Forbidden Legacy
Author: Theresa Kay
Date: 2022-10-20 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Urban Fantasy; Fantasy; Fae; Romance
Description: Stealing from the fae is easy, but working with one to retrieve the relic I was hired to swipe? Not so much. The job was supposed to be simple: Sneak in, break the wards, grab the necklace, and get out. Being arrested for the murder of a high-profile Autumn Court fae was definitely not part of the plan. I’m cleared of the crime and sent home, but the dead fae's arrogant grandson shows up at my door. He demands I help him retrieve the thing I never had a chance to take, though he neglects to tell me the item's true worth. In the battle for power between the fae Courts, the necklace is beyond pr
Rights: Copyright &#x00A9;2022 byanonymous

Title Misc

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Broken Skies Series

Broken Skies

Fractured Suns

Shattered Stars

Ravencrest Academy Series

Magic Bound

Spell Linked

Ward Locked

Fate Sealed

Fallen Fae Trilogy

Forbidden Legacy

Forgotten Heir

Forsaken Crown

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Text copyright © 2022 Theresa Kay

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover Design by Christian Bentulan of Covers By Christian.

Dedication

To Caylie, you are definitely not the worst friend ever. I miss your face.

Contents

1. One
2. Two
3. Three
4. Four
5. Five
6. Six
7. Seven
8. Eight
9. Nine
10. Ten
11. Eleven
12. Twelve
13. Thirteen
14. Fourteen
15. Fifteen
16. Sixteen
17. Seventeen
18. Eighteen
19. Nineteen
20. Twenty
21. Twenty-One
22. Twenty-Two
23. Twenty-Three
24. Twenty-Four
Also By Theresa Kay
Acknowledgments
About The Author

One

Stealing from the fae is always a pain in the ass. Not because it’s hard, but because the number one thing on my to-do list is ‘avoid fae at all costs’. Full-blood, faeling, Court-aligned, or solitary… it doesn’t matter. I want nothing to do with any of them. Unfortunately, this particular job isn’t one I could turn down. The payout will cover my rent for nearly six months and, because the target is fae, this job is actually easier than stealing from humans.

Well, for me anyway.

Fae magic can interact with human tech in unpredictable ways, mostly by frying the various chips and wires. So, for the most part, the fae depend entirely on magical security measures. Which are about as much a deterrent to me as a simple combination lock. In other words, not much.

But just because the fae don’t normally use human anti-theft technology, doesn’t mean they don’t implement those things sometimes. Case in point: my current target, a multi-million-dollar monstrosity in the Riverwoods subdivision of post-Merge Chicago, a long, long way from my crappy apartment in Englewood.

The property is on a large, wooded lot—the fae love to live up to the nature-loving stereotype—with the house itself set back from the road at the end of a curving driveway. There’s a minor perimeter ward along the property line, more to deter the uninvited from entering the grounds than to stop anyone from doing so.

It certainly doesn’t stop me.

I enter the target property from a different lot to the rear, coming up through a heavily wooded section to avoid being seen from the house. The trees have already started shedding their autumn leaves, so I step as lightly as possible to avoid making any noise. No one is supposed to be home, but there’s no point in taking chances. Thankfully, the house appears quiet.

I tap a finger against my earpiece to turn it on. “How’s it going, Finn?”

“I’ve got the cameras running on a loop,” says Finn, the sound of his fingers moving across a keyboard in the background. “I need another minute or two to bypass the alarm system.”

“Sounds good,” I say in a low voice. “Just let me know when I’m clear to enter.”

I skirt around the landscaped flower beds and approach the house, scanning from side to side. I spent a few hours here the day before yesterday casing the place, so I’m almost certain there are no other wards out here, but it never hurts to be extra careful.

Getting caught would be… bad. Really bad. For me mainly because it would mean losing Finn. I can handle jail. But for Finn, a sixteen-year-old dragon shifter, it would mean either a collar and a cage or expulsion from the human realm—neither of which he would survive. Well, not with his mind intact anyway.

When I rescued him from his not-so-gilded prison in the fae realm six years ago, I promised he would never have to go back to that life. And I will do everything in my power to keep that promise, even if it kills me. Finn is the only family I have.

Still waiting for the go ahead, I run over the floor plan in my head, deciding on the most likely places to find more wards, the ‘set it and forget it’ type of magic mostly used as security barriers or alarms. The power and stability of wards varies based on the skill of the wardworker and how much fae magic is available to them. And depending on the components of each ward, their effects can range from mere nuisance to deadly.

There won’t be any on the actual entrances or windows because the magic would interfere with the alarm system or the cameras. Maybe one near the front door. The stairs to the second floor will have one. Then, there will be at least one, though more would be more likely, in and around the study where the safe is that holds the necklace I was hired to steal.

So, if my assumptions are correct, I should be in and out in an hour or slightly less. That’s longer than I’d like to be inside, but I can’t rush my work with the wards. Taking them down takes time and concentration, neither of which I can skimp on without setting the wards off, something that could result in me getting caught or even getting hurt.

Finn’s voice crackles into my ear. “The alarm’s taken care of. The rest is up to you, Ari.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank me by not getting caught and making it home in one piece.”

“Always,” I say before tapping my finger against the earpiece to turn it off.

I stride across the stone patio and up to the French doors that open into the glassed-in porch. Pulling out my picks, I make quick work of the lock, then make my way past the built-in grill and wet bar and through the sliding door leading into the kitchen.

Compared to outside, with the brightness of the full moon, the interior of the house is dim with barely enough light for me to see. I pause for a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the change and let my senses scan over the room for wards. None here.

The living room is next and I can’t help but glance at the fireplace. The online listing—Realtors often make my job so much easier by posting floor plans and pictures on the web where anyone can see them—said the fireplace was built with stone imported from European castles. Looks like regular gray rocks to me and tilting my head to the side and squinting doesn’t make them look any more impressive.

Why would that even be a selling point? After the Merge about twenty years ago, the human realm was flooded with actual magic. Who cares about some old rocks?

Oh well. It’s not like I’d ever be able to afford a place like this, fancy castle bricks or not.

I shrug and move toward the stairs. The first ward pings across my senses in the foyer. A simple hospitality ward sits in the space across from the front door to prevent anyone with bad intentions from entering the rest of the house. The type of ward is common enough, but there’s an extra layer to this one I can’t quite get a good read on. What’s odder is the ward is powered down and inactive.

Weird. Maybe the owner is having some work done on the house and planned to have a bunch of people in and out or something.

My curiosity is begging me to take a closer look—it’s been a while since I’ve gotten to check out any new-to-me wardwork—but my sense of self-preservation is telling me to get a move on. I haven’t even reached the first active ward so there’s no time to mess around with this one.

I cross the foyer to the bottom of the stairs, then carefully ascend, stopping briefly on each step to feel for wards. About two-thirds of the way up, I find one.

Closing my eyes, I trace the edges of the ward with my magic. It’s a basic barrier with an added element to shock anyone who tries to pass through without having disarmed it. Unless you’re me that is.

I open my eyes, the shimmering form of the ward now revealed to my sight, and scan over the shape.

There.

At the bottom corner, there’s a thread of loose magic, most likely where the ward’s creator tied off the flow. I mentally reach forward and pinch that thread between two imaginary fingers, then slowly pull on it until the entire ward begins to first unravel and then dissipate completely.

And this is why magical security measures are nothing but speed bumps for me. With a little time and concentration, I can take apart even the most complicated wards. A useful ability to be sure, but also one I have to be careful revealing.

Anyone with fae blood has some affinity for general magic, casting spells or working wards. But many faelings—anyone who’s less than one hundred percent fae—and all full-blooded fae also have what is called a ‘gift’: a specific, targeted magical ability that falls into a variety of categories. For example, a fae or faeling might have a gift for water manipulation with varying levels of skill depending on how powerful they are and how much magic they have the ability to access and use.

My gift is this ability to unravel wards, and the specifics of it are known to only me and Finn. I can’t afford to stand out, to be remembered even, and a gift like mine is too distinctive to hide for long if I go around advertising it. So, I stick to small jobs and almost never interact with my clients directly. I’m sure some of the people who’ve hired me have wondered how I get in and out of the places I do, but no one has ever actually asked. Not that I’d answer them if they did.

The first ward taken care of, I make my way up the rest of the staircase and into the hallway at the top. Another ward similar to the first has been set a few feet in front of me. I take care of that one without issue and move to the third door on the left—the study where my target is stored.

There’s another ward here, this one quite a few steps up from the others.

Barrier, plus alarm, plus trap, plus…

I squint.

Is that suffocation?

A shudder travels down my back. That’s a nasty piece of wardwork. This one will sound an alarm, hold the intruder, then take the air from their lungs. A deadly ward in a residential home seems a bit like overkill.

This client must be quite attached to the necklace I’m retrieving.

Unless there’s more to this job than anyone told me. When I was hired, I got little more than an address, the location of the safe, and an amount. The job came to me through an old friend and it’s possible he gave me all the information he had and it’s more than enough information to complete the task, but next time I’ll be pressing for more details.

Unexpected complications are never good.

I pause, my finger hovering next to my earpiece. Maybe Finn could give me some more info about the fae who owns this place? No. Probably not worth the time it would take. Even if Finn was able to find something, it wouldn’t matter now. I’m already here and committed to the job. Might as well just get it over with.

This ward is going to take longer than the others to dismantle. First, I visualize all the components and tease out individual threads for each one. All the threads have to be pulled at the same time in case the unraveling of one component triggers another. Almost fifteen minutes pass before I’ve got a good handle on everything and another two minutes pass as I slowly and carefully pull the ward apart.

