"There's something I need to tell you."

Hilda stood over the stove with a wooden spoon, stirring together a strangely-hued concoction of something that Remy had never seen before in a large pot. The smell was questionable, causing Remy to wonder why she had agreed to stay for what was bound to be a slightly uncomfortable family dinner when she should have been back in the Mortal World by now. Still, with the way Hilda had pitched it and the way Maksim had looked at her with eyes that seemed to beg for her to stay, she could not help herself.

Remy looked around now, making sure that nobody else was listening. She was relieved to find the kitchen empty, with Maksim still getting changed in his room and his father nowhere to be seen.

Hilda lifted her head, averting her gaze from the pot's contents to Remy expectantly. "If you are having doubts, I will talk to Hecate. We will come to another arrangement, one that does not involve you."

"No, it's not that." She frowned, unable to shake the feeling that Hilda had said such a thing because she hoped it was the case. She did not want Remy involved. She did not want her to gain the means to become a witch. She could not help but feel disappointed at the thought that she was still so unwelcome to Hilda.

She lowered her voice as she continued, leaning against the side of the counter, the heat from the stove sticking to her face as something in it began to steam. "It's Annika. I saw her leave the wake today, so I followed her."

Hilda appeared less than impressed, arching her eyebrow at Remy. "And why on Refilyn would you do that? Need I remind you that you are mortal, Remy, for now at least? If Annika saw you—"

"She didn't," she interrupted hurriedly, desperate to tell Hilda before Maksim or his father returned to the kitchen. "She went into her father's office and found the key—except that's impossible, isn't it? How can there be two of them?"

Hilda's eyes darkened to a murky shade of green. "I made a duplicate when I stole the real key from August. If Annika intends to use it or give it to Ackmard, it will not be long before he figures it out. That little witch deserves to be turned into a toad for all she has done."

"So what do we do?"

"You will do nothing." Her voice was filled with authority as she went back to mixing the food on the stove. It appeared to be bubbling now—something that did not make it seem any more appetising—and the colour was a strange shade of red and brown. "You will go home and keep the key around your neck at all times. I will see to the rest."

"It seems," Maksim's voice arose over the sound of the boiling sauce—Remy hoped it was sauce, at least, or soup—causing them both to jump, "that I have entered an alternate universe where you talk in hushed tones with my mother about something I know nothing about. May I be enlightened?"

Remy turned around, trying her best to appear nonchalant as she placed herself on a stool behind the countertop. "Perhaps we're planning a surprise party. If you keep being so nosy, you'll ruin it all."

Maksim narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms across his torso. Remy could not help but think how surreal it was to be sat here in his kitchen again as though nothing had changed. He was wearing the same green and gold shirt that she had met him in, but everything was different now; the angry scars crawling up his forearms and into his sleeves proved that.

"And what a shame that would be, being as I love surprises and parties so dearly," he retorted.

"Remy is right," Hilda chimed in, taking the pot off the stove. Small sparks of green flickered from her fingers as she used her magic to turn off the switches. Remy could not help but roll her eyes at the laziness of the gesture. "You mustn't be so nosy. Besides, we were not talking in hushed tones. I was simply telling Remy the secret recipe for my soup."

Maksim's father appeared from the corridor, a grave expression on his face. "If it is anything like your chilli, we are in deep, deep trouble."

Maksim reacted to his presence as though he had the ability to drain the room of oxygen. He shuffled uncomfortably, tensed and unable to look at the man who had raised him. Remy could not help but feel a surge of anger at the elder warlock, for she knew Maksim might have been far happier were it not for his abandonment. Still, she feigned a laugh, following the family to the dining table as Hilda used a ladle to spoon the soup into four bowls.

Maksim pulled out a chair for Remy politely before taking the seat adjacent, eyeing the food with a nervous reluctance. Remy looked down into her own bowl, glad only for the fact that it was no longer bubbling.

"Are you sure it is edible, mother?" Maksim questioned, dipping his bread into it and watching the way it dripped.

"I am certain," she responded before a heavy silence smothered them like an invisible blanket. Maksim's father was the one to break it.

He cleared his throat, tucking his serviette into his shirt. He had changed from his red robes and now wore a simple black button-up that made him look more important than Remy suspected he was. It also strengthened his resemblance to Ackmard, and a shiver ran down Remy's spine as she began to eat. The soup was thick, the taste bitter so that she winced as it met her tongue. Still, she was starving and it was edible—and eating was far better than getting involved in the domestic drama that was sure to come.

