Page 25 of The Golden Hour
“Wow,” I deadpan, then frown. “Who are you and what did you do with my aunt?”
She smirks. “There are only so many ways to entertain yourself as a kid in Solstice Bay. Ask your mom if you don’t believe me.” She frowns. “On second thought, don’t.”
Unsmiling, I scan her face. “We’re talking about breaking and entering, which is illegal. If we get caught…”
“I know,” she says decisively. “That’s why I’m going to do it alone.”
“Aunt Mol—”
“Listen to me, Finn, and listen good. We can sit here for weeks chasing our tails, or we can take action. We’re leaving for L.A. in the morning. I’m going to look into the PI, and you’re going to do exactly what we both know you’re going to do, but have been too much of a chicken to say out loud.”
I still, unnerved. “What are you talking about? What is it you think I’m going to do?”
“Use the high-society connections you’ve cultivated for years to get close to the family.” She pauses, gaze sharpening further. “Now that there’s a daughter in the house over twenty-five.”
I have the errant thought that my aunt is a witch. Or perhaps it’s as I’ve always thought—we’re so alike that despite time and distance, she knows me in a way no one else in my family does.
Because she’s right.
I’ve been waiting years for the middle daughter, Eleanor, to hit an acceptable age. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t my type—blond, for starters—or that she seemed like every other airhead debutante. My plan all along has been to seduce her, make her fall in love with me, use her to get close to the family, find some hard evidence of illegal dealings, and watch them all burn.
Back when I hatched the plan, on a lonely, drunken night in college, it was supposed to be the eldest daughter. The one closest to my age. The petite, dark-haired one. The one who has repelled me and intrigued me in equal measure ever since I saw her in that stupid dress in the courtroom so many years ago.
It was always supposed to be Callisto.
“That’s why you dropped your last name,” muses Molly, pulling me from my thoughts. “You’ve been angling for this for a long time, haven’t you?”
Definitely a witch.
“Yes,” I admit.
To the world of high-end fashion photography, I’m known by my first and middle names: Finn Reid. Very few people know my real last name; outside of family members, I can count them on one hand. Callisto is now included in that number, but I can’t dwell on it. I have to believe she wants the same thing I do. The end of the Avellinos.
If she doesn’t? whispers my inner pessimist.
I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
“Don’t hurt her, Finn,” Molly says softly. “She’s on our side.”
“I’ll try.” Giving her hands a final squeeze, I stand. “I need to head to the motel and pack. I’ll see you in the morning. Around seven?”
She nods. “Sounds good.”
I hesitate at the front door, looking back. “We’re not telling Mom, are we?”
Molly’s eyes shimmer with conflict, but she shakes her head. “She won’t understand.”
I smile wryly. “No, she won’t. Goodnight, Aunt Mol.”
“Goodnight, Finn.”
The air outside is frigid and still. With the lack of light pollution, the stars above show their true faces, multicolored and shimmering behind the gauze of Earth’s atmosphere.
My mom loved astronomy and Greek mythology.
Although I don’t know much about astronomy or mythology, I can still easily spot what I’m looking for.
Ursa Major. More commonly known as the Big Dipper. But to the Greeks, it wasn’t a big-ass cup that kids imagined a giant hand wielding. It was the Great Bear. And before it was the Great Bear, it was a woman named Callisto.