Once it’s down, I run my senses over the doorframe again to make sure the entire thing is down. I damn sure wouldn’t want to stumble into anything left over from that suffocation bit.

Clear.

I push open the door, step into the study, then pause. ‘Library’ would be a more accurate description of the room. Shelves line three of the four walls, going up all the way to the 12-foot ceiling and every one of them is filled with books. Some of them are clearly old and a few of the shelves even have preservation wards on them.

Wow. What I wouldn’t give to spend a week or two in here. There’s probably tons of useful information. Maybe even—

No. I can’t let myself get distracted. I’m here to get the necklace and that’s it.

I release a slow breath and turn my attention back to the job. My contact said the necklace should be in a floor safe near the desk along the far wall. Closing my eyes, I send my senses in that direction. There’s bound to be another ward in here and it—

“Ari! Ari! Answer me dammit! I swear if this is some kind of prank, I’m going to—”

“Finn?” I croak, blinking rapidly as the crown molding on the ceiling coming into focus above me. Pain pulses through my temples.

“Thank the fates,” says Finn. “What’s going on? What the hells happened?”

“I don’t…know.” What did happen? I push up to sitting and give my head a brisk shake, trying to clear the fog. Glancing from side to side, I take in my surroundings. I’m in a library, no a study—the job.

I scramble to my feet and search for the earpiece that must have gotten knocked loose hard enough to turn it back on. I find it right behind me, then slide it back into place. “Sorry, Finn. This last ward must have had a stun component. I was feeling it out and must’ve triggered something.”

Finn lets out a shaky breath. “You need to be more careful. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“I’ll try.” I drag a hand over my face, my brain still working on coming fully back to the present. “Now that I know the ward is there, I’ll approach it more slowly. This should be the last one.”

“It better be.”

“I’ve got to turn the earpiece back off before I can deal with it. I should be out of here in less than thirty minutes, though. I’ll call you back then, okay?”

“Yeah,” he replies, voice strained. He’s still pissed—and probably terrified—but I need to finish up here before moving on to reassuring him.

“I’ll talk to you soon.” I click off the earpiece and turn my full attention to the ward in front of me.

This last ward is another nasty one. It has all the components of the one on the door with stun, pain, and what looks like fire mixed in. Good thing I only triggered the stun component. This one is going to be tricky.

The time estimate I gave Finn might have been a little overly ambitious.

I sit down on the floor cross-legged and let my eyes go slightly unfocused, until all that’s in my field of vision is the ward. Reaching out, I brush against the edges and slowly trace along the outside, gathering up the threads of each component. It takes me almost twenty minutes before I’ve got them all. Then, I tease the loose threads out in tiny increments until the entire ward collapses.

I release a slow breath and then stand up. All that’s left should be cracking the safe, something that doesn’t require magic. A good thing too because I’m about at my limit of magical exertion. That stun component really took a lot out of me.

I make my way over to the desk, then walk around it to look for the floor safe. It should be—

What the…

I stop, blinking down at the sight on the hardwood floor: A bloodied fae next to an open, empty safe. Auburn hair marks him as Autumn Court and, based on that and his age, I’m pretty sure he’s the homeowner—the one who was supposed to be away all evening.

Instinct has me reaching down and placing two fingers on his neck below the jawline. No pulse, but he’s still warm. Something has been carved into his forehead, a symbol that feels strangely familiar but I can’t quite place it. A drop of blood makes its way down the side of the fae’s face and dread coils in my stomach.

If the blood isn’t even dry, the body hasn’t been here long, certainly less than an hour, and probably less than thirty minutes. That’s less than the amount of time I’ve been in the house. Meaning, the fae was killed either while I was taking the ward down, right before I started…

Or when I was passed out on the floor completely vulnerable.

A chill travels down my back. What in the hells is going on?

I reach up to my earpiece, intending to let Finn know about the delay, but I don’t even have a chance to turn it on. The study door flies open—though I hadn’t closed it—and crashes against the wall. Two cops enter, their guns sweeping the room and then landing on me as they yell for me to get my hands up.

Oh crap. Isn’t this just my fatesdamned luck?

Two

Whatever is about to happen—likely me being arrested—is not going to be a pleasant experience, especially when the very human cops can tell I’m at least part fae. My dyed black hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, great for keeping it out of my face, not so great for hiding the tapered points of my ears. Even if I wasn’t literally standing over a dead body, they’d probably find an excuse to take me in.

Most humans aren’t exactly fond of fae even if they aren’t full-blooded.

The two uniformed officers, a woman and a man, keep their guns trained on me as I very slowly raise my hands. There’s no getting around me ending up in cuffs, but I’d rather not be shot if it can be avoided. Those guns are sure to be loaded with iron-coated bullets, a staple in all post-Merge cops’ arsenals and iron is not my friend. Getting hit by one of those bullets would be horrendously painful for me—if it didn’t kill me outright.

The woman addresses me first. “Step away from the desk, lower to your knees slowly, and lace your fingers together behind your head.”

Once I comply with the instruction, she walks over, pulls my arms down by my waist then fastens a pair of crude iron cuffs around my wrists, in my opinion a little tighter than necessary. My skin burns where the metal touches it, but I grit my teeth and force my expression to stay blank. No use letting them know how much that stings…though, less for me than it might for others.

I’ve worn iron before.

She tugs me to my feet. After a quick pat down, she takes my earpiece and my lock picks then leads me toward the door. On the way downstairs, she gives me the whole spiel about being under arrest, my right to remain silent, and my right to have an attorney or Court representative.

“Do you understand these rights?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Which Court should I have the station request a representative from?”

“I’m solitary.” Not the complete truth but close enough.

Her steps falter for a second as she glances at me from the corner of her eye. She’s probably never met a fae without a Court, but these days no one sane claims the Court I share blood with, not if they don’t want to be shunned by fae and human alike.

That’s what happens when your Court is blamed for destroying the magical barriers keeping the human and fae realms separate and causing the Merge. Whether it was truly—or even only—the Winter Court’s fault is up for debate, but there’s no one left to defend them since I'm sure not going to do it. I might have Winter blood, but I’m not sticking my neck out for any fae, much less the Court that abandoned me to the mercies of the Spring Queen.

The woman marches me across the driveway and into the back of a squad car, then shuts the door and leaves me there while she returns inside, going back to her partner and doing whatever it is cops do when clearing a scene. If I were human, they probably wouldn’t leave me alone like this, but the iron cuffs meant to cut off my ability to access magic make me effectively helpless so I get to sit here and stew in my thoughts.

Which is probably a good thing since I need to try to figure out what the hells is going on here and avoid going to jail for a murder I didn’t commit.

First of all, how did the cops even get involved?

Finn disabled all the alarms, though those probably weren’t set up to alert the police anyway, more likely a private security force. He would have known if there were any secondary systems outside and the wards would prevent any additional tech inside the house. Unless one of the neighbors saw me breaking in—unlikely since I went in through the back—there’s no reason for the cops to so much as drive by.

Unless I was set up…

But that doesn’t make sense either.

Setting me up would require almost perfect timing, giving me just long enough to take down the last ward, but not enough time to leave as soon as I saw the body. Plus, there’s no way the killer could have known the victim would be home. Hells, I didn’t even know that much.

The homeowner was scheduled to give a speech at some kind of benefit tonight. I slipped into the hotel where the event was being held and verified his arrival myself. After that, there were supposed to be two full hours before he even took the stage and I was only in the house for…

I twist my chin over my shoulder to try to get a look at my watch. No luck.

It couldn’t have been that long, right? Though, thinking back, who knows how long the stun effect lasted. That last ward was pretty powerful, even taking it down was—

How did the killer have enough time to put the ward back up? For that matter, how would the killer have even been able to put the ward back up?

The short answer is they wouldn’t have. That means the killer must have either had something that allowed them passage through the ward or they disarmed it somehow.

I tilt my head to rest against the back of the seat, letting out a long sigh. None of this makes sense and I’m just driving myself crazy trying to figure it all out. My main concern should be how to keep myself out of jail.

Finn set me up with a cover story, but it wasn’t meant to be used in case of murder, so there’s no telling how well it will hold up to scrutiny. I suppose I’ll find out.

Gradually, more cop cars arrive, followed by the coroner’s van until almost the entire driveway is filled with vehicles. People move in and out of the house with cameras and other items. Eventually, two men wheel out a stretcher holding a long black bag. The body.

There’s still activity inside the house, but the officers who arrested me must be done with their part as maybe forty-five minutes after she put me here, the cop who cuffed me exits the house along with her partner. The two of them climb into the front seat of the car, silent and frowning. She drives, while the guy fills out a report of some kind on a tablet. Neither one of them says a word to me.

It takes another thirty minutes for us to get to the station. They hustle me into a sparse interrogation room and the male cop pushes me into one of the chairs. After removing the cuffs long enough to allow me to move my hands to the front of my body, he runs the cuffs through the bracket attached to the table, then refastens them on my wrists. Still not comfortable, but much better than before.

The two uniformed officers file out of the room, shutting the door behind them and leaving me to stare at my refection in the two-way mirror. I run my gaze over my features, making sure nothing is too obvious. There’s no hiding my fae blood—my ears are too pointed and my pupils are slightly too large—but I can certainly downplay it. There are some things I’d rather the cops not put in their report.

The last thing I need is to draw the attention of any fae, no matter what Court they may or may not belong to.

