I FINALLY BREATHED A SIGH OF RELIEF ONCE I HEARD Crowe’s car start up and tear off down the street. I made my way down the hallway to my bedroom, wanting desperately to peel off my jeans and get into a pair of comfy pajama pants. But as soon as I stepped inside my bedroom, I knew I wasn’t alone.

I flicked on the lamp on my dresser. Darek lay in my bed, half propped up on an elbow, his phone in his hand. “When did you get here?” I asked.

“About fifteen minutes before you did. Parked my bike up the road.” He nodded toward my open window, which I’d left unlocked just for him. “And for a second there, I thought I was going to have to come to your rescue.”

“You heard all that?” I dropped on the bed beside him and lay flat on my back.

He slid his arm over my middle slowly, like he was waiting for me to push him away. I didn’t. Instead, I sighed and sank into the mattress as my muscles unknotted from the tension of the last hour or so.

“How could I not hear it, Jem?” A backward baseball cap covered most of his sun-bleached blond hair, but a few loose strands had managed to escape.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t intervene.” I scrubbed at my face, suddenly sleepy. “You and Crowe in the same room would be a very, very bad idea.”

After all, Darek was a Deathstalker prospect, due to be voted up to a full-patch member of the club in a month or two. To Crowe, he was the enemy, straight up. Even if the two gangs supposedly had a truce.

Darek offered me his easy, sweet smile, one I’d seen through video chat at least every week since last summer. We’d met at the festival—right after I’d seen Crowe with Katrina for the first time. I’d needed a distraction, but he had become more than that. “I think I could take Crowe Medici, don’t you?”

I laughed. “When did the Deathstalkers get into town?”

“Few hours ago.”

“Seen any of the Devils yet?”

“Oh, yeah. I ran into one at that ice cream place by the library.”

I sat upright. “Are you serious?”

He hung his head back. “You think I’d be sitting here if I crossed paths with a Devil all by myself? I can’t hurl a hex to save my own skin—you know that.”

“God. Don’t do that to me.” I collapsed again on the bed. “Tensions are high right now. I don’t want you to get hurt.” I debated telling him about Old Lady Jane meeting with Crowe but decided maybe it could wait. Even though I was pissed at Crowe, blabbing about it felt a little disloyal. Besides, I didn’t want to think about it now. I was just happy Darek was here.

The night we’d met, I’d tried to escape the festival after drinking too much. I’d been trying to cope with both my heartbreak over Crowe and Katrina, and the extreme amount of magic in the air. I’d accidentally wandered off the path and into a swamp, where Darek found me buried up to my knees in muck, still clutching an empty bottle of Jack.

To say I had been messed up was an understatement. By all accounts, I was a pathetic disaster. But Darek, all blond, blue-eyed, sunbaked, and lean, merely asked me which I’d like first—a piggyback ride out of alligator territory or another drink.

I chose the piggyback ride. When we got back to the festival, he got me a huge cup of lemonade (nonalcoholic) and we talked for hours, just wandering the edges of the grounds. We had more in common than I ever expected. Our fathers gone, our powers a disappointment, our lives spent in others’ shadows. He handled it more gracefully than I ever could.

And now he was lying next to me, the line of his body pressed against mine, and I knew the time had come to make a decision. Anything less was unfair to Darek. We’d never progressed beyond the friend zone, but our e-mails and phone conversations had circled ever more tightly around the possibility that we would. Both of us knew this year’s festival would bring us together again. Neither of us knew exactly what to expect, though.

Sometimes I liked to daydream about how Crowe would react if he found out I was seeing a Deathstalker, and one who looked like Darek at that.

He’d die.

I’d die with delight.

But starting a romantic relationship with Darek needed to be about a lot more than making Crowe jealous. It shouldn’t be about Crowe at all, really. So why was I still thinking about him?

“Are you hungry?” Darek asked.

I blinked up at him, shaking off the image of Crowe stuck in my mind. “I have a sandwich,” I answered.

Darek jumped out of the bed. “How pedestrian. I’ll make omelets.”

“Are you serious?”

“That seems like a stupid thing to be unserious about. Do you want one or not?”

“Umm… yes?”

“Is that a question?”

“Yes, I would like an omelet. Please.”

I followed him into the kitchen. He tore off his black-and-white flannel shirt and tossed it over a kitchen chair, revealing his fitted black T-shirt underneath. “Whoa,” he said, peering at the burned hunk of meat and plastic in the sink. He poked at it gingerly. “What happened?”

“Crowe happened.” I sighed as I stared at the new scorch mark on the counter.

