Runebinder (The Runebinder Chronicles #1)(48)

“He’s just outside rummaging. He’ll be in soon.”

Sure enough, Devon returned a few minutes later, carrying a few sacks of stolen goods that clunked when he set them down.

“Food,” he said. “And clothes.”

“Good work,” Jarrett said. He ladled out a few porcelain bowls of soup and passed them around the island. No one suggested eating in the dining room. Tenn doubted any of them would go in there again.

“You seem quite happy, all things considered,” Dreya said to Jarrett, one eyebrow raised. She took a delicate sip of her soup.

Jarrett just shrugged.

“It’s not very often I get to spend a day without having to kill something. I count every one of those days as a blessing.”

“The day is not over yet,” Dreya said.

*

Tenn fully expected the dinner to be held in silence—after all, the twins were far from talkative and Tenn was a close runner-up—but Jarrett managed to get everyone talking and laughing. Even Devon.

Later, Jarrett found a bottle of whiskey and spent a good twenty minutes teaching them how to drink it (A drop of water at most. No mixers, no ice. Take a sip on the tip of your tongue first. Let the flavors blossom. Then drink in earnest.) and by the time the bottle was halfway gone, Devon was in tears on the ground, laughing his ass off over a joke Tenn had been too tipsy to follow. Dreya started singing, opening to Air, and she made the spoons and napkins dance around the room erratically, her hiccups making them fall. It looked like some strange Disney montage. Tenn hadn’t laughed so much or so hard in his life. There hadn’t been time. He leaned against Jarrett, with Jarrett’s arm slung over his shoulders.

Life felt warm and golden. Life felt possible.

They sat around the table for hours, telling stories of life before the Resurrection. Well, Jarrett and Tenn did. Jarrett told them about growing up near the beach in St. Augustine, Florida. Days surfing, nights spent riding around. He talked about Silveron, about all the trouble he’d gotten into. Tenn chimed in on occasion to add details about professors or the color of the dorm hallways or when sign-in was. At times, it became their own little conversation—just like on the bed before—but the twins didn’t seem to mind. Dreya watched with excited, glossy eyes. Even Devon muttered that he wished he’d gone to school there.

Sometimes, when Jarrett would quiet, Tenn would pick up the slack. He talked about growing up in Iowa. He talked about his dying town, about playing video games with friends. About nights spent watching horror movies and drinking too much soda, and days hungover on sugar and junk food. About staring out at the Mississippi at two in the morning, watching the stars slowly scratch across the sky. He talked about why he’d decided to go to Silveron—to find something new, to do something big with his life. And because he always wanted to be a wizard.

He talked about a life that he’d forgotten he actually had.

Eventually, Dreya told stories about the places she’d traveled with her adopted, fashion-designer mother. Devon chipped in details—the hotels they stayed in, the dinners they had—but for the most part, he stayed silent, giggling to himself and sending small flares of fire dancing into the air. She spoke of visiting beautiful fabric shops in New York and Milan, of making her first dress at the age of eight and jumping into cosplay immediately after. She said she always had the best costumes—not because she was good, but because her mother always helped. I did, too, Devon chirped in at one point. Dreya had just smiled and patted him on the shoulder and went back to talking about her dreams of being a major designer. And chemist. Because even as a kid she had been keenly interested in the nature of things.

She made it sound grand, all of it. Like she had been the player in some beautiful story. Which made Tenn wonder—albeit hazily—what had happened to her in the interim to turn her into a battle-hardened warrior? She didn’t speak of magic or her training or the Witches. Not once. And Tenn was perfectly fine with it staying that way.

The night wore on, and Devon fell asleep in his chair, signaled by a napkin catching ablaze from a wayward spark of his.

Dreya smiled and shook her head, looking over to her brother through her pale white hair.

“It was the hardest on him,” she whispered, her smile dropping, becoming forced. “I hope you understand that. It was the hardest on him. And I don’t want him to experience it again.”

Jarrett’s mirth slipped, as well.

“You know it wouldn’t... I wouldn’t have done it. If I didn’t have to.”

She nodded. “I know.”

Tenn looked between them. What were they talking about?

“You should sleep,” Jarrett said. “We all should.”

Silently, Dreya stood and looped Devon’s arm over her shoulders. It was such a tender movement; it made Tenn’s heart break. What did it feel like to have someone you wanted to protect? Someone whose life meant more than your own?

Jarrett stood and helped her move the mumbling Devon. Tenn watched him. The way Jarrett bent and moved, the small ways his face changed depending on his thoughts... Tenn already felt he could trace Jarrett’s image in memory.

Maybe Tenn was starting to understand again what it meant to have someone he didn’t want to lose.

He followed the three of them up the stairs, though he diverted and went into one of the smaller bedrooms. It was dark, and now that the flickering lights in the hall had faded, he had to navigate by Earth and feel alone. There were teddy bears along on bookshelf. A pile of clothes in the closet. A bed, made tight and neat like a hotel. It made him smile. He sat down; the bed reminded him of how his mom had made her bed. Tears welled up in his eyes.