I’m not sure how much time passes before two different cops come in, these ones in suits as opposed to uniforms. The first is pushing forty, a bulky, dark-haired man with one of those faces that seems to settle into a permanent scowl. The second has dark hair and skin, late twenties or so, with features that lean toward pretty and androgynous. The younger one also has a hint of fae blood. Likely a fae snuck into his family tree sometime well before the Merge and whatever gift he has didn’t reveal itself until fae magic flowed full-time in the human realm.

Interesting. I wonder if the department knows.

The men take the seats across the table from me.

“I’m Detective Harris and this is Detective Jamison,” says the older guy. “You’ve been informed of your rights, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you aren’t requesting a Court—”

“No.

He nods and makes a note on the tablet in front of him. “This evening at 10:57 PM you were apprehended standing over the deceased body of Eoin Hawthorne of the Autumn Court at his home. Is that correct?”

“That I was apprehended standing over a body at a house, yes. I do not know for certain the name of the fae, his Court, or his residence.”

The detective shoots me a look like he’s not amused, but I honestly wasn’t trying to be an ass. Words are important and should be used as accurately as possible.

“Let’s make things a little easier. At 10:50 PM dispatch received a call about a break-in. The officers arrived to find you standing over the deceased body of Eoin Hawthorne, a registered member of the Autumn Court who resides in the human realm at that address.” He turns the tablet so the screen displaying a picture of the crime scene is visible to me. “Our coroner estimates the time of death to be no more than fifteen minutes before the officers arrived on scene, meaning you’re the most likely person to have killed him.”

Harris pauses, waiting for me to fill the silence. I don’t. After all, he didn’t actually ask any questions.

He sighs. “Did you kill Eoin Hawthorne?”

“No.”

He glances at Detective Jamison who nods slightly. Well, that answers the question as to whether they know about Jamison’s fae blood. It’s diluted enough for him not to have any distinctive features which might make humans uncomfortable, but enough to give him a gift and a valuable one at that. The guy’s a human, er, mostly human lie detector, a very useful skill for an investigator, especially in the human realm where liars are rampant.

Humans lie incessantly, but full-blooded fae can’t lie, not directly. Faelings have varying abilities for spinning falsehoods, so it’s always easier to just stick as close as possible to the truth.

“Okay,” says Harris. “You didn’t kill him then. Who did? Did you have an accomplice?”

“No. I found him like that. I don’t know who did it.”

Jamison nods again.

Harris flicks his finger across the tablet scrolling to the next picture, a close up of the carving on Hawthorne’s forehead. “Do you recognize this symbol?”

I study the picture, but have no more luck tapping into whatever memory in the back of my brain found that symbol familiar than I did with the live and in-person version. “I might have seen it before somewhere, but I’m not sure where and I don’t know what it is.”

He moves to the next picture, this one of the open floor safe. “What was in the safe?”

“Nothing.” That I saw. “It was empty.”

Harris’s nostrils flare. Because he wants to pin this on me or because he wants to solve it? “So, you didn’t kill him and you don’t know who did…then what were you doing in his house?”

“I was hired to test his security.” My longtime cover in the event I get caught during a job, and a vague enough answer that the other detective nods at its truthfulness. After all, I was hired. And, technically, I tested his security.

Harris doesn’t seem to be buying it, though.

“Look,” I say. “There’s a business card in the left pocket of my pants. It might answer some questions for you.”

Harris jerks his chin and Jamison approaches me, sliding slim fingers into my pocket and withdrawing the card. He reads it, his brows drawing together, then hands it to Harris.

Arielle Grey

Magical Security Consultant

“You can check out the website on there. It’s legit.” Thank you, Finn. A cover story is only as good as its depth and my friend has drilled this one down to the bedrock.

Harris uses the tablet to navigate to the website Finn set up. It’s bare bones, with little more information than what’s on the business card, but it’s enough to get Harris to relax. Marginally.

“Take the cuffs off,” he says, shoulders slumping.

Jamison again comes around the table, removing a small key from his pocket as he goes. He unlocks and removes the cuffs, his hands showing no visible reaction to the metal. Must be nice having the perks of fae blood with none of the drawbacks.

I rub at the red rings around my wrists as Jamison returns to his seat. “Does this mean I’m free to go?”

“This means I believe you didn’t kill the victim,” says Harris. “And we have nothing else to hold you on.” He slides one of his business cards across the table. “If you think of anything that can help us, please give me a call.”

“Sure,” I say, sliding the card into my pocket and hopping to my feet.

Harris stays seated and stares at the tablet, flicking through the pictures, his lips pressed into a thin line, as I make my way toward the exit.

Jamison catches my arm as I pass through the door. “My partner is a good cop. The department isn’t going to put much manpower toward a fae murder now that the ‘easy catch’—you—isn’t the culprit. Harris wants everyone to have justice, even those others might not care about.”

I don’t need Jamison’s internal truth-o-meter to know he truly believes that. I’m even inclined to think it might be the truth given some of Harris’s reactions and the fact he doesn’t seem to mind Jamison’s differences.

“If I could help, I would.” Surprisingly, I actually mean that. Seeing a human care about crimes against fae gives me hope that someday Finn and I won’t have to hide, that Finn won’t have to spend the rest of his life being terrified some ignorant human will get him sent back to the fae realm.

But, considering the history between humans and fae mostly consists of bloodshed, hatred, and fear, that day is still a long way off.

Three

By the time I make it home through a combination of public transportation and my own two feet, the edges of the sky are starting to turn pink with the coming dawn. I was gone for way longer than I was supposed to be and Finn is not going to be happy with me. He never wanted me to take this job—either of us having anything to do with the fae freaks him out—and now that it ended up a convoluted mess, he’s going to be insufferable with the ‘I told you so’.

As expected, he practically pounces on me as soon as I open the door to our apartment. He grabs my arm, tugging me inside, then runs his gaze over me as if looking for injuries. He brushes his black hair away from his face and glares at me. His gold-flecked, storm cloud gray pupils have expanded, but haven’t completely changed to the slitted eyes of his dragon form, and his nostrils are flaring with fast breaths as he struggles to control his emotions.

If he was any closer to shifting, there’d be smoke coming from his nose.

“Where in all the hells have you been?” he snaps out, his voice cracking on the end of the question, betraying his anxiety. “You were supposed to be back hours ago.”

“I know,” I say in a low, calming voice. “I’m sorry. There was—”

“And you weren’t even answering my calls!” He curls his hands into fists, likely to hide the fact his naturally black nails are starting to extend into claws.

Crap. I never got my earpiece back from the cops. I add replacing it to my mental to-do list along with finding my spare lockpicks. Thank the fates I travel light when I’m on jobs and didn’t lose anything else. Without the payout from this one, funds are going to be low for a while.

“I know. I’m sorry,” I repeat. “There was an issue with the job and I ended up getting arrested.”

“An issue with the job? Did…” His voice cracks again. “Did I mess up somewhere? Was it my fault? I’m positive I had control of the alarms and cameras. Did I miss something?”

The earnestness in his expression, the way he’s looking to me for approval breaks my heart a little. Sometimes I forget how young he is. Even if what happened tonight had been his fault—and I don’t think it was—I wouldn’t tell him. I’m only six years older than him and more like a sister than anything, but I’ve been watching out for him since before he even hatched and I’m as close to a parent as he’s got. I would never crush his spirit by telling him he screwed something up. The Spring Queen disparaged him enough for a lifetime.

“No, none of it was your fault.” I reach over and ruffle his hair. “You did well, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” he snaps back with classic teenage petulance, his lower lip stuck out and everything. His eyes narrow as I press my lips together, trying to hold back a smile. Neither of us had much of a childhood, his worse than mine, so I enjoy the occasional flashes of normalcy when Finn acts more like a typical kid his age.

“On the bright side, your idea with the business card and the website worked out great,” I say. “After they saw that, the cops pretty much took my word for what I was doing there.”

“Oh. Good.” He unsuccessfully fights a self-satisfied grin, then blinks as his pupils shrink to a more human-like size. “So, what happened to ‘this is an easy score’ and ‘I’ll be in and out no problem’? How did you end up getting arrested?”

I blow out a breath and shake my head, moving over to collapse backward on the ratty couch. My butt sinks into the lumpy cushion as Finn joins me, still waiting for my answer.

“I don’t know exactly what happened. One minute things were going just fine and then there was a dead guy, an empty safe, and two cops.” I drag a hand over my face. “That stun component in the last ward must’ve knocked me out for longer than I thought.”

“I was worried,” he says softly, staring down at his nails, now back to their normal rounded shape.

“I’m fine. No injuries. No jail.” I tilt my head to rest on the back of the couch, leaving me staring up at our water-stained ceiling. “I’ll try not to take any more jobs involving the fae.”

“Good.” He huffs. “You should have listened to me in the first place.”

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you? If I’m old enough to have your back, then I should be old enough to have a say in what jobs we take.”

I’m willing to admit he has a point—but not to him. For all the help he’s been, he’s still a kid and I don’t want him anymore involved in this life than he absolutely has to be, which has already turned into way too much. I never planned for the young dragon shifter to act as my accomplice and electronic backup. Of course, I never planned on myself being a criminal either. I was only sixteen, Finn only ten, when I grabbed him and left the Spring Court and the fae realm behind.

The first six months or so in the human realm, I did things by the book. Mostly. I got a real job at least. I just had to have a fake ID that listed me as eighteen, downplayed my fae blood percentage, and displayed a fraudulent registry number. Still, employment opportunities for people with any fae blood are few and far between, and anything that paid half decently would have required me to submit to actual blood testing. Even two jobs at minimum wage couldn’t pay the bills, not with a growing dragon in the house.

