Chosen - Kiersten White Page 0,58

all this time?

Cillian sets down the broom. “Yes, he did. I remember.”

“You’re remembering wrong.”

“I’ll show you. I can do it with my eyes closed.” Cillian grabs for the puzzle, but Esther jerks it away, holding it behind her back.

“No! You stay out of your father’s things!” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Now go sit down. I’m making food.”

“Give me the puzzle!”

“No.”

They’re standing close, both of them breathing hard, faces set in mirrored anger and determination and hurt.

I could get the puzzle from her. Easy. And part of me is tempted to. I want to take this from her, because it obviously means something and taking it would hurt her. Like she hurt him by leaving so easily and for so long. People shouldn’t get to leave you behind and not hurt like you do because of it.

I close my eyes, force my breathing to slow. She’s not Artemis or Leo. She didn’t do anything to me.

I just want to figure out what in all the hells is going on here. And I hope—sincerely—that Esther isn’t involved in it. She’s a bad mom, but that doesn’t make her evil, and after Leo’s mother’s betrayal, I’ve had my fill of dealing with evil moms.

I put a hand on Cillian’s arm. “Come on. There are other puzzles. We don’t need that one.”

He stays where he is for a few more seconds, then turns sharply on his heel and storms out of the house. I don’t apologize to his mother. I didn’t take the puzzle from her, which was more than generous of me. I can feel her watching us, waiting in the light of the doorway. I pause in the yard. Cillian is already in the car.

“I won’t let anyone hurt him,” I say, my voice low. “Including you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Whatever you’re involved in, get out of it. He needs you.”

“You have no idea what you’re on about.”

I ignore her and climb into the car. Cillian peels out. Neither of us looks back.

Doug coughs and rolls down his window despite the frigid temperature. “Wow. What did I miss?”

“Give me the kitten,” I say.

Doug reflexively holds it against his chest. “Why are you so angry?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not angry at Trouble! I need the necklace.”

He unfastens it and hands it to me, keeping the kitten to himself. I hold it up, trying to catch enough light. Cillian pulls over halfway to the castle. It’s pitch-dark out here in the forest. He turns on the overhead light and takes the necklace from me.

“The same.” His voice is flat. “What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing?” It doesn’t mean nothing. I know it doesn’t. But my instinct to protect my friend makes me want to shield him from the looming bad I can feel building on the horizon. The looming bad that now somehow involves his mother.

“Right. I’m sure it’s a big whopping coincidence that we happen to have the same triangley thing in my shed that was on Sean’s tea and a madwoman’s necklace. Maybe they all visited the same souvenir shop.”

“Wait, you had one of these?” Doug leans forward. He narrows his eyes at the necklace. “Sean had a tattoo of it. Most of his people did. What was in the shed? A necklace?”

“A bigger version of this. Not a necklace. More like a puzzle thing.”

Doug frowns, his cracked skin shifting so the black lines between the yellow pieces almost disappear.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“I can’t smell emotion, but I can see it. What are you thinking?”

“Just—there was a reason I picked Cillian’s shed, yeah? Out of every place I could hide. I was half dazed with hunger and exhaustion and pain, but something … something called me there. I chalked it up to fate. Like I was supposed to meet you, Nina.” He ducks his head, and I swear if he weren’t neon yellow, he’d be blushing. “So you’d care about me. So it wouldn’t only be your mom on my side. But maybe it was something else. I can’t smell power, exactly, but most demons are sensitive to it.”

Cillian’s staring at the necklace as though hypnotized by it. I turn toward him. “Your mom was really weird about the puzzle.”

“You two want me to believe that my dead da—a fisherman and local police volunteer—was dealing in, what, demonic artifacts?” His voice is cold and so unlike him that I shrink closer to my window.

“No! No. Could it have been your mom’s instead? From when she practiced witchcraft? And that’s why she