“I know, you fucking asshole,” Rought says.“I know what you did.”He articulates each word like he’s setting the fuse on some complicated explosive device.The sort of device he’s more than capable of building.Unlike Reck and me, Rought knows his maternal family, and the Southern lilt to his accent comes from spending most of his life with them, not our sperm donor.
I glance at Reck, expecting to see the sneering expression he levels on Rought when our little brother is in one of these shit moods.Instead, my elder brother looks a little thrown, a bit shaken by that statement.
“What does it matter?”Reck snaps back.“She’s dead.And this impostor is wearing some sort of replicating allure, or —”
Rought scoffs.“What person could replicate an awry?”
“Another awry,” Reck snaps.
“What other awry is powerful enough to take Zaya’s form?”
Reck is the one to scoff now.
But I can feel my own internal arguments splintering more and more as Rought holds her, the supposedly fake Zaya, and Muta doesn’t intercede, doesn’t question my brother’s right to hold her, to protect her.
From us.
Could be a different snake, right?
But … the bushmaster’s power signature, itspresence, is as otherworldly and unique as it’s always smelled to me — like well-composted soil and the aftermath of thunderstorms.And yeah, otherworldly.According to the little I know of Zaya’s ancestral history, Muta might be trapped in the form of a snake, but he might also once have been an aspect of an all-powerful being.
A death god.If you believe in that sort of thing.
I used to believe.
“And Muta?”I hear myself ask.My voice is weirdly thin.“How do you explain an identical piece of gold-and-topaz jewelry transforming into —”
Reck throws me a quelling look.“Like I said, lots of bushmasters in the —”
“The snake’s power is unmistakable,” I say.
Reck snorts.“Fine.But allegiances can change.After her death, the snake needed a new owner …” He shrugs and doesn’t finish his thought.
I try to stay calm and focused, pretending that my entire life isn’t hinging on this moment.Not voicing any counter to Reck’s new take on the snake’s origins.My elder brother is changing his argument, his so-called talking points, moment by moment.And he never, ever does that.
Maybe Reck is just as rattled as I am.Maybe there is something else, some other dynamic, happening here?Something in what Rought alluded to?
Rought shakes his head at Reck, resolute but also pityingly.Then he gently touches Zaya’s shoulder, right where it meets her neck.“And this?”
He slips two fingers under the edge of her collar, careful to not touch her skin.He tugs the necklace she’s wearing free from the confines of her sweater.He gently lays it on her chest, nestled in the hollow between her small but fucking perfect breasts.
And I know.I know now.I know that I used to settle my hand there, in that exact spot, over clothing when we were too young for more, and pressing skin-to-skin as we grew bold enough to take what we wanted from each other.I would delight in just the feeling of her heart —
I’m losing my shit again.Because what if she isn’t an impostor?What if she’s just been hiding from us for thirteen years?Pretending to not know us now?
“Another replica,” Reck snaps.But his voice is hollow, and he’s staring at the necklace, at the pendant specifically, as if it’s even more terrifying than the massive snake still watching his every move.
And you know what?
It is.
Ignoring Reck, Rought runs his fingers down the chain.It’s composed of thin threads of woven gold — yellow, white, and rose.The slumbering power embedded in the necklace awakens.And suddenly the air around us is crackling with licks of that energy, brushing against my arms, tugging at my hands.As if it’s trying to pull me to Zaya, even while she’s unconscious.Then to force me to my knees and make me bow, make me beg, make me weep, make me —
I shake my head, then my hands, shoving the feeling aside.
Doc backs away from the bed, also rubbing her arms.
“Go,” I say.