After some idiot tried to mug me—my fae heritage is obvious, the guy was either dumb or on something to think he could best me with only a knife when fae have magic at their disposal—I figured stealing might be a good way to make some fast money. I spent over a decade learning how to be invisible at the Spring Court, might as well put those skills toward something more lucrative. Without any sort of formal training, my spell casting wasn’t great, but I could put together a decent glamour, enough to get me and whatever I might be able to carry in and out of secure locations without being noticed.

I didn’t go for anything huge. No banks or museums. Nothing that would call too much attention to me and nothing I’d have to put a lot of effort into turning into cash. My first few hits were small jewelry stores and pawn shops. High on the success, I decided to try for something bigger. I knew from some of my contacts that the manager at a local nightclub was rumored to be the leader of a large art theft ring and, in my youthful naivety, I got the idea that stealing something from a criminal wouldn’t be stealing at all.

My fake ID got me into the club.

My glamour got me to the back rooms.

My lock picks got me into the office.

But I had nothing to get me past the unexpectedly young man sitting behind the desk.

The thing my contacts neglected to mention was that the club manager had magic of his own. Maybe they didn’t know, or maybe they thought it was common knowledge. I don’t know. Either way I ended up face to face with a full-blooded incubus, a type of magical being actually native to the human realm.

Xander was more amused than anything else and, instead of killing me, he recruited me. He said the heists I managed on my own were impressive—because of course he’d heard of me and knew I was coming—and if I joined his crew I could make more money with less risk.

I took the offer and worked for Xander for a little more than four years, the last few months of which the two of us were in a relationship. Well, as much of a relationship as two people can be in when there are more secrets than truths between them. Two years ago, right after I turned twenty, a job went bad because I didn’t fully trust him and I decided to go back to working on my own where the only people I need to trust are Finn and myself.

Finn already knows all my secrets, just like I know all of his.

But Xander knows enough about me to send specific jobs my way. Like the one last night.

I sigh. “I didn’t listen to you, Finn, because the job came from Xander. He’s never—”

“So help me if you end that sentence with ‘steered me wrong’,” says Finn, shooting to his feet, then pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table. “For all you know he set you up to take the fall for whatever happened last night. The necklace wasn’t there, right? Maybe his people followed you in, let you do the hard stuff, then took it right out from under your nose. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You’re right,” I say. “His old crew took a couple scores from me, but only for what Xander considers the fun of it and never on a job he personally sent to me. Besides, now that Xander owns Club XS and has built up his…freelancing business, he doesn’t need to steal. The payout I would have gotten for tonight’s job doesn’t even compare to the weekly receipts at XS.”

Finn snorts. “If you say so.”

I grab his arm and pull him back down on the couch beside me. “Xander also doesn’t believe in leaving bodies behind. They bring too much attention and he doesn’t want that any more than I do. Whoever killed the fae and took the necklace had nothing to do with Xander.”

“Fine. I’ll trust your judgment, but I want veto power on any future jobs.”

“I don’t—”

“It’s non-negotiable,” he says firmly.

“Okay.”

Finn continues as if he didn’t hear, “It about killed me having to just sit here and worry about you. What would I have done if you hadn’t come home?”

“I don’t know.”

“And if you had been the dead body? No one would even know to notify me. I’d just—”

“Finn, I get it. We’ll figure out a better system.” I place a hand on his arm. “I hate involving you in this at all. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Yeah, well the same goes for you,” he says. He stares down at his hands. “What if I got a job? Between your legitimate jobs and the income I brought in, we could probably make enough to support ourselves without all the other stuff.”

“Absolutely not,” I snap. “There’s too much of a risk of you being found out.”

“Why? You did it and you’re obviously fae. I actually look more human than you do, so the risk—”

“Sure, you’re not obviously a dragon. Except when you get anxious or irritated or in any way worked up and start to lose control of your shift. The humans don’t even classify you as a person. If you got caught, they wouldn’t bother putting you in jail. They’d just stuff you in a zoo or a lab somewhere. That is, if they didn’t ship you back to the Spring Queen like a wayward pet.” I wince at the harshness in my own voice, wanting to snatch the words back as soon as they pass my lips.

One of Finn’s hand flutters up to his neck as if unconsciously feeling for the collar he once wore. The color drains from his face and his eyes lose focus as he gets lost in the memories of what that cursed word meant.

Guilt twists in my stomach. He was just trying to help and I about bit his head off. I’m such an ass. I grab him into a hug, pulling his taller form downward so his head rests against my shoulder as my hand gently strokes his hair.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’d never let that happen to you.” I hold him, whispering variations of those phrases over and over until Finn calms and comes back to himself.

“I’m going to bed,” he says in a shaky voice.

“Okay. Yeah. I’m going to try to get some sleep too.”

Finn avoids my eyes as he rises to his feet and makes his way to his bedroom. I want to call out another apology after him, but at this point it would probably only make him feel worse. Getting knocked back into that headspace always takes a lot out of him and trying to talk to him about it now won’t do any good.

I heave myself off the couch and head off to my own room, the smaller of the two bedrooms since Finn needs space for all his electronics. After washing my face and changing into some leggings and a t-shirt, I crawl into bed and wait for sleep to take me.

Unfortunately, my brain refuses to turn off, all the events of the past few hours running through my mind.

It’s possible the whole situation had nothing to do with me, but something about that idea rings false. Why would the killer pick tonight of all nights if not to either piggyback off my skills or set me up to take the fall? Or both?

Four

The next week passes in a blur and all my unanswered questions fall to the back of my mind. There are more important things to worry about anyway. Without the payout from the failed job, making rent is going to be tight this month, so what little free time I have is spent working at a bar near the apartment. I’m paid under the table, so the job isn’t exactly lucrative, but without the money it brings in, Finn and I won’t have a place to live.

Early Saturday morning, an alert from one of my wards yanks me out of sleep as effectively as if I’d been doused with water. I groan. I worked till closing at the bar and, if the meager light outside the window is anything to go by, I’ve been asleep for a couple hours at most. My lack of sleep, however, is the least of my worries as a loud knock sounds throughout the apartment.

No one has this address. No one. And there’s a strong enough look-away ward on the door that even I have trouble finding the damned thing sometimes. I’m not the best with spells, but my wardwork is solid.

I jump out of bed and slowly move into the living room. Finn’s bedroom door opens, but I wave him off. He needs to stay out of sight while I get rid of whoever our uninvited guest is.

Another knock, this one louder and more forceful.

“Yeah?” I call out. The downside of having a good ward on the entryway is I can’t sense who—or what—might be on the other side.

“Ms. Grey,” says a male voice I don’t recognize. “I need to speak with you.”

“I’m not interested.”

“And I’m not selling anything.” He pauses. “Detective Jamison gave me your name. This is about my grandfather.”

Jamison sent him? Not good.

“Your grandfather?” I ask, even though I think I already know who he’s talking about.

“Eoin Hawthorne.”

My entire body goes cold. There’s a fatesdamned fae on my doorstep, the very last thing I need.

“Go away,” I blurt without thinking. There’s silence from the other side of the door, but I can tell he hasn’t left.

“I can’t do that Ms. Grey. Now, are you going to open the door so we can discuss the assistance I require from you or shall I return to the police station and tell them in no uncertain terms that my grandfather never hired you to test his security? You’ll be speaking to me either way, but whether or not the conversation occurs here or with you in iron cuffs is up to you.”

Crap crap crap. I’m fairly certain that’s not an idle threat. The detectives bought my story the other night, but only because they didn’t dig any deeper. If this asshole tells them the truth, I’ll be screwed. The cops can’t pin the murder on me, but they’d probably be just as happy charging me for breaking and entering.

There’s a creak behind me and I glance over my shoulder to see Finn peeking out from behind his cracked open door. His face is pale and his dark brows are drawn together with worry. I mouth for him to get out of sight. He listens, moving backward into the shadows of his room.

There aren’t many choices here, but I damn sure can’t let Finn get pulled into this mess.

“Fine,” I say to the fae outside the door. “Step back so I can let you through the wards.”

Taking down my own wards is a quick process, a few tugs here and there and I can pull them back almost like metaphysical curtains. The wards are still there, but they’re open so others of my choosing can walk through the doorway and this way I don’t have to fully disarm them every time someone goes in or out.

I run my gaze over the living room to be sure there’s nothing that might give away any secrets, not that I’m entirely sure what could do that. There aren’t exactly any “Being a Dragon Shifter for Dummies” books, discarded scales, or DNA tests lying around. Everything looks normal enough, so I swallow back my nerves, then swing the door open.

And immediately want to slam it closed again.

Any hopes I had of this guy being some bastard faeling are dashed as soon I see him. This guy is in his mid-twenties and he’s obviously full-blooded Autumn Court with moss green eyes and deep red hair a few shades darker than maple leaves before they fall. A light scattering of freckles adorns the bridge of his narrow nose, spreading out over his sharp cheekbones and giving him an almost impish appearance.

He’s dressed in a tailored greenish black suit with a white button-up underneath but no tie. I don’t know fashion or brands, but the ensemble looks expensive, which isn’t surprising. For most full-blooded fae, the only appeal to living in the human realm is money. To them, a life of luxury can more than make up for the lower magic level here, especially if they aren’t particularly powerful in the first place.

The fae smiles at me, flashing the tips of his slightly-sharper-than-human canines. I return the smile with a cold, close-lipped one of my own.

