THE BLASTED CONTRACT COIN BOOK 1

CHAPTER 9 TWIN POWER

POV Sterling

My twin brother and I had been pacing the hallway outside Mercy's suite for exactly twelve minutes.

Vane had intercepted us at the top of the stairs with a look that said he'd personally throw us off the terrace if we interrupted her "de-grime" ritual. He didn't just leave it as a look though.

"Leave her be until she's out," Vane had ordered, his voice carrying the immovable weight of a protector.

He had told them how she had acted on the way over, how she had paused on the trail, looking back at the smog-choked horizon with a confusion they had never seen on her face, muttering about a coin and a "pull."

To the rest of the world, a small thing like that was nothing. To the Family, it was a noticeable c***k in her foundation.

We twins were inseparable; we had shared every breath, meal, and secret since the day Mercy had found us shivering in a pit and brought us into the fold. In Ironspire, we were the Syndicate's "Hounds."

I was the Sensory Weaver, I could eliminate or intensify your every sensory input until you were either a hollow shell or screaming from the touch of your own clothes.

Caspian was the Dream Weaver, capable of slipping into your subconscious and sifting through your dreams like a thief in a library.

Together, they were a nightmare made flesh, but to Mercy, we were just the two kids who had never quite learned how to stop seeking her approval.

We sat on the floor across from her door, vibrating like coiled springs. The hallway of the Main House was lined with portraits of landscapes they had never visited, the floors covered in plush, gravel-gray rugs that muffled even our restless shifting.

The house was too quiet. Without Mercy's presence, the air felt thin. I kept reaching out, instinctively trying to "feel" for Mercy's sensory output through the thick oak door. At the same time, Caspian's eyes remained slightly glazed, his mind hovering at the edge of the waking world, waiting for a sign of her mental frequency. Our efforts were fruitless, but what else were we going to do?

Finally, the click of the lock sounded.

The door swung open, and Mercy stepped out. She was dressed in a clean, high-collared dark tunic of heavy silk, her hair still slightly damp and pulled back into a severe, perfect knot. She looked orderly. Every line of her was in its proper place.

She didn't get three steps before we hit her.

"Mercy! We missed you so much," we said in unison, our voices overlapping in an eerie, practiced harmony.

We lunged from the floor, our taller frames draping over her in an instant. We crushed her into a massive, three-person hug, lifting her slightly off the floor. Caspian leaned down and kissed the top of her head feverishly, while I tucked my face into the crook of her shoulder.

We weren't just hugging; we were scenting the air and searching for a pulse, using our heightened Weaver senses to check for the "oddness" Vane had described.

"Enough," Mercy said. Her voice was flat, but it possessed that razor-edge of authority we never dared cross.

We backed off instantly, dropping her and taking a synchronized step back. We bowed our heads, brown hair falling over our eyes as we offered a silent apology for being extra.

"Sorry," I whispered, my fingers twitching against my pant seams.

"Vane said you acted odd. We were... assessing."

Mercy looked at us, her gaze moving from Caspian's restless eyes to my trembling hands.

"Did you sense anything?" she asked.

"Not really...but," I muttered, looking frustrated.

"You're pretty much... you, which is why it's so frustrating. Usually, people are like storms. You can sense the lightning before the strike. But you? You're silent and steady, like walking over a frozen lake. Steady but dangerous. My dreams can't even find a hook in you, but it feels like the ice is...thinner, " Caspian continued, where I had left off.

"Explain. Clearly," Mercy commanded.

I took a breath, trying to put the sensation into words.

"Well, you never change. Your aura, your scent, your presence, it hasn't flickered since the day we met you. Everyone else's changes. Alistair's magic gets heavier when he's tired; Vane's scent gets sharper when he's annoyed. Saffron smells like crushed herbs when she's happy and wilted lilies when she's sad. But you are a flat line, Mercy. Always."

I paused, reaching out to take her hand, my grip tightening.

"But we feel a very faint difference in you now. To anyone else, it would be absolutely nothing. But we know you. We've been with you for most of our lives. This little whiff of change is... wrong. It's like a single gear in a master clock is a millimeter out of place. The machine still runs, but the sound is different if you know what to listen for."

Mercy seemed to process this. If we could feel the "error," then it was no longer just her perception; it was a physical reality that could be measured by others.

She must have weighed the variables of our words as she stood there silently.

We thought of Saffron waiting on the terrace. Saffron's happiness was a cornerstone of the house's stability. If Saffron felt neglected, her healing magic grew temperamental, which led to inefficiency in the Syndicate's recovery rates. She was also the most likely person to be able to fix this.

"Maybe we should ask everyone else what we should do? They will almost all be stargazing by now," Caspian suggested.

"I will talk to Alistair," she said, her voice final.

We shared a look, worry etched clearly on both our faces. We didn't like the o,ddity but we always obeyed her lead. We each took one of her hands, flanking her like a pair of royal guards as we began the walk toward the back of the house.

The Main House felt different tonight. The beeswax candles seemed to flicker in sync with the phantom pulse in Mercy's chest. Or maybe it was Caspian's weave making me see things. His eyes were going back and forth from glazed white to green, checking with his weave on what worried him.

As we passed the tall windows of the gallery, Mercy caught her reflection. She looked the same, pale, composed, eyes like slate. But she put her hand on her chest again. I wondered if she felt the tether pull at her again. We really need the others now.

"Don't let go," Caspian whispered, as if he could feel the invisible wire trying to pull her away.

"I am not going anywhere. That would be an illogical reaction to a sensory glitch," Mercy stated.

"Good," I said, my voice firming up.

"Because if something is trying to pull you away, we'll just find it and break it, and thankfully, we are very good at finding things and we know people who can break things," Caspian added, putting my sentiment into words.

We squeezed her hand a little tighter in ours. This behavior, this physical anchoring, was a requirement for us to feel grounded right now. Through years of observation, she knew that allowing us these moments of contact produced the best results for the family's long-term cohesion after all.

We reached the grand double doors that led to the stone terrace. Beyond them, the air would be cold, the sky would be vast, and the 8 possible others would be gathered in a rare moment of peace.

"Ready?" We asked together.

"The schedule must be maintained," Mercy replied.

"Open the doors," she'd ordered after taking a breath.