Just like that.

And now that I’ve got the benefit of knowledge, the benefit of hindsight and many months to look back on everything, I realize that maybe I can’t hold the secrecy against them after all.

Does it suck? Yeah, absolutely.

I hate that I’ll never have the chance to talk to my father about his runes or my gargoyle or this damn mating bond debacle they helped set into motion.

I hate that my mother will never know how much fun it is for me to fly or how much I miss her tea or how much I miss her.

But as I stand here, combing through Remy’s soul for his magic, I can’t help thinking that they did the best they could to protect me. Like when I chose not to tell Jaxon about what the Bloodletter did to us—nothing would come of that but pain, so why hurt him more if I didn’t have to? Why tell Flint when it would just make him relive the pain of Jaxon’s rejection all over again?

Sometimes there are no right and wrong answers in life. Sometimes you have a sucky hand and you do the best you can with what you’ve got and pray it all works out—and that you don’t hurt anyone along the way.

Sometimes, that’s all you’ve got.

Like Remy, as he did his best to get us to this point, even when he didn’t trust us.

Like me, right now, trying to find his magic, though I don’t have a clue how to do it.

It’s that thought that pulls me back, that has me refocusing on Remy. And believing that he’s right. His magic is too important for his mother to have lied about, not if she ever wanted her son to find his way out of prison.

“You’re right,” I tell him. “Your mother wouldn’t lie to you.”

And so I do another deep dive, send my senses out wide as I try to find a trace of his magic, a trace of something that will save him.

His eyes are swirling again, smoky green and gray, and I know I’m on the right track. And then, there it is right in front of me. Not his magic but a gigantic wall.

Everything inside me screams that it’s there, walled off, hidden from him and me and everyone—a protection left by his mother for all those years he had to spend in the prison. If she hid his magic deep enough, then no one could get it. Not Charon, not anyone.

But Remy’s not a kid anymore and his magic—this magic—is the only thing that can save him now.

And so I put my head down and burrow through the wall, digging and digging and digging—

My whole hand catches fire.

“Oh my God!” I gasp as the flame wraps itself around me, starts creeping up my forearm with a strength I barely know how to withstand.

Tendrils of his magic are all around me now, slipping and sliding through my grasp. Wrapping themselves around me, climbing over my hand and through my fingers, playing hide-and-seek and catch me if you can.

My whole arm is aflame now, and a quick glance down shows me the tattoo is glowing with the magic pouring through me, every dot from my wrist to my shoulder lit up like Mardi Gras, until my entire arm is incandescent with heat. With power. With the very essence of Remy’s magic.

I take it all, every single drop I can find. Every tendril. Every spell. Until the swirling magic in his eyes is gone, and he looks completely normal again.

“You steady?” I ask as he sways on his feet.

He shrugs, and for a second I think he’s going to crumple. I know how he feels. I know how empty and strange it is to be missing magic where there once was some. Even just the little bit that he had access to must make him feel awful when it’s gone.

I glance down at the bracelet on my wrist with the same intense rage and dislike I usually reserve for Cyrus and Cole. Once we bust out of here and get these damn things off—I swear, I’ll rip to shreds anyone who ever tries to put one on me again.

Remy sways, and I reach for him. But Hudson is already there, holding him up, lending Remy as much of his remaining strength as he can.

“You ready for this?” I ask, because if losing it was a lot, I can’t imagine what it will feel like to have it returned to him all at once—especially since he’s never felt this much magic before.

But Remy simply winks at me. Then he braces himself—grounded feet, tucked chin—and says, “You know me, cher. I was born ready.”

148

Every Little Thing

He Does Is Magic

“Yeah, me too,” I say with a laugh.

Remy gives me that wicked grin of his and says, “Well then, let’s do this thing, shall we?”

“Definitely.” I take a deep breath to calm the raptors going wild in my stomach, then instinctively find Hudson’s gaze with my own.

He’s right there next to Remy, wearing his own wicked smile—dimple definitely included. I focus on his eyes. His oceanic eyes that see so much, encompass so much, and promise to give it all to me.

“You’ve got this,” he says, and I nod. Because I do. This is what I was made for.

I hold on to that thought—hold on to Hudson’s support—and focus on the burning in my arm. Holding Remy’s magic is very different than when I held Hudson’s during the Ludares challenge. Hudson’s I could feel all the way through me, warming me up in every nook and cranny as I found a way to wield it.

Remy’s exists only in my arm—captured by the tattoo that’s so bright now, it’s practically blinding as it swirls and dances up and down my biceps and forearm.

“Okay, here we go,” I say. And then I breathe in. Hold it for several long seconds. And when I breathe out, I channel his magic out with the air. I send it spinning across the space between us, arcing it straight into him like an arrow.

He must feel it, because his head falls forward, his entire body bowing as he absorbs and absorbs and absorbs.

There’s so much of it—so much magic, so much power—that I’m a little astonished my tattoo could hold it all. That Remy’s body can contain it all. I feel it spread out, leaking into his arms and hands, his legs and back, and I make sure to keep it on this side of the wall this time so that he can access it whenever he wants.

I’m almost done, and I can see the power in him now, those wild eyes of his growing smokier and smokier even as they begin to swirl faster and faster. His whole body is shaking now, the wealth of unleashed power so strong that it threatens to knock us both off our feet, threatens to burn us both alive.

But I reach forward, grab on to his hand, and we hold tight to each other as the magic overwhelms us both. Lightning blasts through the room around us, and the ground shakes. But we hold tight, tight, tight and then—just like a lightning strike—it’s done.

My tattoo stops looping around my arm, the flames stop dancing along my nerve endings, and the strength leaves my knees all at once—even as I feel the last of the magic leaving me knitting my ribs back together and healing my broken body.

I cry out, certain I’m going to hit the floor, but Hudson is right there, catching me. Pulling me against him. Murmuring, “You were amazing,” against my temple.

“Yeah?” I ask him.

“Oh yeah.” His lips brush against my ear as he whispers, “Also sexy as fuck, so definitely feel free to try that again. Maybe with my power next time.”

I laugh, smack out at his stomach gently, but he bites his lip as he stares at me with eyes that are completely blown out. And suddenly, it’s just the two of us. No Charon. No Remy. No dead giants in the next room. No prison to escape from. No Crown waiting for us.

Just Hudson and me and the feelings that flow between us like the purest and best magic.

At least until Flint groans and says, “Come on. I swear, when we get back to Katmere, I’m going to spend weeks making goo-goo eyes at Luca in front of you to make up for this.”

I laugh, as he intends, and don’t bother to mention that there are no weeks left. We’ve graduated. We’ve done everything at Katmere Academy that we can. Everything except save it.

Hudson doesn’t say anything, either. Just looks at Remy and asks, “What next?”

Remy grins. “A promise is a promise.” He holds his hand out, and a red ball of power glows right in the center of his palm. He throws it straight up in the air before lifting his arm above his head and circling his hand.

The ball loosens up, becomes a bigger and bigger spiral above all our heads until it covers the whole ceiling. Once it does, Remy stares straight at me and winks.

And the red spiral whirls around Flint, Calder, Hudson, and me, spinning like a top for several beats. And out of nowhere, the bracelets fall right off our wrists and land at our feet. Flint whoops and hollers the second he realizes he’s free, then shoots a stream of fire straight down the hallway.

“Hey!” Charon squawks as he dives to the side just in time to keep from being barbecued. “What was that for?”

“Because I can,” Flint answers.

And God, do I feel him. Part of me wants to shift to make sure that I can. But I settle for looking deep inside myself and finding my platinum string right where it belongs, like it was never gone.