Spring (Evermore Academy #2) - Audrey Grey Page 0,118

of messages from Eclipsa. “Who, Mack?”

Zinnia rushes out the door, calling over her shoulder. “No. Your pointy-eared friends. I have to get Vi and Jane out of the house before there’s a massacre.”

I can’t tell who she thinks is the danger; my friends or Jane and Vi.

“She’s charming,” comes a silky smooth female voice.

I whip around to see Eclipsa leaning against the wall nearest the window, arms crossed. She wears a Pink Pixie Pirates black crop top and low-riding silver leggings, the jewels across her forehead sparkling in the morning sun.

I look over her belly tats and navel piercing, the elaborate sweep of kohl eyeliner that brings out the otherworldly largeness of her dark eyes.

“Holy hell, my aunt is going to hate you.”

“Oh, you mean the leathery mortal woman who tried to take off my head with that shotgun?” She winks. “I like her. Her aim is crap, thank Titania, considering someone thought it was a good idea to arm her with iron buckshot. But it takes balls to try and shoot one of us.”

“Why are you here?”

She arches an eyebrow. “You didn’t answer any of my messages. I thought you were in trouble.”

“No. I’m just angry at you.”

Her lips tug into a pout. “Still?”

“Yes, Eclipsa. Still. I thought you were my friend and your words hurt me.”

Eyes downcast, she toes a plum purple and orange sneaker into the warped edge of a floorboard. “You are my friend. One of my only friends, in fact. Which is weird because I don’t ever remember agreeing to like you, but there it is. I do, against my will.”

I snort. “You are absolutely the worst at apologies.”

“I’m aware.” She glares. “I’m not good at this, okay?”

“Didn’t we just establish that?”

“I mean, having friends. Caring. It’s not natural to me. In the Everwilde, we’ve been taught from birth how to betray and manipulate our way to power. It’s all that matters in our world, and having friends when everyone is a potential enemy is a liability.”

“It can be that way in the human world too,” I admit. “Too bad there isn’t a soulbond for friends. That would make it so much easier.”

“But that’s what makes friendship so strangely . . . wonderful.” Her sneakers are quiet against my floor as she approaches. “It’s like the Bloodstar vine. It needs constant watering and care or it withers into dust.”

I’m not sure how I feel about Eclipsa comparing our relationship to the most poisonous flower in Everwilde, but I’ll take it.

“What I said in front of Hellebore,” she continues, her silver brows gathered. “He is an expert at learning what someone cares about and using that against them. If he truly understood how much I like you, he would use that knowledge to destroy both of us—and I can’t bear the thought of him taking something I hold precious and turning it into a weapon.”

I bounce on my toes, the urge to hug the prickly assassin warring with my pride. “I know, and you’re right. I just wasn’t expecting what you said to be so harsh or hurt so much.”

“Summer, the rules of the courts and power come to me easily, but the rules of friendship are . . . new to me. I’m still learning. Do you forgive me?”

“Yes!” I throw my arms around her. “How else can I ensure you never murder me?”

“Fair point. Now that that’s out of the way, we should probably go save the Winter Prince and Asher.”

I jerk back, eyes stretched wide. “They’re here too?”

But as I jog down the stairs, I recognize the twinge in my belly that I only feel around Valerian. Like a thousand butterflies of ice beating against my ribcage.

The odd scent of blueberry muffins and gunpowder permeates the air downstairs. Valerian and Asher are holed up in the dining room, looking more prisoner than guest as they endure Zinnia’s rapid barrage of offers for beverages and food, aka Southern hospitality at its finest. Their massive frames swamp the antique table and chairs, a family heirloom passed down for generations on Vi’s husband’s side.

Both Evermore wear the faint but unmistakable look of unease.

Perhaps it’s the two watermelon-sized groupings of buckshot that pepper the wall just over their heads. Or Vi, who’s watching them from the kitchen, and boy, oh boy is she pissed. Evidenced by her beloved shotgun, Betsy, held low at her waist.

Not happening. This is not happening.

Vi’s furious stare bounces from the Evermore to Zinnia, as if she can’t decide who to blast first.