Darek dug the carton of eggs out of the fridge, along with the butter, cheese, a green pepper, and an unopened package of ham. “What did you mean when you said tensions were high?”

“Oh, no big deal,” I said airily. “Crowe just thinks your club killed his dad.”

He cursed. “Why would he think we would do something like that? It would be suicide. The Devils already wiped us out once. Killian wants us on the straight and narrow, especially as we rebuild.” His hands shook a little as he buttered a pan and set it on the stove a bit harder than necessary. “When is this going to stop, Jem? It’s the twenty-first century, for God’s sake. We’re not fucking barbarians anymore. Why do all our problems need to be solved with violence?”

“I don’t know. You do sort of look like a Viking.”

“I’m French. Not Scandinavian.”

“Could have fooled me.” I smiled and slid his cap off his blond locks. Darek was a Delacroix. He was a distant relative of Killian Delacroix, who became the president of the Deathstalkers at the age of twenty—right after his older brother Henry and, I now knew, the entire leadership of the Deathstalkers had been killed by our very own local club. I knew it was because Henry had been trying to do something majorly evil, but killing all their officers seemed over the top.

The Delacroixs were known for the animus magic that ran strong in their veins—the ability to sense and manipulate emotions, and sometimes thoughts. I might have been nervous about hanging around with Darek as a result, except that I already knew he didn’t have that kind of magic at all. Not all people with kindled parents manifested the same power that was dominant in their family tree. Sometimes there were surprises, like a kid might take after his mother’s side of the family instead of his father’s if both had magic, or he might even inherit a type of magic from even further back, like Gunnar did when he got his great-grandmother Kitsamura’s arma power. And sometimes, unfortunately, a kid didn’t inherit any magical ability at all, or just a trace of it, not enough to actually call upon and cast at will.

My mom was like that. So was Darek.

As we maneuvered around my mom’s tiny kitchen, I couldn’t pick up anything in the room but the slight sting of my own magic and the ashy, acrid stench of burned meat. I didn’t know how Darek coped, not being able to cast like nearly everyone else around him, but he seemed to take it in stride and had still chosen to be a part of the kindled world.

I was a little envious at how easy he made it look.

The eggs sizzled when he poured them into the hot pan. “Don’t repeat this,” he said, “but I think Killian plans to reach out to Crowe directly during the festival. See if they can’t improve ties between the clubs.”

“He’s got some work to do, then.”

Again, I considered mentioning Jane. The fact that she’d seen bad things in our future likely meant the Devils’ League and the Deathstalkers would not be besties anytime soon. But why? If Killian extended the offer, why would Crowe turn it down?

“And you?” I asked Darek. “What do you think about a truce?”

He diced up the ham and green pepper with quick efficiency, and threw it, along with the cheese, over the bubbling eggs. “You know how I feel. I want fences mended. I want peace. Families have died out before, you know. Magic lines have been crushed out like cigarettes, or have just dwindled to nothing.…” He trailed off. The eggs started to brown.

“Hey. You okay?”

“What? Yeah.” He scraped the eggs, folding them into an omelet. “I was just making the point that we should all get along. The kindled have this amazing heritage, you know? I don’t understand why they can’t work together to preserve it.”

“Darek, it’s our heritage, too.”

He looked over at me and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good point. But how about this—I also don’t like the fact that I have to hide our relationship just because we’re from two different clubs with a bad history of killing each other.”

I grinned and threw a scrap of diced pepper at him. He heroically caught it in his mouth. “Relationship, huh?” I asked.

He bowed his head, wearing a genuine smile as he chewed. “I guess we haven’t really hashed that out yet. Let’s do it on a full stomach.”

The burner clicked off, and he slid the giant omelet onto a plate. We sat down at the kitchen table with our feast between us, forks in hand. The omelet was delicious. He’d once told me he dreamed of being a chef in New Orleans but had felt the call of the club after the Deathstalkers were nearly wiped out. His father had once been a member but had died a long time ago in an accident. He never talked about his mother, but I’d gathered she’d died, too, long before his father, leaving him an orphan. Unable to stomach the idea of his father’s club dying out, he joined up, and here he was. I smiled across the table at him. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Our eyes caught and held. “I wouldn’t have missed this chance for the world,” he said softly.

I was still caught in his stare when the back door opened and my mom shuffled inside wearing her Denny’s uniform, her thick black hair frizzy and disheveled. She took one look at the mess in the sink and cursed. “So much for my plan to bring about world peace with amazing feijoada. You must be Darek.”

He held out his hand, and she gave it a quick shake. “I guess Jemmie told you about me.”

“Just a few things. You be careful out there in our little town, Mr. Deathstalker Prospect.”

