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hands clenched whenever I was near her. Bria blamed me for Mab’s torturing her, and part of her wanted to lash out at me, even hurt me the way that the Fire elemental had hurt her. I could tell that Bria was trying to get past her anger, trying just as hard as I was, but neither one of us seemed to know what to do or say to the other.
    More than once, I’d thought about apologizing to my sister for who and what I was, for what she’d suffered because of me, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. Fletcher had always said that apologies were just empty words, and that actions were all that really mattered in the end. But try as I might, I couldn’t think of what I could do or say to make things better between me and Bria, to bridge this chasm that still stretched between us.
    â€œBut mostly, I miss Callie,” Bria continued.
    The Callie in question was Callie Reyes, Bria’s best friend since childhood. When Finn had first broached the idea of a vacation, Bria had immediately suggested Blue Marsh. Apparently, she’d been dying to come back and visit Callie ever since she’d left to go to Ashland. The last few days, Bria had talked nonstop about her friend and how much she was looking forward to seeing her again. The two of them had already made plans to spend some time together in between Callie’s work schedule—plans that Bria didn’t include me in. That had hurt more than I’d expected, but at this point, I’d do anything to make my sister happy—even let her spend our vacation with someone else.
    â€œI can’t wait to see Callie,” Bria added. “And I can’t believe she went and gotengaged without me even meeting the guy first. She seems really crazy about him, but I need to check him out and make sure that he’ll treat her right. My best friend can’t just marry anybody, you know. Callie’s always been there for me, especially when my parents died. I want to make sure that she’s found the right guy.”
    â€œOf course you do,” I said in a light tone, trying to match her mood. “I know how much you care about her, and I’m looking forward to meeting her. Maybe we can all go out for drinks one night and really get to know each other.”
    Silence. Once again, I felt that anger rolling off Bria—this time, for my trying to butt into her plans.
    â€œSure,” Bria said, several seconds too late to be believable. “That sounds like fun.”
    An awkward silence filled the car, dimming the brightness of the day. Bria hit the replay button on the radio, but she didn’t sing along this time. Instead, her hands tightened on the steering wheel, and she sped up, as if she now wanted the drive to be over with as soon as possible.
    I sighed, put my head back on the seat, and closed my eyes, wishing the wind could whip my troubles away as easily as it tangled my hair.
    An hour later, Bria crossed a bridge, turned off the road, and steered the car through an open iron gate that was set into the middle of a ten-foot-high, white stone wall. A gold plaque on one of the gateposts read The Blue Sands est. 1899 .
    We traveled along a curvingdriveway made of smooth white cobblestones for the better part of a mile. A lush eighteen-hole golf course spread out like an emerald carpet to the left, while the beachfront glinted like bronze diamonds to the right. Copses of peach, pecan, and palmetto trees broke up the flat horizon, although the thick, humid air shimmered in waves that seemed to match the steady rise and fall of the ocean.
    The Blue Sands hotel was sandwiched in between the golf course and the beach. The structure soared an impressive thirty stories into the salty sea air, its white stone facade matching the outer wall and the cobblestones we’d just rolled over. Wrought-iron balconies curled around the various floors like ropes of metal ivy, while the roof was made out of red slate, completing the