The older brother offers me his carefree grin, only one corner of his mouth bothering to rise. “Toby and I both have the Gift,” Reed says.
Okay, didn’t see that coming. “Really?” I squeak. “So that means … Are you both descendants of Poseidon?” Because that’s the only way they could have the Gift.
“There are many descendants of Poseidon living here, Emma,” Mr. Conway says, all the strain gone from his voice. Neptune has now become my personal jackpot. “You see, long ago—”
“Ugh! Not that story again,” Toby grunts.
Mrs. Conway laughs. “Toby, don’t interrupt your father.”
Toby rests his elbow on the table and plops his chin in his hand. “But, Mom, it’s such a boring story, and Dad draws it out forever.” Toby has a slight problem pronouncing his r’s, which makes “forever” sound like fowevew. Might be the most angelic thing I’ve ever heard.
“Our heritage is not boring,” Reed corrects.
“I’d have to agree,” Galen says. “I would love to hear the story.” He locks eyes with Mr. Conway.
Mr. Conway gives a small smile, then stands abruptly. “Maybe another time. Obviously, I need to brush up on my storytelling skills.” He takes his empty plate, stacking his silverware on top. Before he exits to the kitchen, he calls over his shoulder. “But if you want to be entertained, you could ask Reed why he refuses to use his Gift.”
“Oh, nice Dad,” Reed says, sinking in his seat.
Toby snorts beside him. “He thinks it’s cheating. Unbelievable, right?”
What’s unbelievable is that I’m really having this conversation. With Half-Breeds like me. Half-Breeds who have the Gift of Poseidon. Like me. “Cheating?” I ask, trying my hand at low-key.
Reed rolls his eyes in surrender. “It is cheating. It gives me an advantage over other fishermen. An advantage I don’t need. Besides, it’s not like it’s my job to fish.”
I raise a brow. “But it’s not cheating to lure fish to your rope of death?”
“That’s a matter of eating, which is what the Gift is for, right? I’m talking about competitions. I can handle a pole just as well as any of them.”
Toby shakes his head at me. “He wishes.”
Reed pulls his little brother into a headlock. “Take it back!”
“Oh, here we go,” Mrs. Conway says, leaning an elbow onto the table in mock boredom.
A small scuffle ensues, which results in both brothers sprawled on the floor, and Toby still in a headlock, though in possession of some of Reed’s elbow skin between his teeth. Even Galen appears amused. I wonder if—and don’t doubt that—he’s been in this same position with Rayna.
“I won’t take it back!” Toby growls, but his tenacity is markedly reduced by his uncontrollable giggles.
“You don’t even know who the better fisherman is,” Reed says, releasing his brother. He looks at me, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “He won’t fish without using the Gift.”
“Why would I?” Toby takes his chair again. “I’ve won every fishing tournament I’ve ever entered. Got the trophies to prove it.”
Mrs. Conway nearly spits out her wine. “You told me—you promised me—you wouldn’t use the Gift for those tournaments, Toby Travis Conway. You’re in serious trouble, young man.”
“Aw crap,” Toby says. “I just got un-grounded yesterday.”
“Welcome back. Go to your room. And we don’t say ‘crap.’” Mrs. Conway’s brow furrows in that kind of betrayed-mother disapproval. It’s a look I know well.
“Do we say ‘crud?’” Toby asks.
Mrs. Conway considers. “I suppose ‘crud’ is okay.”
“Hey! You didn’t let me say ‘crud’ when I was his age,” Reed protests.
“No saying ‘crud’ then, Toby Travis.” Mrs. Conway is an experienced rebounder.
“Thanks a lot, Reed,” Toby grumbles as he passes his brother.
“Hey, you brought it up,” Reed says. “I’ll bring you up some dessert later.”
“You most certainly will not,” Mrs. Conway snips, standing. She collects as many plates around her as she can. “You boys are going to be the death of me. Wrestling on the floor like cavemen in front of our guests.” She’s muttering to herself about fishing trophies when she vanishes into the kitchen.
“It seems we’ve run everyone off,” Galen says. And he seems more jubilant about it than strictly polite. “We should probably be going.”
“So soon?” Reed says, but he’s not looking at Galen. Reed has a way of making me feel like the only person in the room.
I glance sideways at Galen. His face shows no expression at all. He’s turning into Grom in front of my eyes. And I don’t like it.
Galen stands. “We’ve traveled a lot today,” he says, turning to me. “I think we should call it a night.”
I wonder what he would say if I said I wasn’t tired. If I said he could go back to the inn, and Reed would bring me home later. I mentally cross that thought out of my head. I would never do that. It would be childish, and it would hurt him if he knew I’d even considered it for a shaved second.
What has gotten into me?
I take a stab at faking a yawn. It turns out just as I expected: dramatic. “I am pretty tired,” I say as an understatement. Then a real yawn takes over, a really obnoxious one, and Galen and Reed share the same expression as they stare at me.