“Will do.” Darek winked at me. “I think Jemmie’s going to take good care of me.”

“Okay, then,” she said, drawing out the words. “Remember to use a condom. I’m going to bed.”

“Mom!”

She snorted. “I’m just kidding.” She walked toward her bedroom and paused in the doorway. “Seriously, though. Condom. Good night.”

She closed the door softly behind her, and I buried my head in my hands. “Ugh.”

“I actually found that delightfully supportive. I’m glad she’s so accepting.”

“More like she’s utterly exhausted after a ten-hour workday and barely even knows what she’s saying.” I took our empty plate to the sink. When I turned around next, Darek was inches away. He cornered me, his hands planted on either side of me, on the counter.

“Are you supportive of our relationship?” he said.

My breath caught in my throat. The scent of him, cigarette smoke smothered with mint, clouded my better judgment. I pressed my nose to his chest and breathed him in as his hands rose to rest on the sides of my neck. That warm sense of relaxation drew a sigh from my mouth. “I don’t know,” I said honestly.

He pulled my hand down and placed it on the hard muscles of his waist. “Happy to let you take a test-drive.”

I looked up to see him wearing a mischievous grin, and I was embarrassed to smell my own frosty, minty magic. Usually I could keep it contained, but I guess he was affecting me more than I was willing to admit. I closed my eyes to avoid the sight of locant sparkling like stars as it floated between us. “Don’t tempt me.”

He licked his lips and leaned in closer. My eyes dropped to his mouth.

Crowe’s stupid face flashed in my mind, and I tore my gaze away, biting my lip.

Darek sighed. “Message received.”

“What?” It came out as a yelp.

“Jemmie, you can’t fool me. I mean, I know we’ve had this long-distance thing going, but I still know you. And I know you haven’t made up your mind. You’re still thinking about Crowe, aren’t you?” Now his handsome face was hard, jaw clenched.

“That’s not fair. I hadn’t talked to him for weeks, and then tonight—”

He put up his hands. “I’m not in the mood for details right now. I heard you guys in here earlier, after all.”

I pressed my fingertips to my temple, where a headache was taking shape once again. “Fine. I’m sorry. Like I said, it’s been a shitty night. Not the best time for me to be making serious decisions about anything.” I turned to walk back to my room, and Darek followed.

“I’m sorry,” he said as I plopped down on my bed. “That wasn’t fair, and the last thing I want to do is pressure you.” He laughed. “Especially because you’re probably the only Devil in Hawthorne who wouldn’t kill me as soon as you looked at me.”

I hung my head. “They’re not that bad. We’ll figure it out.” I yawned. “Tomorrow.” I pulled my phone out and sent a quick text to Alex. I’m sorry about what happened. It should only last a day or two. Please tell me you don’t hate me.

“What did you do?” Darek asked, reading upside down.

Exhausted, I silenced my phone and laid it facedown on the bedside table. “Magic,” I said, stifling another yawn.

“And it worked for you?” he asked. I’d told him all about my avoidance of magic, just not why.

“Believe it or not, it did.” A small smile crept onto my face.

“Jealous,” he said in a singsong voice as he sank onto the bed beside me. As if we’d been doing it for a year, we both lay down, me in his arms. It felt peaceful and safe. The opposite of being around Crowe. That had to mean something, right?

“Will you start practicing now?” he asked. “I think you’re more powerful than you’re willing to admit.”

“You sound like Alex,” I said sleepily.

“Alex is a smart girl,” he replied, stroking my hair. “You going to introduce me?”

“Let’s take it slow, seeing as her brother blew up my mom’s plans for edible world peace or whatever she said.”

Darek snorted. “Fair enough. And Jemmie? Thank you.”

“For what?” I was drifting now, right on the cusp of deep slumber.

He tightened his arm around me, his fingers finding a bare sliver of flesh above my jeans; my stomach thrilled at the touch. If I couldn’t have my best friend right now, at least I could have my second-best friend, who was very hot, and very warm, beside me. “For being who you are.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed a smile into his shoulder. Maybe this could work. Maybe all of it would work. The Devils and the Deathstalkers would shake hands and become allies. I could love Darek. I could practice my magic. Alex and I would smooth things over, and we’d go right back to having fun. The next few days were full of promise and possibility.

Of course, this was how I’d felt last year, just before the festival, when my hope for a relationship with Crowe fell apart—and just before Crowe’s father crashed on that lonely road in rural Louisiana. But in Darek’s arms, sliding into a river of dreams, I couldn’t help but hope that Old Lady Jane’s dire predictions were dead wrong.