Winter

After she takes two sips, she begins washing the dishes left by Aunt Zinnia.

“Cal came by today,” Aunt Zinnia says carefully, glancing up from her cornbread.

Aunt Violet stops scrubbing a heavy cast iron skillet and glances over her shoulder at her sister. “You let that boy enter this house?”

“Vi, I’d let the devil in this house if he came with the gifts Cal did.”

“Huh.” Aunt Violet slams the pan onto the drying rack and begins assaulting a cup. “And what did it take to buy you off?”

Aunt Zinnia stares down at her hands, a flush creeping over her cheeks as she lists off the items. Way more than what I fit in the wheelbarrow. “Oh, there might have been some slims in there too, for when you don’t go outside and smoke.”

Aunt Violet whips around, soapy bubbles dribbling from her purple dish-gloves onto the floor. “Are you saying I can be bought?”

“Well, you certainly didn’t hesitate to fill your tea with the sugar Cal brought.”

Vi stares death at her sister.

“I’m saying,” Aunt Zinnia amends, her gaze flitting to the kids around the island, “we do what we do to survive.”

If I don’t distract them, they’ll fight until one storms off, usually Aunt Violet. Then they won’t talk for a week and the tension will be awful.

So I grab a hot pad shaped like a donut and bravely jump into the mix.

“I hate Cal more than anyone,” I say, punctuating the word hate. “But if he wants to give us what’s technically ours, anyway, why not let him?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Summer,” Aunt Violet snaps. “You would have sent that boy running back to his farm with his tail between his legs and his ass peppered with buckshot.”

God, she knows me too well.

“Language, Vi!” Aunt Zinnia scolds.

“Well it’s true. The Millers don’t give away nothing for free. He thinks Summer can be bought just like his daddy and granddaddy when they bullied Dad into selling the back half of the property, remember, Zinnia? Well she isn’t for sale and that’s that.”

I nod my head. That’s right, Cal. Not. For. Sale.

“Do you see a for sale sign on her?” Aunt Zinnia barks.

Aunt Violet rolls her eyes. “That wasn’t literal, Z.”

I raise my hand. “Right here, guys.”

They ignore me. They’ve locked horns like two old bulls, and only bloodshed will break them apart.

Aunt Zinnia huffs as she throws a towel over the cornbread pan and shoves it across the Formica counter. “Fine. I’ll just go throw this out.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Z. We can eat the damned cornbread . . . as dry as I imagine it is.”

Zinnia’s face flushes red. “No, I will not have you saying I sold Summer like some dried up dairy cow. And . . . another thing. I’ll have you know this cornbread is the best I’ve ever made.”

“Oh, you are something else.” Aunt Violet violently stirs the spoon inside her tea. “How the creator decided we were sisters, I’ll never know.”

If only I’d been here when Cal came, this could have all been avoided. I spare a glance at the 12 gauge shotgun propped by the door.

I would have totally peppered his ass.

“Stop,” I order. Both sisters look over at me like they forgot I was still here. “Next time Cal comes, let him bring whatever he wants.”

I won’t be here anyway, I almost add.

The sisters go silent, and I take the moment to check the roasted haunch browning in the oven so they can’t see the hurt in my eyes.

When I’m done, I turn around to Aunt Zinnia wringing her hands in front of me. Her gray eyes shine. “Summer, I’m sorry if I somehow implied—well, you know. With you and Cal’s history, well I shouldn’t have taken anything from him. Not without asking you first.”

After my assault on Cal, I was expelled from school. I thought my aunts were going to murder the principal with their bare hands, but I didn’t blame him; he didn’t stand a chance against the Millers.

Still, they both knew how important graduating was to me . . . if only because, somewhere deep down, I knew my parents would have wanted that. For me to find a job that changes the world for the better.

“No, Aunt Z.” I brush a hand over her shoulder. “I’m glad you did. Otherwise . . .”

My words trail away as we stare at the kids at the counter. Their too-thin arms, the way their collarbones trap the shadows and cheekbones protrude, all of it convinces me she did the right thing.

“I like Cal okay,” Tanner chimes in. The seven-year-old scampers across the floor and tries to grab a square of cornbread, barely ducking Aunt Violet’s swat. “He gives me twizzlers.”

“Cal’s a shithead,” Jane announces loudly, sauntering in beside him.

“You can’t say shithead,” Tanner informs Jane, his blond eyebrows scrunched sternly.

“You just said it,” Jane retorts. “Now go add a quarter to the swear jar, shithead.”