“Declan Hawthorne,” he says, holding out his long-fingered hand.

I ignore the gesture, instead crossing my arms over my chest. “You already know my name.”

“Might I come in?” He raises a reddish brow, seemingly unaffected by my lack of manners.

I want to deny his request, but what choice do I have? I swing my arm out, gesturing him inside, then turn my back to him and plop down on the couch.

“Interesting residence.” His gaze roves over the room, taking in the cracked linoleum, stained carpet, and shabby furniture. The place isn’t much, but it’s mine and I hate the way he studies all the flaws as if they reflect on my worth as a person.

“Why don’t you drop the pleasantries and tell me exactly what you want,” I say in a flat voice.

Declan makes his way over to the arm chair and sits, perching on the edge of the seat with perfect posture. He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a cell phone, then unlocks it and pulls up a photo before turning the screen toward me. “Is this what you were sent to steal?”

I glance at the picture. That’s definitely the necklace I was sent for, but I keep my mouth shut. I’m not dumb enough to simply admit to being a thief.

“I don’t care about your reasons for being at my grandfather’s house or what you’ve done in the past,” says Declan. “If I wanted to have you arrested for theft, I could have already done so. You have my word that anything you might admit to regarding your criminal activities in this conversation will stay between us.” He pauses to look me up and down, taking in my pointed ears, dyed hair, and threadbare pajamas. “I’m sure even someone of your…muddied heritage knows the word of a full-blooded fae is unbreakable.”

Of course I know that, though my heritage is much less muddied than he thinks. People only see what they want to see, especially arrogant fae jerks who think they know everything.

“Yes, the necklace is what I was there for,” I say finally. When I don’t continue, his mouth tightens with irritation.

“I assume since the safe was empty and the item was not found within your personal effects that you were unsuccessful in your task?”

“I didn’t take the necklace, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Who hired you?”

“I don’t know,” I reply. “I don’t work with clients directly. A friend referred the job to me.”

“This friend—”

“No.” I hold up a hand. “I’m not giving you any more information until you tell me what this is all about. Why are you here?”

“I need to get that necklace back. It’s important.” His shoulders slump and he kind of deflates as his voice goes softer, his expression bleak. “And I would very much like to find out who murdered my grandfather. Detective Jamison indicated you said you’d help if you could.”

Damn me and my big mouth. “I don’t see how—”

“If you assist me, I’ll pay you twice what you would have received if you had stolen the necklace in the first place,” he says quickly.

“That’s—”

“Three times as much.”

“Two hundred thousand now as a nonrefundable deposit, another two hundred thousand if the necklace is returned to you,” says Finn from the doorway of his bedroom.

I fight the urge to face palm. Didn’t I tell him to stay out of sight?

“Agreed,” says Declan, his full-blooded fae heritage locking him into the deal before I can say anything. This idiot has no sense of self-preservation. That’s the second binding promise he’s made since he walked in the door.

But he’s not my responsibility.

Finn is, though, and the fact that he just bargained for nearly ten times my normal rate is lost to the horror that he revealed himself. He’s staying far enough inside his bedroom to keep his face mostly hidden in shadow, but I still want to strangle him. Declan is looking down at his phone for the moment—setting up a bank transfer maybe?—but the second he actually looks closely at Finn…

Declan glances up, his gaze moving to Finn. “Where should I have the money deposited?”

Finn steps farther back into his room, then rattles off a string of numbers, I’m assuming whatever bank account he squirrels away our money in since he handles all that stuff.

I jump to my feet. “Excuse me. I need to speak to my…associate.”

Declan waves me off dismissively, his attention fixed on his phone screen. I walk to Finn and shove him backward into his room, slamming the door behind us.

“What in the hells are you thinking?” I grate out between clenched teeth as I poke Finn in the chest with my finger.

“Mostly that we need the money, but there was also something else,” he says, as he grabs my hand and pulls me over to his desk. He slides into his chair and starts typing at the keyboard, pulling a few different windows up on his multiple screens. “Once I heard how he found you, I hacked into the police database to wipe our address. Since I was already in there, I thought I’d take a closer look at the report, see if I could figure out what’s so important about this necklace.”

“And…?”

“And I have no idea,” he says. “There’s an inventory of loose gems that are missing, but the necklace isn’t mentioned in the report at all. Which means Red out there didn’t tell the cops about it. Either he doesn’t want anyone to know about the necklace or he doesn’t want anyone to know it’s gone. Whatever his reasons, he’s clearly motivated to get it back, enough to not even question the price I threw out there.”

“What happened to not taking any more jobs involving the fae?”

Finn smiles. “He also agreed the initial deposit is nonrefundable. We take the money, you poke around a little like you’re looking for the necklace and then tell him you can’t find it. Two hundred thousand is enough to get us set up somewhere else. If we choose somewhere cheap and small… it could last us a few years.”

“It’s a solid idea,” I say. “But there are lots of things that can go wrong. I’d be spending at minimum a few hours with a full-blooded fae. What if—”

“That was fast,” says Finn, pointing at one of the screens which displays a pretty hefty bank balance.

I stare at the number. Finn’s right that the money could set us up for a while, get us out of the city, maybe get us a small house somewhere in the country. The amount is nothing to the guy sitting in my living room, his quick agreement and the way he didn’t even try to bargain it down is proof of that. Taking his money doesn’t make me feel guilty exactly, but I’m worried it will invite more scrutiny than I’m comfortable with and that’s not something either Finn or I can afford.

“I'll download a copy of the police report.” He switches to a different monitor and pulls up another window. “That way you have the…” His voice trails off and the color drains from his face.

“Finn?” I glance to the screen where he has one of the crime scene photos pulled up: a close up of the symbol on Hawthorne’s forehead. “What is it?”

Finn taps two shaky fingers against the left side of his neck. His voice goes hoarse. “Blood magic. For control.”

I lean closer to the screen for a better look and horror washes over me as it finally dawns on me why that symbol looked familiar. There was one just like it carved into the metal of the collar Finn wore.

The symbol is ancient magic very few have the knowledge to wield. It’s not native to either the human realm or the fae realm, but because the practice is based in the power of blood it can be used anywhere if someone takes the time required to learn how.

The execution in this case was crude, which is probably why I didn’t immediately recognize it. I’m not sure exactly what effect the fact that the killer cut the symbol directly into Hawthorne’s flesh might have, but I vividly remember how simply wearing a collar with that symbol stripped Finn of all his free will.

At least I know how the killer got past the wards now. They used Hawthorne like a puppet.

Finn’s whole body is shaking and he’s hunched over with his arms wrapped around his stomach. I turn the monitor with the picture off, then kneel down in front of him.

“We can turn down the job, give the money back. I didn’t agree to anything. We don’t—”

“No,” says Finn sharply, eyes hard as his gaze comes up to meet mine. “Whatever that necklace is, it has to be important. I don’t want it in the hands of someone who…” His gaze darts to the black screen and his voice drops lower. “I don’t want to let someone who uses that kind of magic have what they want. The odds are they aren’t planning anything good.”

“So, I help the jerk out in the living room get the necklace back and then what? How do we know the thing is any better off in his hands?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ll look into it, see if I can figure out what the necklace is and then we’ll decide from there.”

“If I agree to do this, then there’s no going back and the fae’s already said he has no qualms with turning me into the cops.”

“I know,” says Finn. “But I think it’s the right choice.”

I sigh. “Fine. I’ll do it, but you cannot put yourself at risk like that again. My heart about stopped when you popped out of your room.”

“He didn’t see me,” he replies, waving his hand dismissively.

“Yeah, well, let’s keep it that way,” I say.

Finn only nods in response. I point at his chair in a ‘stay here’ gesture, then make my way out to the living room to deal with our guest.

Declan glances up at me, brows raised, as I shut Finn’s bedroom door. “Everything get worked out or were you planning to try for a higher rate?”

I roll my eyes. “No, what you agreed to was fine.”

He frowns, going silent, and a more cautious light enters his eyes.

“You really should know better than to bargain with people who know the rules.” Shooting him a saccharine smile, I add, “Even if you think I have ‘muddied’ heritage.”

His expression deepens into a scowl. “I will keep that in mind for our future encounters.”

“Good. See that you do,” I say. “Now, I’ll take the retrieval job but I have some conditions.”

“Which are…”

“One, you don’t mention my associate to anyone. To people outside of this apartment, he doesn’t exist.”

His brows pull together. “May I ask—”

“You may not.”

He narrows his eyes. “I will not mention the individual you refer to as your associate to anyone who is not currently inside this apartment.”

Well, I can’t say the guy isn’t a quick learner. He’s already being more careful with his words around me.

“Two, you will not give any information to the police about any crimes I’ve committed in the past or the future.”

He thinks that over for a second, then nods. “I agree.”

I force myself to relax. “Three, you will not discuss any information you learn about me, my past, or my family with anyone.”

Declan cocks his head to the side as his dark green eyes study my face. I swallow, waiting. If he’s going to balk, this is where it will happen. That’s a pretty broad condition, but I cannot take the job if he won’t agree to it. That would be asking for way too much trouble.

Finally, he says, “I agree to not reveal any information I learn about you, your past, or your family during the course of this investigation to anyone who is not currently inside this apartment.” I open my mouth, but he continues, “You do not want me so bound by promises I cannot even tell your so-called ‘associate’ if something were to happen.”

He has a point. “Okay. That’s acceptable.”

He holds out his hand. This time I take it.

“It’s a deal, then,” he says.

“Yeah.” Unfortunately.