"I must say, my son, you are looking a little bit worse for wear," he said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, well, I recently found myself falling into a lake of dark magic in the middle of a battle with my evil siblings. What is your excuse?" Maksim retorted, sipping a glass of something that matched the colour of his hair—wine, perhaps, though Remy did not want to risk finding out.

A candelabra rested in the centre of the table so that his father was only visible across from her through the wicks, with a silver light flickering upon his face. The light licked Maksim's skin like flames, too, and she wondered if he was aware of how it made him look like a god standing before a burning city. She doubted it.

"Very good. I see your sense of humour has not changed."

"You are wrong." Though Maksim's tone was light, his eyes held shadows, and Remy wished she could comfort him the way she had at the funeral, with her hand in his—not that he would allow her to rather than pull away and pretend he had not noticed, of course. "I am far funnier now. I would not expect you to know that, though, of course."

"Maksim," Hilda warned, her spoon clattering onto her bowl in frustration. "Your father is trying. It would do you well not to be so obnoxious."

"You are right." He smirked falsely, pretending to be interested in his meal. "I shall pretend that the stranger sitting at the table never abandoned us. How awful it is of me not to simply accept his return with open arms and skip off into the glorious sunset."

"I never wished to cause you hurt, and I do not expect for you to act as though what I did was acceptable," his father responded lowly. It was odd to see them look at one another, to see two pairs of almost identical eyes fall upon one another, particularly when both were so cold and guarded. "I regret leaving you, Maksim, more than you know. It would be nice if we could at least try to get along while I am in Astracia. We have spent too long apart, and I would like to make the most of our time now."

Maksim scoffed, setting his glass of wine down with so much force that the red liquid splattered onto the table cloth. "Why? By the sounds of it, you have no intention of staying, so why bother?"

"We can still stay in contact. You can visit me and I you. I miss you, Maksim. I want us to have a relationship."

"You are too late for that." Maksim shook his head, pushing his chair out and standing up so that he towered over the rest of the table. "I needed you before and you were not there. Now, you are nothing to me, Alastair."

Alastair looked as though the sound of his own name had cut through him. Remy did not pity him. Maksim was only saying the very things she had imagined saying to her own father over and over again.

"For Refilyn's sake, Maksim, please sit down," Hilda ordered through gritted teeth. "Let us be mature about this. Your father is here to help us with your brother and sister, not to upset you or cause another separation in the family."

"He could have fooled me," Maksim spat, sitting down despite his anger. His food remain untouched. Remy extended her hand beneath the table as far as she could, finding Maksim's knee a moment later. He looked at her for a moment, his eyes glittering before his hand found hers. She could feel the heat of his palms burning into her skin, but the rest of him softened and he picked up a piece of bread with his free hand. Remy relaxed into her chair, squeezing his hand and beginning to eat again.

"You never told me how you managed to meet a mortal girl, my son," Alastair said, looking between the two of them. "I must admit I was surprised to hear about your ... peculiar relationship."

Remy's cheeks burned at the sudden attention, and she looked at Maksim, expecting him to answer. When she saw he was ignoring him, she took the question into her own hands.

"It was my fault, really," she said. "Maksim was looking for his brother in the Mortal World and I got in the way."

"And instead of going home with a wiped memory you became the hero of Astracia and my son's greatest friend. How magical you must be, young mortal girl."

"Her name is Remy," Maksim muttered.

Remy lifted her eyes, finding courage in Maksim's words. Instead of finding Alastair's gaze, though, she found something behind him, behind the glass walls of the dining room: A shadow blurred by the crystallised panels. She frowned, trying to make it out as it shot past the window and back into the night. She could not be sure, but she thought she had seen the shiny black leather of a trench coat that she knew belonged to Ackmard.

She fought the urge to clasp the key hidden around her neck, the world spinning around her as she thought about what this must mean; did he know she had the key again?

"Remy?"

It was Hilda who brought her back to the present, to the silver candlelight and wine-stained tablecloths and god-awful soup. Everyone was staring at her, with Maksim looking the most concerned. 

"Is something the matter?"

She released her trembling hand from Maksim's despite his attempt to hold onto her, swallowing down the bile that had risen to her throat.

"No," she breathed. "I just thought I saw something outside."

[AN: i'm actually quite happy with how this chapter turned out and reksim are killing it (me) with the whole hand holding thing tbh. 

I can't believe i'm on chapter 26 already like I feel like barely anything has happened yet and I have a whole narrative planned that hasn't even begun so this is going to be one longggggg book. as always thanks for reading I hope u guys liked it!]