tell her all of the ways she hurt me.

Somehow that makes me even more mad.

Use my voice?

What’s the first thing I do with it?

Where do I even begin?

I think the first thing I need to do is make sure my relationship with Bran is unshakeable. I know he’s on unsteady ground. I know he’s uncertain of how much to fear me. But I need to reassure him that I will never go against him. Well, my secret trip to The Greasy Spoon notwithstanding.

I’ll ask for forgiveness. That’s always better than permission, right?

“Thank you, Sam.” I lean over and rest my head on her shoulder as she drags another fry through her pool of ketchup. “I’m so grateful for you.”

“Same, Your Royal Highness.”

I lurch upright. “Don’t even start.”

She laughs, salt glittering on the corner of her lip.

“Let’s stop talking about me for a second,” I say and my stomach fills with butterflies just thinking about my best friend being the Alpha’s fated mate.

Is now the time to tell her? I don’t know if there’s a perfect time for that bomb to drop. But I like distracting from my own problems.

“Are you insisting we talk about me?” Sam asks. “You will be left wanting. The most exciting thing that happened to me in the last week is that I accidentally put on my little sister’s underwear when I was running late for work and then spent the rest of the night picking fabric out of my ass crack.”

I hang my head back and laugh and I swear some of the weight leaves my shoulders. Sam makes everything feel lighter.

Once I’ve sobered, I try again. “In all seriousness, there’s something I need to tell you?—”

Sam leans in. “Okay.”

“And you’re not going to?—”

Just then, the front door of The Greasy Spoon pulls open and the locked deadbolt tears through the door frame as one very strong arm rips it back.

And, as if summoned by mere thought, the Midnight Pack Alpha walks through the door of the diner, his eyes brilliant wolf gold, and says, “What the fuck do you two think you’re doing here alone?”