After taking Declan’s contact information and promising I’ll be in touch, I crawl back into my bed. There aren’t many leads for me to follow, so my first order of business will be going to Xander and finding out who contacted him to hire me and he’s enough of a pain in my ass without adding in sleep deprivation.

Five

I end up sleeping until almost noon, then lazing around the rest of the day before reluctantly dragging myself into the shower around eight. Finn dislikes the idea of me going to Club XS almost as much as I do, but Xander isn’t answering his phone so talking to him in person is the only way to get any answers.

And looking the part is the only way to get through the doors.

“I don’t think you should go by yourself,” says Finn. “The last time you went in there alone, one of those creepy fae groupies tried to drug your drink.”

“I’m not going there to hang out,” I reply as I adjust my boobs in my black corset style top, then brush my hands over my skintight black pants. “Just for information.”

Finn doesn’t reply, glowering at me from my bedroom doorway as I continue getting ready.

“Besides…” I say, releasing the clip at the crown of my head and letting my hair fall loosely around my shoulders. Leaning closer to the mirror, I study the top of my part. Silver roots are starting to peek through which means the dye will need to be redone this week. I turn toward Finn, then gesture at my face. “The hair hides my ears well enough and plenty of wannabes have fae-mimicking contacts. I’ll be fine.”

There’s a ping from my wards followed closely by a knock at the apartment door. I glance at Finn, my brows drawing together. He shrugs.

“Stay here,” I whisper, shoving him backward into my bedroom, then shutting him inside before edging toward the front door. “Who is it?”

“I’m here for my update.” Declan. What the hells?

“There is no update,” I say. “I was just about to go check in with the friend who sent me the job. I told you I’d be in touch—”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No. This isn’t a team effort,” I reply. “You hired me to retrieve—”

“Assist,” he says pointedly. “I bargained for your assistance in retrieving the necklace. How are you to assist me if you are not with me?” He pauses and I picture a smug smile curling at his full lips to go along with his tone. “As you’ve previously pointed out, it is important to know the rules of bargaining with the fae.”

I blink at the door. My mouth dropping open. The nerve of this asshole…

“Fine,” I snap, yanking my wards open to allow him entry. “But you can’t dress like some pampered fae business man where we’re going. You’ll need to fit in.”

“I think you’ll find I’m quite capable of fitting into a variety of…” His voice trails off as the door swings open, revealing me leaning against the frame. Those moss green eyes trail down my body, taking in my black-on-black outfit that wouldn’t be entirely out of place in a BDSM dungeon and is similar to what everyone at XS will be wearing.

Contrary to popular belief, incubi don’t need to have sex to feed, but they do draw their magic from and feed off desire, something the atmosphere in Xander’s club generates in excess—hence, the club’s name. Along with the pounding music and the generous drink pours, a combination of tight clothes and lots of skin is the norm.

And Declan, unsurprisingly, is still wearing the suit from earlier.

I raise my brows, the corners of my mouth twitching with amusement.

His gaze passes over me again in a way that could almost be considered appreciative if that tiny flicker of lust is anything to go by. He clears his throat as he meets my eyes. “Maybe your associate has something I can borrow?”

“That’s not—”

“Sure,” says Finn, popping his head out of my room, then scurrying over to his own. “I might be able to find something that can fit you.”

My hands curl into fists at my side and I breathe loudly through my nose, trying to suppress my sudden desire to murder the eavesdropping teen. I’m pretty sure rebelling is one of the stages of adolescence, but this new habit of ignoring everything I say has got to stop.

Finn isolates himself here in the apartment, so his experience with the outside world in the past six years since leaving the fae realm is slim to none. He doesn’t truly understand the dangers of trusting people even in the human realm—especially the fae who live here. Sure, he gets the concept, but not the reality of it. He’s so unused to interactions that don’t happen through a computer screen and so assured about his safety in his own home, that he’s practically asking to get himself killed or locked up.

Declan steps forward and I instinctively step back, allowing the fae into my apartment for the second time today. Then, also for the second time today, I leave Declan standing in my living room and storm into Finn’s room, slamming the door behind me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I hiss out.

“I don’t want you going alone,” he says, gesturing toward the living room. “You’ve got him locked down with all your conditions and he can openly use magic. You might as well make use of him.”

“Those conditions can’t cover every eventuality and fae are masters at finding loopholes in wording. Did you not notice that he just did that?”

Finn shrugs. “Too late now.”

“Too late…” I blow out a breath, then drag my hand over my face. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll go out there and make sure the fae you invited into our house isn’t snooping into anything he shouldn’t while you find something for him to wear. Make it quick.”

I storm out of Finn’s room and back into the living room. Declan hasn’t moved. He’s standing in the center of the room with his hands clasped together behind his back. He dips his chin, acknowledging my return and there’s a hint of regret in his expression.

“I apologize for barging in,” he says.

I shoot him a disbelieving look.

He shrugs, releasing his hands. “I don’t know what else you want me to say. To you, this case is only money. To me…it’s much more. How can I be assured you’re doing all you can if I don’t accompany you and see for myself? Besides, I can probably be of some help. There are things I might notice that you wouldn’t and as a full-blooded fae my magic is exponentially stronger than yours.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Typical fae thinking he’s so much better than everyone else and that I should be begging him to help me. “I work alone.”

“Not this time,” he says.

My nostrils flare, but before I have a chance to respond, Finn darts out of his room, some black skinny jeans and a pair of worn combat boots in his hands.

“This is the best I could do,” he says as he hands the items to Declan.

Declan takes the offered clothing, then pauses. He cocks his head to the side, studying Finn with narrowed eyes.

Oh crap.

Declan blinks, then his mouth drops open.

“Dragon,” he whispers with something close to awe.

Finn freezes in place, his eyes going wide. I’m not entirely sure what tipped Declan off, but there’s no denying Finn’s secret now. Scales ripple over his skin, disappearing almost as quickly as they appeared, and the teen takes a step backward. I dash to the kitchen, grab a chef’s knife from the block, then slide between Declan and Finn.

The guys are about even in height, both towering over me by at least six inches, but Finn has the lanky limbs of a teenager who hasn’t finished growing and Declan is broader and likely stronger. I take a step forward, forcing Declan to back up, then press the tip of the knife into his stomach. Not actually cutting him, but hard enough that he can feel the blade. He finally drags his attention away from Finn and to the threat in front of him—me.

“If you breathe a word about him to anyone, you won’t have to worry about the pain of being forsworn. I will gut you without a second thought.” There’s no mistaking the truth in my words.

Declan’s throat bobs as he swallows. “How…?”

“Finn, go to your room.” I glance over my shoulder at the teen as he backs away slowly, retreating into the shadows of his room before shutting the door. At least he listens when it really counts. Thank the fates he has some sense of self-preservation.

“I thought they were all gone,” says Declan almost wistfully, staring at the door to Finn’s room.

I’m not sure what he’s talking about, but it doesn’t matter.

“As far as you’re concerned, they are.” I press the tip of the knife a little harder into his abdomen. “I will have your vow that you won’t tell anyone what he is.”

He’s clearly not happy with that idea. “I already agreed to your conditions. That—”

“No,” I snarl. “That’s not enough anymore.”

Promises. Bargains. Deals. Those all come with consequences if broken, generally pain or sickness which are sometimes permanent, but a vow is even stronger magic. A broken vow means death.

Declan lifts his hands up by his shoulder in a placating gesture. “Very well. Finn, was it?”

“You can refer to him as Fintan Grey.” I hate giving the fae even that much of Finn, but it’s not the dragon’s true name and the more specific the vow, the more painful the consequences if it is broken.

His brows rise. “Grey? You can’t be siblings.”

“We’re not,” I snap. “But that’s the name he goes by.”

“Very well, I vow to tell no one about the existence or species of Fintan Grey.” He pauses. “Absent the direct and unequivocal approval of Arielle Grey.” He flashes me a tight smile. “You never know what might come up. Like I said this morning, I don’t want to end up in a situation where I can’t say something that might prevent someone from being injured or killed.”

I don’t like the improvisation, but I don’t disagree with his point either. “I accept your vow and you are hereby bound to it until your death or mine.”

If Declan is surprised I know the wording for the formal acceptance, he doesn’t show it. Magic crackles between us as the vow locks into place.

“Satisfied?” he asks.

Not really, but there’s not much else I can do about it at this point. I nod, then point to the bathroom door. “You can change in there.”

Declan disappears into the bathroom as I collapse backward onto the couch and try to calm my racing heart and tense muscles. I’ve known Declan less than a day and he already knows one of my biggest secrets, what will I do if he finds out everything?

A couple minutes later, Declan exits the bathroom. The boots hide the fact the pants are probably a little short for him, but the pants are tight enough that if he had anything on under that suit, it’s gone now. He releases the top two buttons of his now untucked dress shirt, then rolls up the sleeves to his elbows, revealing muscled forearms with a smattering of pale freckles. Holding his hands out to his sides, he does a slow turn.

“Will this work?” he asks.

“Maybe.” I stand, then walk over to him. “You still look a little too…neat.”

“Neat?” He raises an eyebrow.

Without any input from my brain, my hand reaches toward his hair, ruffling the dark red strands so the pieces of the longer part on top fall over his forehead instead of being slicked back with some sort of styling product. Declan submits to my ministrations without comment, but the fact that I’m touching him finally dawns on me and my cheeks start to burn. I snatch my hand away.

“So, uh, yeah.” I clear my throat, avoiding his eyes. “That’s better.” I dart a glance at his face. “Maybe add some eyeliner or something to complete the look.”

