“It’s possible,” Leftfoot says. “But a lifetime of ingesting distilled oleander extract alone is enough to do considerable harm to anyone who became intimate with her. The snake venom would almost be overkill. Though I’m not sure it matters either way. Phyre is poisonous, of that I am sure.”
I picture her waiting outside of Cade’s house, purposely moistening her lips before moving in to kiss him—and I’m convinced Leftfoot’s right. Or at least until I remember Phyre’s intimate history with Dace, and the theory crumbles just as easily.
I turn to Dace, hating to do it, but it has to be asked. “Did anything weird happen to you after you two were together?” I ask, surprised to find that I am apparently the only one who was aware of their history.
Chepi balks, gaping incredulously at her son, as Dace drops his chin and studies the cracked tile floor.
While I’m sorry I’ve made them uncomfortable, now more than ever, I need to get to the bottom of this. Need to either prove or disprove this horrifying new theory that just popped into my head.
“Listen,” I say. “I know this is awkward, but I think by this point, we should all be far beyond embarrassment. The fact is Dace was with Phyre, however briefly, and I need to know if—”
“No,” Dace says, icy-blue eyes meeting mine. “I suffered no ill effects, other than a lingering case of regret.”
I screw my lips to the side, trying to make sense of it. But then I remember something Phyre said.
“I wasn’t given the name until I was sixteen. That’s when my destiny was sealed.”
Which is most likely the same year she became toxic.
The same year she moved back to Enchantment.
The same year her father ordered her to fulfill her destiny by killing either Dace or Cade Richter, thereby commencing the Last Days.
My eyes grow wide. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.
“What day is it?” I cry, frantically searching for a clock. It’s impossible to keep track of time in the Otherworlds, and I have no idea what day it is, much less how long Dace and I have been gone.
“December thirty-first,” Chay says. “New Year’s Eve.”
I swallow hard, attempting to ease a throat gone suddenly dry. My voice so gruff I hardly recognize it as mine when I ask, “What time, specifically, down to the exact minute?” I look to the window, horrified to find the sky draped with night.
“Eleven fifteen. Why?” Chay leans toward me, starts to put a comforting hand over mine, but I’m already out of my chair. Already grabbing Dace by the arm and pulling him along with me, as I race for the door.
“Phyre’s going to kill Cade,” I say, glancing back one last time. “And she’s going to do it with a single fatal kiss at the stroke of midnight!”
serpent’s kiss
thirty-nine
Daire
“What’s the New Year’s Eve tradition at the Rabbit Hole?” I grip the edge of my seat in an attempt to keep from vaulting into the roof, as Dace maneuvers his old white truck with the worn-out shocks over bumpy dirt roads. “Since every holiday seems to be celebrated there, I’m wondering if there’s something different about the way they observe it. Something we can use.”
“It’s the usual routine.” Dace pulls a hard right, his fingers gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles go white in sharp contrast to his gorgeous brown skin. “Decorations, noisemakers, stupid hats, music, food, mayhem, chaos, drunkenness, and the countdown to midnight when everyone makes a mad grab for someone to kiss.” He comes out of the turn and punches hard on the accelerator again. Sending the truck rearing and bucking onto another dirt road that’s in even worse shape than the one just before.
“And Phyre will make a mad grab for Cade. It’s the deadline her father gave her when he said, ‘See that it’s done by midnight … Any later is too late.’ It’s her last chance to prove herself worthy of her made-up destiny.” I peer out the side-view mirror, watching the dust swirl in our wake.
“Then she better get in line.” Dace glances my way. “Girls have always been drawn to my brother.”
“It’s the mind control. He’s altered their perception.” I make a frowny face, quick to dismiss it.
“And here I thought you were going to say it’s because he shares my good looks.” He lifts a brow, flashes a grin. And while I’m glad to see he hasn’t lost his sense of humor, it takes a moment for me to lighten my mood and join in.
“You look nothing like Cade.” I make a point to avoid his eyes when I say it, so I can pretend that it’s true. “You’re a zillion times hotter than he’ll ever be.”
Dace laughs—the sound deep and true—adding a welcome bit of levity to an otherwise somber mood.
But the