Unhallowed (Rath and Rune #1) - Jordan L. Hawk Page 0,4

in daylight, so he didn’t bother to turn on any more electric lights. With the prying eyes of the outside world blinded, he went to the fireplace and, without looking too closely, lifted the mirror off its hooks, turned it around, and propped it on the mantle. Then he went to the bathroom and bedroom, removing the mirrors there and setting them against the walls, their faces turned so they reflected only the odd, yellowish wallpaper. The tiny mirror in his shaving kit, only big enough to show a fraction of his face at a time, would suffice for now.

The mirrors dealt with, he carried his trunk into the bedroom and set about unpacking. It didn’t take long, consisting of little beyond hanging up his suits and putting other various articles into the dresser. He had no mementoes, no photographs, no reminders of any past.

He wished he had a photograph of Noct. The brothers had never been separated before, not like this. Ves knew Fagerlie would be taking good care of him—that was part of the bargain—but he couldn’t help but worry.

As soon as the curse was broken, they’d have a photograph taken together. Then, once they found somewhere new to settle, Ves would start collecting something inexpensive. Paintings, perhaps, or post cards, or tea cups. Something to give color to his surroundings, something Mother would have disdained as childish, pointless.

Soon. All he had to do was pass the interview tomorrow. After that first step, it would be simple. He’d soon be rejoined with Noct. Then the comet would pass, and the curse would be lifted, and everything would finally be made right.

Sebastian came to a halt in front of his sister’s house. Of course, she insisted it was their house, that he was always welcome. That he shouldn’t feel like a tenant. But somehow, he couldn’t help it.

Perhaps it was simply that the house was so different from the one they’d grown up in. That house had been something of an architectural nightmare, with hidden passages and doors that went nowhere. Sounds carried oddly inside, and their favorite game as children had been to find places where one of them could whisper and the other make out the words clearly even if they were on a different floor.

That house was nothing but ashes now.

He took out his key and let himself into the small reception hall. The dark parlor lay to his right, but light spilled from the sitting room directly ahead.

Flickering light. Flames.

Sebastian’s heart began to pound. Where was Bonnie? The children? How far had the fire spread?

He broke into a run—perhaps there was still time to extinguish the flames. Perhaps—

Bonnie looked up from her knitting as Sebastian burst into the sitting room. She rocked Clara’s cradle with one foot; the infant slept soundly, her little face scrunched as though concentrating on her dreams. Three-year-old Tommy sat on the floor nearby, playing with wooden blocks. He, too, looked up at Sebastian, his eyes wide and slightly alarmed.

A bayberry candle burned on the table near the doorway, scenting the air. With a snarl, Sebastian snatched it up and flung it into the safety of the hearth. “Are you mad?”

Bonnie arched a brow and lowered her knitting. “Not that I’ve noticed. Are you?”

Sebastian gaped at her. “Why on earth would you have an open flame right there in the house? We have electricity!”

“Because I wanted a nice scent.” Irritation snapped in her hazel eyes. “I was right here, keeping an eye on it, Sebastian.”

“It was irresponsible!” The smell of bayberry gave way to burning wood, the clear air to stinging smoke. Screams rang in his ears. Sebastian ground his nails into his palms, struggling to keep his thoughts in the present.

Bonnie set aside her knitting and rose to face him. “You’re acting like a lunatic, and you’re frightening Tommy.”

Guilt flashed through him when he glanced at the toddler. Tommy stared up at Sebastian, lips parted as though he wasn’t quite certain whether he should start crying or not. “Better frightened than hurt,” Sebastian said, but he lowered his voice as he did so.

Bonnie sighed, irritation giving way to pity, which was even worse. “All right, Sebastian. I won’t burn any more candles.”

She was saying it to humor him, that was clear enough. But she hadn’t been there that day. Hadn’t returned to see the house they’d grown up in wreathed in flames, while the fire company struggled to put it out. She hadn’t heard the screams coming from inside. She