“I’m afraid I don’t carry makeup with me,” he says dryly.

“Sorry,” I say, though I'm not quite sure what I’m apologizing for. “I have some in the bathroom you can use.”

He gestures for me to lead the way and the two of us file in to the small space. I grab a thick kohl pencil from my makeup bag under the sink and motion for Declan to lean down so I can reach his face. He’s close enough that the scent of brisk autumn air laced with leaves and cedar fills my nostrils.

I freeze for a second, trying to push through the awkwardness of not only the situation, but the position as well. Putting makeup on someone else is embarrassingly intimate. The edge of my hand rests against his cheek and my face is only a few inches from his, our breaths mingling between us. Besides Finn, I can’t remember the last time I was this close to someone else.

I manage to get Declan’s eyes lined, pressing my lips tightly together throughout the process to keep any more idiocy from escaping my mouth, then lean back to study my handiwork. The dark liner makes the deep green of his eyes pop and with this last detail he’s got a kind of emo-rocker look going on. Not perfect, but he should be able to blend in well enough to get through the doors.

I drop the pencil onto the counter, then make a shooing motion toward the living room.

Declan grabs my wrist, studying me like he studied Finn, his gaze catching on the top of my head. “Jamison indicated you were solitary, but what Court does the fae portion of your blood come from?”

I’m not sure why he’s asking this now, but there’s no use trying to get around telling him. If we spend any length of time together, he’s bound to figure it out.

“Winter,” I reply.

He drops my hand like it burned him, a not entirely unexpected reaction. “Who—”

“You aren’t paying me enough for me to tell my secrets,” I snap. “Now, let’s go and get this over with. You probably want to spend time with me about as much as I want to spend it with you.”

Six

The rideshare driver drops us off on the corner across the street from the entrance to XS a little after ten. Even this early in the evening—well, early for clubgoers anyway—the line stretches halfway around the block and almost all the way to the River Walk. At least fifty percent of those people will never make it inside, though, since about that many are one hundred percent human. Too many humans can make for an unruly crowd, especially when a good bit of them are what Finn refers to as fae groupies, humans who idolize magic and the fae a little too much.

Declan eyes the line, his gaze sweeping to where it disappears around the corner. “And you’re sure this is the most effective use of our time?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” I flash him a confident grin, then waltz up toward the front of the line.

My last trip to XS was almost a year ago—the night of the drugging attempt Finn mentioned—and I don’t recognize the two guys working the door. They both have dark, close-cropped hair and that bulky ‘bouncer’ body type. It would have made things easier to have someone who already knows me at the door, but I’ll have to work with what I’ve got.

“Hey guys,” I say breathily as I tuck my hair behind one ear to reveal the pointed tip and look up at them from under my lashes.

The one on the right scowls at me, completely unaffected. “We’re at capacity.”

I laugh, leaning forward a little and placing a hand on his arm. “Are you sure you can’t make an exception, big guy? How about—”

“Back of the line,” says the one on the left in a bored voice.

This clearly isn’t working. My flirting skills appear to be a little rusty. I drop my voice to a more normal pitch. “I just need to speak to Xander. He’s a personal friend of mine. Is he in tonight?”

The first guy rolls his eyes. “Everyone wants to ‘speak’ to Xander. That’s why we’re here.”

“It’s not like that,” I say. Been there, done that. “My name is Ari. If you could just have someone let Xander know I’m here…”

“No can do,” says the second guy as he waves a group of three people through the door. “If we did that for every person who said they just wanted to talk to Xander, we’d be doing nothing else all night.”

Declan steps up beside me, sliding an arm around my waist and tugging me to his side so that we’re glued together from shoulder to hip. A shiver goes down my spine and there’s a flare of heat in my stomach as the bare skin of his arm brushes against mine and the sharp smell of cedar fills my nose. I move to pull away, but his fingers wrap around my hip, holding me in place.

He flashes his teeth in a wide smile and angles his head so his pointed ears are fully visible. “What my girlfriend here isn’t mentioning is that it’s our anniversary. Xander’s a friend of a friend and we were hoping for a little…well, you know.”

Heat fills my cheeks at the implication and not entirely from embarrassment. Incubi magic is based in sex and desire. The charms Xander can create are rather potent—as I know from personal experience—and they’re highly sought among the fae elite. Xander’s been known to share such charms with friends in high places in return for favors…of all sorts.

The bouncer on the left smirks, his gaze drifting down to my cleavage, then gives Declan a flat look. “That’s all well and good but it’s still not happening.”

Declan reaches forward with the arm not wrapped around my waist with what looks like a few hundred-dollar bills folded between his fingers. “It would really make our night if you could let us in.”

The guy glances at the bills, then at the other bouncer, who shrugs. Finally, he nods, then deftly snags the bills from Declan’s hand as the second guy opens the door for us and gestures for us to enter.

“Have a good night,” one of them calls out after us.

Inside, a haze of fog—either machine or spell generated, I’m not sure which—fills the narrow passage of the entryway. A mirror covers the wall to our left making the space seem bigger than it is. The bass line of the music vibrates the floor under our feet as we effortlessly cross through the ward strung across the entryway that helps block the sound from reaching the outside and doubles as security against people with violence on their minds.

Before we get too far into the main part of the club, I tug Declan off to the side and over to the nearest wall.

“What the in hells was that?” I ask, leaning close enough for him to speak directly into his ear so he can hear me over the music.

“Got us inside, didn’t it?” He raises a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “And it didn’t appear as if my touch was that detestable to you.”

No, it wasn’t. But I’ll be damned if I admit that.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not taking about your little touchy-feely act. I meant the whole thing about the anniversary. How did you know—”

“Everyone knows about XS and its incubus owner,” he says in a droll voice. “I know a few people who have used his…services. If you’d told me Xander Sullivan was your contact, we could have avoided this whole outing and met him at a friend’s place.”

My eyes nearly bug out of my head. I knew on some level this guy was loaded—his grandfather’s house attests to that—but to be in the inner circle of someone who can afford for Xander to make a house call? That’s…billionaire-level rich.

“Fine. Whatever.” I turn around, looking out toward the dance floor where people are packed together with only millimeters of space between them. “Xander didn’t answer the phone in his office earlier, so he’s probably in the VIP area and we’ll need to get an employee to grant us access. Stay with me,” I say to Declan over my shoulder, then begin to work my way through the crowd.

Making a path through this mess is definitely a process. I’m not big enough to be intimidating and this isn’t a situation where magic would be useful, so I’m mostly left darting into openings in the mass of bodies one after another like a real-life version of Frogger complete with weird electronic music in the background.

Eventually, I make it to the bar, but don’t have much luck in getting the bartender’s attention. Patrons are lined up three deep along the entire thing, all of them clamoring for service. Someone jostles me as they turn away from the bar, splashing their drink on me.

“Crap.” Sometimes being on the short side sucks. I grab for a napkin and wipe at the cold, sticky liquid dripping down my arm.

Declan slides up behind me, pressing his body against my back and caging me against the bar with his arms as well as protecting me from any other wayward elbows or flying drinks. The crisp scent of autumn’s colder days and falling leaves tickles at my nose and I fight the urge to lean back against him. It’s been a long damn time since I’ve been wrapped in someone’s arms. Finn wasn’t wrong about my last trip here and how badly it went, but he also doesn’t know the whole story.

I knew the guy trying to pick me up was a grade-A loser even before I caught him trying to slip something into my drink to incapacitate me. But at that point I was so lonely it didn’t matter. If the asshole hadn’t tried to drug me, I probably would have gone home with him for the night.

My sense of self-preservation has improved since then, thankfully, so I manage to lean forward enough to put a polite distance between myself and Declan. Getting involved with the red-haired fae would be worse than going home with that human.

The life I live and the secrets I have to hide are not conducive to relationships of any kind but the one-night variety—sometimes not even then. I can’t let loneliness be an excuse for letting my guard down, no matter how hot Declan might be.

Declan motions for the bartender with one hand, another hundred-dollar bill folded between his fingers—at least he’s bankrolling the bribes tonight, something I wouldn’t have been able to afford—and waits for her to walk over.

The bartender gives Declan a big, welcoming grin that carries a hint of flirtatiousness. “What can I get you, Red?”

Declan’s behind me, so I can’t see the expression he makes, but it must be a doozy because the woman’s eyes darken with lust.

“I’d like a scotch, neat.” He leans forward, his chest against my back pushing me closer to the bar as he passes the bill to the bartender. “And whatever else we need to get us upstairs.”

“Of course.” The bartender slides away with Declan’s money, then returns a few minutes later with a glass of amber liquid. “Enjoy. Brenden will be down in a few minutes to take you to the VIP area, Mr. Hawthorne.”

Declan releases me and cocks his head to the side as she walks away, his brow furrowed in confusion. “How did she know my name?”

“Once you get past the entry ward, Xander has cameras galore down here that are just far enough from the entrance to work,” I explain. “As soon as you made the request to go upstairs, someone would have been tasked with identifying and vetting you. If you’d been found lacking, we wouldn’t have gotten an invitation.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m just arm candy to them. They don’t care about me. You’re the one flashing money around and asking to go up to the VIP area.” I chuckle. “Xander is going to hit the roof when he figures out none of his security people checked me.”

Declan and I lapse into silence—well, as much as a noise-filled club can be silent—and, true to the bartender’s word, another club employee finds us a minute later. He motions for us to follow him, leading us to the back corner, then unlocking the door there. The employee takes us up a set of narrow stairs that leads to a long hallway opening into a large room at the end.