“Both of you shitheads need to pay up,” I order, conjuring priceless laughs from Tanner and Jane.

All of this is pretty pointless when money means nothing—but it’s tradition, after all.

“Enough,” Aunt Violet says. One gray-shot eyebrow lifts high above her forehead, the final warning rattle before she strikes. “Unless this house is a family full of heathens, I expect manners and clean language. Understood?”

Jane glares at her boots, but she nods along with Tanner.

“Good,” Aunt Violet continues. “Now go set the table.”

Every night without exception, Aunt Violet has everyone dress the cherrywood dining table with the gilded china from her walnut curio cabinet. Even when there’s nothing to eat but bullion flavored broth, we drink that out of the china tea set passed down from her mother-in-law.

Aunt Zinnia is the last to sit. She comes sweeping in with a vase full of sunflowers picked near the road, smiling ear to ear.

Gosh, I love that woman.

I drink everything in. The loud chatter as everyone talks over each other. The way Julia and Gabe, both five-year-olds rescued from Houston, fight over who set the table better (definitely Julia). The way Aunt Violet primly cuts her meat into tiny cubes, and Jane only eats half her meal before sharing with Julia, who’s given up her fork in favor of her fingers.

I’m going to miss this.

The thought hits me square in the gut. I don’t have the words to tell them this is my last dinner. I’ve already decided to write out the letters to both Aunts, plus one to Jane. I’m afraid she’ll try to come after me. To save me . . . or to avenge me, I can’t be sure.

The other children are young enough that they’ll soon forget I ever existed. That truth hurts more than I thought it would.

Perhaps my tormentor did exactly what he said: turned me into a girl of ice, to whittle down at his pleasure.

And when he’s done, there will be nothing left for anyone to remember.

7

A sudden panic quells my appetite. I swallow down the last bite of (admittedly dry) cornbread and quickly excuse myself, my mind on making my abrupt absence as seamless as possible for everyone. There’s so much that could go wrong with me gone, and I need to ensure they’ll be okay.

Julia and Gabe try to follow me. Usually I read them a story after dinner—or five—but Aunt Zinnia grabs them before they can follow.

She must sense something’s off with me. If only she knew the horrible truth.

My room is hot as the Summer Court, and I quickly open a window. As the oldest, I’m the only one with a private room, even if, technically, it’s the attic. Usually by morning I find Jane curled in a pile of quilts by the desk in the corner, and Julia and Gabe nestled at the foot of my brass-framed bed.

Tonight, I let in Chatty Cat, who’s been following me from a distance like he’s too cool, and then lock my door. The little ones could sleep through a four alarm fire, but Jane’s like me. A troubled sleeper.

I can’t take any chance that she’ll follow me into Everwilde.

While Chatty busies himself chasing the dust devils across my wooden floor, I slide into the red wooden chair at my desk and flip open my laptop. It’s nearly ten years old and takes forever to load our crappy internet, but I wait.

I need to know more about the place I’m going. I nearly looked it up earlier when I checked out the neverapples, but then I lost my nerve.

What if I discover the Fae torture us for kicks, or find human flesh a tasty snack? It’s not like I can choose not to go.

My homepage finally loads. Before I can stop myself, I scan the first article at the top. The headline reads: “She Lost Her Daughter Because of the Fae, Now She’s Forced to Live Next to One.”

I don’t bother reading the article; my stress level is high enough, and the last thing I need is to be reminded that the Fae destroyed half our world, trapped me here in this cesspool, then somehow talked our government into giving them temporary visas to stay in the Untouched Zone.

How is that even remotely fair? Especially when we’re stuck here, slowly starving to death.

Grimacing, I focus on the task and type in Evermore Academy. Then I hold my breath as the cursor makes the rainbow swirly disc . . . only to be disappointed with one result.

I stare in disbelief at the old Wikipedia page. Which I’ve already visited like a million times.

How can I find literally ten pages of information on a piece of magical fruit, but almost nothing on an infamous academy?

The first paragraph tells me nothing new. The noble sons and daughters of all ten Seelie and Unseelie Courts go through its hallowed grounds, blah blah. The next paragraph is more interesting, but still too brief.

Sources say every year children from the most esteemed families travel to Evermore Academy to serve the Fae students and further the diplomacy between humans and Fae.

Huh. Something tells me diplomacy has nothing to do with it, but what do I know?

The rest of the summary describes how the mortal students at the academy are trained to protect their Fae keepers from the darklings. Upon graduation, most usually go into service as shadow guardians who protect high-ranking Evermore Fae from darklings.