“Who said we won’t be training over Christmas?” Aaron asked, the words interspersed with panting breaths as he ran hard on the treadmill. Sweat darkened the back of his t-shirt. “We never go more than a few days without a workout.”

“You can’t make me workout on my own,” I informed him with petulant satisfaction. “I’ll have a blissful two weeks to eat Christmas cookies nonstop on my sofa while you three are gone.”

Kai smirked in a way that made my spine prickle with warning.

“No, you won’t.” The treadmill beeped as Aaron slowed to an easy jog. “You’re coming with us.”

I straightened out of my exhausted slouch to peer at him. “Coming with you where?”

He arched his eyebrows. “My parents’ place? We’ve only been talking about it since November.”

“Yeah, I know.” And I’d shrivel with jealousy and loneliness every time they brought it up. “I don’t see what that has to do with my Christmas.”

“Well, initially, nothing,” Aaron admitted. “But that’s only because you left us with the impression that you wanted to spend Christmas with your brother.”

“But then,” Kai said, “you let slip that your brother will be in the Netherlands.”

Uh, had I mentioned that? Oops. “You guys have your own holiday traditions and I don’t want to—”

“—ruin our Christmas by staying home alone?” Aaron finished for me, rolling his eyes. “Obviously we’re not leaving you behind.”

“But—”

“We already bought your ferry ticket,” Kai added.

My head was spinning. “But—”

“Besides,” Aaron concluded airily, “it wouldn’t be a family Christmas without you.”

I might have teared up at that point.

But right now, I was the opposite of emotional. Glaring at my insufficient closet, I considered whether I could get out of their diabolical plans to ensure I wasn’t alone on a holiday. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to spend Christmas with them, but this was Aaron’s family. As in Aaron’s parents.

As in his rich, powerful, famous parents.

They ran the Sinclair Academy, the most prestigious mage school/guild on the west coast. Did I mention they were rich? Like, “Aaron bought a house with his trust fund and didn’t even put a dent in it” rich? Whereas I’d spent my formative years learning to tightrope walk the poverty line.

Grumbling, I threw another pair of jeans onto my bed beside my suitcase, then grabbed my phone and texted Sin. We needed to make an emergency shopping trip for a dress. What kind of fancy-ass academy threw a formal party to celebrate the end of term? And why did I have to attend it?

“Noooooo!”

At the high-pitched howl, I leaped up so fast I staggered. I lunged for the door and whipped it open as a crash echoed through my apartment. I flew into the room in time to watch a second lamp hit the floor, the bulb smashing.

“Stop!” The shriek came from the short green faery standing on the back of my couch, his oversized hands flailing. “Give it back!”

Up at the ceiling, a second fae hovered, her long silver tail undulating. Her pink eyes glowed, antennae twitching as she watched Twiggy shake his fists. In her small front paws, she held the TV remote.

“Mine!” Twiggy snarled—and before I could speak, he grabbed a framed photo off the end table and threw it.

Hoshi darted out of the way. The frame hit the ceiling, glass shattering, then fell to the floor and snapped in two. Hissing, the silvery sylph dive-bombed the faery and knocked him off the sofa with a snap of her tail. Twiggy hit the floor, bounced up, and launched at her with a high-pitched WWE roar.

Diving forward, I grabbed him out of the air, then barked angrily, “Hoshi!”

The sylph guiltily released her prize—while still hovering at the ceiling. The remote dropped eight feet and hit the floor. Bits of plastic skittered in every direction.

“No!” Twiggy howled as he twisted out of my grasp. He seized two pieces and tried to force them back together. “It’s broken! My favorite show is on! If I miss it, I’ll never find out if Margaret’s terminal limp-foam-moms will be cured before—”

“Twiggy, calm down.” Why had I gotten the pop-culture-obsessed faery addicted to afternoon soap operas? So much regret. “And do you mean lymphoma? Terminal lymphoma?”

“Limp-foam-moms,” he repeated with certainty, then his face crumpled again. “She might die in this episode!”

Yep. Definitely needed to ban soap operas next.

“She won’t die,” I told him. “She’s the main character.”

“But she might!” Heaving a sob, he looked up. “This is all Hoshi’s fault!”

He hurled the broken remote. Hoshi dodged the projectile and it soared across the room and collided with the wall, leaving a nice chip in the paint. The sylph lashed her tail and hissed at him. Yelling furiously, Twiggy leaped onto the coffee table.

