Page 191 of Eternal Ruin
Kidan’s guard rose up, as she tried to parse June’s intention. Had she visited GK before? He didn’t look surprised to see her at all.
“Warde, show him,” June said.
Warde shuffled forward. Kidan stepped away. He was incredibly tall, almost twice the size of June. The vampire reached down into his shirt and pulled out a white chain—a set of interlaced finger bones.
GK’s head jerked straight, wonder breaking over his face. “You’re a Mot Zebeya?”
Warde gave a small tip of his head.
The smile breaking over June was so genuine it hurt. “Let him help you.”
GK’s gaze flicked to the window for a moment, a pinprick of hope expanding in his pupils. And Kidan dared to hope too. He looked at her, something shifting in his expression, becoming torn.
June walked to the door and nervously said, “Kid, can we talk?”
The nickname carved a painful reminder into her memories. Kidan steeled herself, nodded at GK as a promise, and said, “I’ll come back.”
When he said nothing, she followed her sister out. The ribbon in her sister’s hair lay among the curled braids, always neat and pretty, a guiding light.
June led her into the spacious corridor fit for a palace and opened a door with a key.
When Kidan realized where she was, acid spread down her throat.
This must be June’s room.
Kidan hesitated, not wanting to see the place her sister had lived in for nearly two years. Away from her.
When June waited at the threshold with a frown, Kidan tightened her hold on her mother’s finger bone chain and walked into the decorated room.
It smelled like June, a rush of wildflowers mixed with sweet pastries. Plants occupied every available space, swallowing the curved corners. Truly, it couldhave been mistaken for a greenhouse or the floor of a rainforest. Even Kidan’s nose itched with the pollen and fragrance.
A part of her wanted to break the plant pots and tear down the carefully arranged skirts. But the Polaroid picture of Kidan and June on their seventeenth birthday made her pause. It was proof that June still cared on some level, kept a piece of her. They always celebrated birthdays five days early—June’s tradition, because she liked to take the pressure off the actual day. It had been a simple birthday, but the most memorable since they’d done it out in a public place, a lovely restaurant with reasonable prices. Kidan remembered the sound of strangers joining in to sing happy birthday as the small cake arrived. June and Kidan had their faces lit up by the candles, glowing, and for a moment, felt the love of a large family around them. Kidan was sure her parents, Aunt Silia, and her grandparents had been in that room.
It had been the last birthday they celebrated together. Had June known it then? As she beamed at Kidan, had she known she’d leave by their eighteenth birthday?
Kidan traced the picture, wondering if they’d ever celebrate their birthday with as much joy as they did then. Eighteen had been catastrophic and Kidan had spent nineteen in her cramped apartment with noodles and a mess of piles of papers, searching for Uxlay.
Their twentieth birthday was soon. And twenty-one—
GK’s words swam in the back of her head. Why so specific? What was it about that number that haunted her mother enough to write it in her journals? And if it was true and Kidan died then… June would be alone.
So? Let her be alone. Let her know how it feels.
But those thoughts sounded weak. More than revenge, Kidan wanted the truth from her sister.
Kidan kept searching the mantel for another picture and found it, gut curdling. A picture of a woman smiling, her large arms around two girls.
Mama Anoet. The smell of burning skin and cigars engulfed her at once. Kidan put the picture face down quickly, trying to calm her breathing.
She cleared her throat. “I can see why you left. This place… suits you. It’s pretty.”
June appeared surprised, frowning. “I didn’t leave because this place was pretty.”
Kidan wasn’t in the mood to argue. In truth, she was exhausted. Mostly, confused.
“How did you know about the compulsion marks?” she asked, studying her. “About Varos?”
Her sister knitted her fingers. “Rasi. He told me.”
