Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“It’s fine.” Thatcher lowers the volume using the TV button. “None of it bothers me.”
Jane is still pale.
I reach out and squeeze her hand. She squeezes back.
“Jane.” Thatcher catches her gaze, and very seriously, he says, “I’m relieved it wasn’t you on the television. That’s all.”
She death-grips my hand, almost cutting off the circulation. But I let her hold longer, and Akara snaps his fingers to his palm.
“So this is it,” he begins to deliver the news, good or bad—and my phone rings. Jane instantly releases her grip, and I check the Caller ID: Kinney Hale.
For FaceTime.
I can’t ignore my sister. Our mom and dad are in New York City tonight at a charity event for children. Sponsored by Halway Comics. Which means she’s home alone with Xander.
“Sorry,” I tell everyone. “You can talk without me…” I gesture amongst the group while I return to the window and grasp at the illusion of privacy. But I like that I’m closer to Farrow.
I answer the call.
She swings the camera. What the fuck is she doing?
Her features are blurred, brown hair whipping every damn way, black eye makeup streaming down her round cheeks. Gangly limbs shifting in and out of view.
“MoffyIcantIcant.” Her voice is a jumbled out-of-breath, tearful mess.
“It’s okay. Take a breath, Kinney. Tell me what’s wrong.” I block out the pit that wedges in my ribcage.
She cries and pounds her fists at wood.
“Kinney. Focus on me.”
Farrow ditches his spot and stands next to me, peering at the fuzzy FaceTime screen.
“I can’t…I can’t get a hold…” She rattles the knob. “OPEN THE DOOR!” she screams helplessly, and I make out an Elfish sign on the wood. Xander’s room. And I know.
My brother broke a rule and locked his door.
I go rigid and abandon my emotion. “Kinney, listen to me.” I glance over my shoulder to alert my cousins. So they can call family, so security can call bodyguards—but everyone already rises.
Beckett is awake. Charlie is on his feet. Phones are being drawn, numbers called.
“Eliot, are you down the street?” Charlie says.
“Mom?” Luna says.
“Dad, are you near the Hale’s?” Sulli asks.
“Tom?” Beckett calls.
Jane speaks in hurried French.
“Get Banks,” Akara says to Thatcher, then he lists off other names, and the rest of SFO starts dialing. Phones to their ears.
All but Farrow.
He puts a hand on my shoulder, zeroed in on Kinney with me, and I tune out the rest of the room.
“Kinney, Kinney,” I say in a calm but forceful voice. I watch my thirteen-year-old bony sister—barely ninety-pounds—run at the door. Arm slamming into the wood. Tugging at the knob. Pounding her fists. Trying to break it down.
I’m painfully aware that she’s going to fail.
“Slow down, look at me,” I tell her. “Look at me.”
Kinney breathes, steadies the camera; her smudged eyes look broken but murderous.
“Go wait at the front door,” I say.
“I’m not leaving him!” she screams at me like I’m not helping Xander. But right now, I can only help her.
And I’m not letting Kinney find our brother…
I go cold.
Farrow’s thumb strokes the back of my neck, and he tells Kinney, “You need to unlock the door for Banks.”
That works. Kinney runs downstairs, rubbing at her cheeks. “If he did something…I’ll never forgive that turd—” She cuts herself off in a sob. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t want him to.”
“It’s okay,” I say, a knot in my chest. “Don’t think about it. Just unlock the door. Stay downstairs.”
Flying through the foyer, she lands on the welcome mat and flicks the locks. Then she sprints to the kitchen.
“Kinney!” I yell.
She opens a drawer and grabs a carving knife.
“You can’t cut a door down—stop.” She’s going to hurt herself trying to unlock his room. Kinney races back upstairs.
Farrow looks at Akara. “She has a knife.”
“Kinney, look at me,” I growl. The camera is on the floor. She chips at the wood.
I hear footsteps and a faraway voice. “Kinney, I’m coming! Back away!” That’s Banks Moretti.
“Kinney,” I force.
She angles the phone to her face. “Moffy, I can’t just…” she cries, the knife still in hand.
“Please,” I say with everything in my fucking soul, “go to your room. Wait there.”
More footsteps.
Kinney sobs and drops to her knees in a heap.
I want to be in Philly. Where I can pick my sister up and carry her far, far away from this. “Shh, it’s okay,” I say, chained and shackled here. Watching her pain and heartbreak through a phone screen.
Goddammit.
My eyes burn.
I’m numb. Ignoring a weight that descends on my body.
Kinney flips the camera, not wanting me to see her cry. But now I see the hall, his bedroom door and flaked wood.
Heels clap, and Aunt Rose rounds the corner fast. Urgent.
Banks Moretti runs past, and behind Rose comes Uncle Ryke and Aunt Daisy, her blonde hair blowing as she runs towards my sister.
Rose notices Kinney too and squats. “Kinney, give me.” She tears the knife out of Kinney’s fingers, strokes her head, and stands at the ready.