I caught him around the middle and tucked him under my arm. He writhed in protest, his twig-like hair scraping me. Hoshi dove from the ceiling and swirled around us, hissing and sticking her small pink tongue out at Twiggy.

I grabbed her as well and trapped her under my other arm. “You two are worse than a pair of toddlers! Why can’t I leave you alone for even—”

“Uh … Tori?”

Choking, I whirled around.

A man stood at the bottom of the stairs that led to the front door, a green-and-gold gift bag in his hand. His shocked hazel eyes flicked between the two fae.

“Oh,” I said breathlessly. “Hi, Justin.”

My brother cleared his throat. “The, uh, door was unlocked, so I …”

“That’s fine,” I said, forcing a cheerful note into my voice. “Um, I guess you haven’t met my … roommates.”

Hoshi flicked her tail. Twiggy sniffled loudly, muttering under his breath—something about “Margaret” and “doomed.” I didn’t want to know.

I released Hoshi and she faded out of sight, too shy of strangers to hang around. I carried Twiggy over to the TV and reached around to the hidden row of buttons on the back. With a press of the power button, Margaret’s anguished face filled the screen in all its soft-focus soap-opera glory.

As Twiggy gasped in disbelieving delight, I plopped him in front of the TV, turned the volume down, and hurried over to Justin.

“Sorry about that. When they get bored, they start fighting.” Just like toddlers—extra destructive toddlers. At least they hadn’t used any magic … this time.

With difficulty, he dragged his stare off Twiggy and focused on me. I’d told him about the two fae, but he’d never seen them before—his fault, not mine. He wanted nothing to do with the mythic side of my life, which was about ninety-five percent nowadays.

I smiled hesitantly. “Thanks for coming. I wasn’t sure …”

As awkwardness settled over us, quiet sorrow weighed me down, but it was an oddly familiar feeling. This wasn’t the first time Justin and I had struggled to connect. We’d had this problem on and off for as long as I could remember—mainly because he’d repeatedly abandoned me to go off and live his own life. Not that he wasn’t allowed to do that, but it was kind of a dick move when your sister depended on you.

This time, I was the one living my life and he, by his choice, was staying behind.

I blurted the question without thinking. “Are you sure you don’t want to catch a few beers with—”

“No.”

I scowled. He scowled back. If he would just meet my mythic friends, he’d realize we weren’t a bunch of magic-wielding criminals. Once he got to know the guys, he’d figure out they were awesome. I was sure of it.

Giving up, I stumped to the breakfast bar, ignoring the broken photo frame I’d need to clean up before I finished packing. Justin followed me and slid onto a stool.

“Excited for your Netherlands trip?” I asked politely. “It’s a work exchange thing, right?”

“Yeah, it should be fun. We’re starting in Amsterdam with their Drug Unit to learn how they run things there.” He propped an elbow on the counter. “You’re still going to Vancouver Island for two weeks?”

“Yep. Aaron’s family lives about thirty minutes outside Victoria.”

“But you two aren’t dating anymore.”

“We haven’t been dating since late summer. It’s mid-December.” I gave him a hard look. “Why is this so difficult to remember?”

“I remember it just fine, but I don’t understand why you’re spending the holidays with the parents of a guy you aren’t dating.”

“He, Kai, and Ezra are my best friends.” I pressed my lips together, feeling mutinous. “We’re practically family.”

Hurt and anger flashed in Justin’s eyes.

“And if you’d just meet them, you’d realize why I—”

“Hey, I’ve been wondering,” he cut in. “Have you and your great new friends murdered anyone else recently?”

The floor dropped out from under me as visions flashed through my mind: the dark hilt of Ezra’s short sword in my hands; a foot of deadly steel disappearing into a man’s back; the gurgling gasp of his last breath as he collapsed; the blood spreading beneath his body, steaming on the cold, dirty concrete.

The shock of the memories was too much for me to hide, and Justin lurched backward, almost toppling his stool. His question had been sarcastic; he hadn’t expected a confirmation.

“Tori—” he rasped. “You—you didn’t—”

“N-no,” I stammered. “I mean, it’s not what you think. It was—”

He shoved off his stool, retreating in disgust as though I were covered in contagious murder germs. “I don’t want to hear it. Don’t even try.”