Now I looked like the asshole.
I sagged against the back of the booth, defeated, and as I did, I felt the heat of his arm through the thin material of my vintage T-shirt. It brought on a flashback of that night I’d gotten so sick, of Crowe, his voice soft and reassuring as he held my hair back while I vomited. His hands on me, on my stomach, and the instant relief that spread through me as he worked a spell to settle my queasiness. The cold that lingered when his hands finally pulled away.
Why did he do these things to me? Being around him made me feel like a rabid animal. I wanted to tear him apart and devour him all at the same time. His magic overwhelmed me more than most, even when he wasn’t using it on me, but it also felt like heaven to have his hands on my skin. His gentle attention was like the sun on my face… but the way he’d looked at me afterward, the worry and puzzlement over why I’d had too much to drink yet again, the frustration and irritation when I wouldn’t tell him why… that felt like being lost in the darkness of space.
I understood why girls fawned all over him. And it wasn’t just the pull of him, or the power. He was also ridiculously gorgeous, and the scars that marred his face only managed to make him more attractive. A small one cut his left eyebrow in half. There was another slash just beneath his right eye, and a third and fourth ran along his jawline. Both were the result of brawls with interlopers from other gangs who tried to encroach on Hawthorne in the past year, thinking that because Michael Medici was dead and my dad had gone, the Devils’ League would be ripe for a patch over. They hadn’t bargained on Crowe’s power in their takeover attempts, though, nor were they wise to his determination to keep the Devils independent, his willingness to get down in the mud and fight, and his utter brutality when he did. He could have healed himself after literally crushing the guys who tried to take him out, or he could have had Alex do it. But he’d chosen to let his wounds heal naturally. Alex had joked that it was because Crowe hadn’t been able to stand looking so perfect all the time, but I had a feeling there was a different reason—the scars were a visual reminder of who he was now, of his responsibility, of what he’d lost.
Looking at him was reminding me of what I’d lost, too. Or, really, of what I’d never had.
“Crowe,” Alex said, finally cutting through the obvious tension despite Crowe’s seemingly relaxed smile, “give Jemmie a break.”
As he turned to his sister, that smile disappeared and he just looked at her in that way of his that could destroy cells at the nuclear level. Alex rolled her eyes.
Crowe took in a breath. It wasn’t a normal breath. It was the kind of breath that said he was preparing to light us on fire. Despite the alcohol rolling through my veins, I could already smell it. Smoky. Sweet. Deadly.
“I heard a rumor about you today.” He turned in the booth to face us both, stretching his other arm, the one covered in a sleeve of tattoos, out on the table. His fingers rapped against the wood.
“A rumor?” Alex parroted, feigning disinterest.
Crowe scooted in closer, until his chest was practically pressed against my shoulder. Our legs bumped together beneath the table. I rubbed my eyes in an attempt to clear the shimmering threads of amber magic drifting off his skin.
“Did either of you cast at the mall?” he asked.
Alex pinched her straw between two fingers and twirled it around and around in her drink. “Like I would be so stupid?”
Crowe gritted his teeth and turned his gaze on me. “Jemmie?”
“Uhhh…”
More than just the table was silent now. The whole barroom was quiet.
The hair on the nape of my neck stood on end.
“Twice!” Crowe barked, and I jumped. He clearly already knew the answers to his inquiries.
“This is bullshit,” Alex started, but Crowe cut her off.
“You used it on two people. At the mall, of all fucking places.”
“I did not!” was all the challenge Alex could muster.
“There were witnesses!”
Alex snorted. “Who? Your new girlfriend? Are you going to believe her over your own sister?”
As Crowe leaned in more, I pressed my back into the booth, wishing I could melt into it. No one wanted to be caught between two warring Medicis, but right now it was to my advantage. Once again, maybe I could hide in Alex’s shadow.
“I shouldn’t have to remind you of the rules,” Crowe said. “And I also shouldn’t have to remind you not to cast against an ally. Katrina is a Six and you know it.”
“Well, I’m not officially a Devil and neither is Jemmie,” Alex snarled, “so she’s not our ally, is she?”
I grimaced. Why had she brought me back into it?
Crowe slid out of the booth and stood. “Get up. Both of you.”
Alex folded her arms over her chest. “What? Why?”
“Get up. Now.”
I obeyed. After a mutinous pause, Alex did, too. I wasn’t sure where Crowe was going with this, but it didn’t feel like it would be anywhere good.
The people in the middle of the barroom shrunk away from Crowe as Alex and I stood in front of him.
“Do I have to remind anyone else here of the rules?” he said as he turned a circle. “What is the consequence for casting recklessly in front of the drecks?”
“Binding,” someone called out.
Oh no.
Crowe began to pace. Alex set her hands on her hips, like she was bored. I put my hand on my stomach, suddenly feeling sick.
“Exactly,” Crowe said. “Binding. And there’s only one person in this town who can do a binding spell.” Crowe stopped. His heavy gaze settled on me.
“No.”
He kept staring.
“No. Absolutely not. You probably have cuts my dad left behind that you can use. You don’t need me.”
“Nah. Fresh out,” he said, giving me a tight smile. “You’re up, Jemmie.”
My whole face felt like it had been set on fire. Every gaze was on me, like needles digging under my skin. “I can’t,” I whispered.
“Now that’s bullshit,” he said. “You seem to forget that I’ve experienced your magic. I know what you can do.”
“Crowe,” Alex said, her tone softening. “That was a long time ago. I don’t think—”
“Shut it,” Crowe ground out. “She’s going to do this, or you’re both going to be banned from the festival.”
“What?” Alex wailed. “You can’t do that!”
I coughed as Crowe and Alex’s smoky-sweet magic billowed around me, as the golden skeins of it roiled around their bodies, loosed by their rage. “Stop,” I pleaded.
“If she doesn’t bind your power with her locant magic, I’ll happily leave you both so sick that it’ll take you a month to start eating solid food again,” Crowe said. “And if you even try to heal yourself, Alex, wait and see what starts to grow on your face.”
“You wouldn’t!”
Crowe laughed. “Try me.”
“Remember that grayish fungus thing Gunnar was sporting after New Year’s?” Hardy asked. “That was Crowe being gentle.”
Alex huffed and took me by the arms. “Just do it, Jemmie.” I started to shake my head, then gasped as she squeezed painfully. “Do. It.”
I gave her a pleading look, but she was now too full of fury to realize what she and Crowe were demanding. My heart was beating so fast I could barely get the words out. “Please. I can’t.”
“If you won’t do it,” Crowe said as he turned away, “then I suppose I’ll have to report her, and the Syndicate will send its locant specialist to do it.”
Goddamn it.
Goddamn him.
The Syndicate’s locant specialist was my father.
“Fine,” I muttered.
Maybe with three drinks on board, I could make this work. Maybe it would be okay.
I glanced at Alex. She was avoiding my eyes now, but the rosiness in her cheeks told me enough. Her own brother was embarrassing her in front of all her friends and family, and she wanted this over with.