Page 42 of The Gilded Cuff
His twin sat up, hazel eyes suddenly alert, bright and wide with worry. “Emery?”
Wordlessly, he raised a hand and pointed at the figure. Fenn turned, and in that second whatever Emery had seen was gone.
“What?” Fenn scanned the trees, leaning on the window ledge.
Goose bumps dotted his skin and infinitesimal shivers crawled like ants up to his neck and down his spine. “I saw something.”
His brother rubbed palms over his own arms, as though plagued by the same sense of unease. They’d always shared feelings. Sometimes he was convinced they shared thoughts.
“Should we tell Mom?” Fenn’s voice cracked as he whispered the question.
Emery hastily shook his head. He didn’t want to look like a sissy. Their mom was great for rescuing them from some things. She could kill the nastiest spiders, and even got rid of icky girls at Fenn and Emery’s birthday parties when the frilly dressed little villains descended upon them during the cake eating. For that alone, she had his and Fenn’s undying loyalty, even if she was a grown-up and a girl.
But she didn’t need to know he was scared by shadows in the woods.
Fenn crossed his arms and his face settled into a stern expression, eyes narrowed. “You sure you don’t want to tell her?”
“You kidding? I’m not messing their party up, no way.” He raised his chin. “Besides, I’m not scared of shadows.”
“You were scared! I felt it!” Fenn accused.
“Nuh uh!”
Sometimes Fenn was such a blockhead.
“Were too!” Fenn leapt from the bed and socked Emery.
Retaliation was only natural. Mom always said, “Love thy brother,” which Emery now silently amended to “Punch thy brother,” and tackled his twin.
They collapsed, kicking, pulling t-shirts, and laughing.
“Emery! Fenn! Honestly!” A half-exasperated laugh froze them in mid-battle.
The twins turned their heads to the doorway. Their mother stood there, wearing a pale blue gown with a skirt that billowed out like the petals of a flower. Her blond hair rippled in long waves down her back, like a mermaid come to life from the book of fairy tales Nana read to them.
One pale brow was arched as she showed her disapproval. “You’re supposed to be eating dinner, boys.”
Even though she tapped the toe of her silver shoe like an impatient princess, a smile hovered at the corners of her lips. Emery’s heartbeat jumped and twisted over and over, like a bird with a broken wing. More goosebumps pebbled his skin and a chill worked its way up his spine with the ghostly touch of spider legs.
He needed to touch her, to be held by her. Pushing away from Fenn he ran the few short steps to his mother and hugged her. With a soft laugh of delight she returned the embrace.
Her fingers threaded through his hair, the contact simple yet so full of love. He squeezed her tighter, desperate to hold onto her. Some primal instinct warned him things were on the verge of disaster. He rubbed his cheek against his mother’s silk dress before glancing at Fenn.
Fenn was watching them, his body captured in the frame of the bedroom window. The forest below was lit up with Chinese lanterns as servants carried them out to the trees. The bobbing lights cast multicolored glows over where the shadow had once been. Rather than be reassured, Emery’s worry grew, gnawing at his stomach like a ravaging pack of wolves.
“Mom?” Fenn opened his mouth, but Emery silenced him with a faint shake of his head.
“Not now.” Emery mouthed. Even if he was worried, he didn’t want to ruin Mom’s party. Even though Fenn hadn’t seen the shadow, didn’t believe, he, as the eldest, often saw it as his duty to care for Emery. Emery hated that sometimes, but he wasn’t going to let Fenn’s sense of duty ruin the party.
Fenn sighed.
“Come here, Fenn.” Their mother held out an arm and Fenn joined in the embrace. Boys shouldn’t like hugging their mothers, but Emery didn’t care, not in that moment.
“Now. Both of you, downstairs. Eat your dinner and be nice to Nana.”
Mom shooed them down the spiral staircase. Emery raced Fenn into the large kitchen where a dark-haired woman a little older than their mother was setting out plates with sandwiches.
Nana’s dark hair was pulled back in a loose bun. Wisps threaded with faint silver, like Christmas tinsel, hung loose against her cheeks. Her eyes were black, the irises so dark that they blended with her pupils. She always had a ready smile, one she kept just for them.
