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“You told me to look for the red teacup, but it’s not there.”

“No?”

Marcus rolled his eyes. He searched for the stupid trinket for hours and the most her perky butt had to say was no. “Can’t you use a different cup?” He asked, running his hands over his face. If possible, she was a bigger nuisance than his sister.

“Sorry, no.” She flipped her hair back, flashing a quick smile in the process, and returned to painting her toe nails. “But, I think I’d take some tea. Fetch me some, will you?”

Fixed to his spot, Marcus narrowed his eyes in protest. The teacup search was a bust, one he was sure she did on purpose so he’d stop rushing her.

“Please? The chamomile helps with my visions.”

Marcus looked from the plush, circular chair she and her nail polish were precariously perched upon to her pink pout and pleading light brown eyes. She was a natural. If she wasn’t friends with his sister yet, it was a matter of time and opportunity before they were.

“Fine,” he mumbled, “but then you help me. No more acting cute.”

She flashed him a brilliant smile and wiggled her toes at him. “I am cute. It’s why I live so lavishly and why you’re getting me tea.”

He groaned as he turned to get it over with. Margarete Rosewald was the woman his uncle mentioned time and time again in his journal. It took digging but he managed to find the yellow house with the brick steps and topiaries. The last thing he expected was her niece to answer the door. Margarete was dead, along with the name Rosewald, and his answers were in the hands of a newbie witchling.

“Kenna Rose,” he breathed out, putting in the sugar cubes he found, “you better be good.”

The curtains blew open as her head lolled back. A breeze gusted around the room, rattling the perfume bottles and standing chandeliers, before whipping through the open window. If he hadn’t seen it, he wouldn’t have believed magic like hers existed.

“That’s summoning magic?” He asked when the shock wore off.

Kenna’s eyes widened then blinked a few times. “More like channeling for me.” She rubbed her temples and got up from the pillow she had sat on. “You’re looking for some tweeb. Tyler.”

“Who’s he?”

She shrugged and Marcus returned to his original view of her. She was definitely a nuisance. “So why do I need to find him? Wasn’t the whole point of this seance, tea leaves, witchy thing was so that you could tell me more than a name?”

A slow, coy smile started causing him to suck in his breath. That look was never good on a girl. Whenever his sister used it, it meant trouble.

“I never said I didn’t know more, cutie.” Kenna walked over, her hips swaying seductively. It was enough to make his teenage hormones spike. For the first time he noticed how her bob complimented the square contour of her face and made her long neck very interesting. Her mouth wasn’t bad either when it wasn’t ordering him around.

Something hard hit his chest and stayed there. He blinked out of his daze and saw that it was a journal that resembled his uncle’s. He cursed himself while taking it into his hands to flip through. She was a typical girl and he almost stupidly fell for it. Almost.

“Scrawny, blonde, perfect looking with big green eyes. I don’t know her name but she’s there with him.” Marcus couldn’t help but look up at the sudden disgust in her voice. It was a complete one-eighty from the flirty innuendos and dominating attitude from before. “When you see her, make her bleed for me too.”

Curious, Marcus tilted his head. There was more to it that envy. “What she do to you?”

Kenna shook her head. He went to push but was met with her back. Taking the hint, he silently followed her to the door. Whatever it was, it was deep. All his life he thought he was the only one plagued by the truth. He had to walk by parks with wary eyes. The darkness wasn’t any safer than the light. Windows were dangerous and beautiful things were suspicious. He thought he had the curse all to himself but the longer he thought about Kenna’s reaction, the more he wondered how many others knew the truth.

“Wait,” he placed a hand on the door just before she shut it on him, “what do you know about changelings?”

The sound of traffic never sounded louder. Part of him scolded him for ever asking but he had to know. She had to know something if she was really Margarete’s niece and successor. “Ask the priss about that when you see her. She should know. She took my sister.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes as she spoke, something Marcus noticed and clung to even long after he left her place. It explained her one-eighty. Looking down at the journal she gave him, he smiled. Her hatred gave him that too. There were others like him and in time, he’d find them all.

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