The room is loft-style, overlooking the dance floor, but there’s an illusion spell woven along edge so the room isn’t visible from below and a very basic ward preventing most of the noise from downstairs from reaching the upper level.

Xander is sitting at a low table on a raised area at the far end of the room. The incubus is somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties—it’s hard to tell with incubi—and, like all his kind, utterly gorgeous. He has tawny skin, dark brown hair that falls in loose, tousled curls around his cherubic face, and eyes the color of cinnamon that glint with humor. Instead of chairs, there are pillows behind the table and Xander is lounging on one, leaning against the wall with his arms out to either side as a person half on his lap nuzzles at Xander’s neck.

Xander’s gaze catches on me and he taps his guest’s thigh. As the person pulls away, I get a better look. He’s fae, if not full-blooded then damn close, with delicate features and long, white hair that marks him as Winter Court. That alone is odd, but it’s the fae’s eyes that actually make my stomach drop. Winter Court fae typically have eyes in varying shades of silver and gray and, rarely, pine green or red like winter berries. But this fae? His eyes are pure white with no pupil at all—at least no visible one.

A seer. Not a gift I would wish on my worst enemy. And not one I like the idea of being around either. A seer’s powers are limited to a degree. The visions they get can be garbled and open to interpretation, but they’re never wrong and it’s not just the future they can see.

The last time I encountered a seer… I shudder and push the memory away. Seers don’t know everything and they can’t follow every possibility, but with enough time and contact, no secret is safe from one of them. I have no idea how Xander of all people is comfortable having someone like that close to him.

“Ari,” says Xander, smiling at me as he runs his fingers through the silvery white strands of the fae seer’s hair. “Good to see you. I’d say I’m surprised but…” He smirks, then rubs a thumb gently over the seer’s cheek.

“Then you know what I’m here for.”

“Yes, but I can’t help you,” he says. “Once Simon let me know you’d be coming and what information you’d be looking for, I tried to contact the client, but the number is no longer any good.”

I glance around the room. There are too many people here for the conversation I want to have. “Is there someplace more private we could talk?”

Xander nods. He leans down to whisper something I can’t hear in Simon’s ear, then release him. “Let’s go to my office.”

Xander rises and I follow him to the edge of the room. Declan’s gaze strays to Simon, still sitting at the table, blank eyes fixed on nothing. The fae does look surprisingly vulnerable like that, alone and blind to the real world around him.

“He’ll be perfectly safe,” says Xander. “There is very little he doesn’t see coming and my people know to protect him at all costs should it come to that.”

Declan nods in agreement. “Seers are rare. I worry that it’s a dying gift.”

Xander’s eyes flash with irritation. “Simon is more than his gift. That is not why I protect him.” His gaze darts to me and my brows rise. “People are worth more than their power.”

The three of us are silent as Xander leads us down the stairs and to his office. He looks to me after shutting the door and I start working on a ward to prevent eavesdropping. I’m sure the office already has a couple—maybe leftover ones of mine—but there are some things I just don’t trust to anything but my own freshly woven wards.

I dip my chin, letting Xander know the ward is complete, then say, “Just give me whatever information you can on the client. Finn can track almost anyone.”

Xander’s eyes widen and he glances toward Declan, the question obvious: How much do I trust this guy?

“He’s under a vow,” I say. “You can talk freely.”

“You—”

“About Finn,” I add quickly. Xander knows more of my secrets than I’d like and I don’t want Declan having any more information about me than he already does.

Xander nods in understanding. He walks over to his desk, opening the top drawer and pulling out a pale blue business card, then sliding it across to me. “This is the contact card Mr. Smith’s ‘employee’ gave me.”

“Smith?”

“An obvious alias, but, as you know, those are common in this business.”

I glare at Xander for a second, before picking up the card. All it lists is a name—John Smith—and a phone number, probably a burner cell since Xander said the number has already been disconnected. “Any video footage?”

“Of course, but only of the underling.”

Great. Not much to go on then. “Please go ahead and send it to Finn. Do you know how to send something to his secure fileshare service?”

Xander’s brows pull together. “Of course. I sent him something just a few days ago.”

My gaze swings to him. “You did? What?”

He averts his eyes, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “I think you might need to ask Finn about that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I stalk forward, narrowing my eyes at Xander. “You’d better not be messing with him. He’s—”

“Been doing some research for me,” says Xander, holding his hands up by his shoulders. “But that’s all I’m going to say. If he’s kept it from you, that’s between the two of you.”

My hands curl into fists and my nostrils flare. How dare Xander make it sound like Finn’s keeping secrets. He’s not. He can’t be. He’s… sixteen. My shoulders slump. I guess that’s now become too old to share everything with me.

And the kid’s gotten damned good at lying since I could have sworn he hated Xander barely a week ago.

“Fine,” I snap. “Thanks for your help.” I storm out of Xander’s office, leaving Declan behind. Xander says something, but I tune out his voice and continue on down the hallway. Declan can catch up later.

I’m almost to the door leading to the main part of the club when a set of long, pale fingers curls around my arm and pulls me off to the side. Simon’s hold is light, but his face is set with determination.

Isn't’ this just great? The last thing I need right now is some sort of stupid prophecy, but it looks like I’m going to get one anyway.

“I’ve seen you,” he says, his voice soft and melodic. “In many places, with many faces, but there is a path ahead of you on which you cannot wear a disguise, not even from yourself. Fear is the only cage you ever truly need to worry about. Old vows are broken when a new monarch rises and there will be a time when the only way forward is to give in. Keep Autumn close for when Winter arrives.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” For nothing.

“It was nice meeting you.” Simon smile serenely, then walks slowly in the direction of Xander’s office, his fingers trailing along the wall to guide them. “Please take care out there. I’ll let Xander know he should retrieve his crossbow.”

“His crossbow? For what?”

No response. Crazy seer.

And then, from the other side of the door in the main part of the club, comes the sound of people screaming.

Seven

I shove my way through the door at the end of the hallway, the sound of screams tripling in volume as I stumble out to the main area of the club and directly into a stampede of panicking patrons. The mass of people is shoving and pushing their way toward the rear of the club and I’m caught in the crush of bodies. It will be impossible for me to go against the flow of the crowd, but if I can get to the side where I’m out of the way I can—

Someone slams into my back, shoving me forward, and my chest crashes into the wall, the collision knocking the air from my lungs. I cross my arms, then use my elbows to try to push myself backward and give my lungs space to expand.

For a couple seconds, I gain a few scant inches of breathing room, but then another person crashes into my side, sending me off balance. I start pulling a spell together on instinct, something, anything, that will keep me from being trampled if I go down. But my attention is too scattered and the spell falls apart before it can fully form.

A pair of strong hands grabs my upper arms, tugging me forward until I’m face first against someone’s solid chest with my head tucked under their chin. The now familiar smell of leaves laced with cedar washes over me. Declan.

For at least the third time this evening, the Autumn fae has saved the day. I get the feeling he’s going to be utterly insufferable after this once he realizes how screwed I would’ve been without him tonight. The handsome redhead definitely seems like an ‘I told you so’ type of person.

Declan wraps his arms around my head and starts pushing his way sideways through the crowd like he’s fighting a rip current. Which I suppose he is in a way. Once we’re out of the press of bodies, he pulls me behind the bar, then releases me and crouches down. I follow suit.

“What the hells is going on?” My breaths are fast and heavy, the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped in the crowd still ramping up my nerves.

Declan’s hair is all over the place, the dark red strands sticking up in multiple directions, and his white dress shirt is torn at one of the shoulder seams. The disheveled look kind of works for him though. “I’m not entirely sure,” he says. “You were the first thing I saw once I was through the door. I didn’t pay attention to much else.”

Oh. I ignore the warm feeling his words create in my chest and avert my gaze.

He rises into a crouch then pushes upward so he can see to the other side of the bar. His eyes widen and he jerks his head toward me, indicating for me to take a look. I lift up and peek over the edge of counter, scanning the dance floor as the tail-end of the stampede disappears through the emergency exit to our right.

It doesn’t take me long to locate the catalyst for the crowd’s panic.

A troll stands by the front entrance, bellowing with rage as he bangs on the club’s entry ward with a meaty, green fist. He’s the color of pond scum and even from across the room I can tell he doesn’t smell much better. Two tusks jut out from his lower jaw and every time he opens his mouth to bellow, he reveals a set of yellow-brown pointed teeth with fates knows what stuck between them.

But as generally gross as trolls are, they aren’t known to be violent. Yes, they’re omnivorous, but they don’t eat people and hunting and killing food is not the same thing as violence for its own sake. The large, slow-moving creatures might look intimidating, wide and bulky with muscle from digging out underground tunnels, but they don’t like loud noises and can be easily startled. They also have an IQ level that falls somewhere barely above rocks.

So, the fact that this troll is at a noisy club—in the human realm no less, someplace trolls simply don’t go—looking like he’s on some kind of rampage is way out of character.

“That ward isn’t going to hold forever,” says Declan, interrupting my thoughts.

“Nope,” I say. “Definitely not.”

He bites at his lower lip and his brows pull together. “How’s your spellcasting?”

“Not half as good as my wardwork,” I say. “Spells have never been one of my strengths.”

Declan’s lips press into a thin line as he pulls his gaze from the raging troll and scans the club. There are a few stragglers hiding behind tables, but almost everyone seems to have made it out. “I think I’m the only full-blooded fae left and probably the only one strong enough to cast a spell to incapacitate it.” He glances at me. “Watch my back while I’m casting?”

“Um, sure,” I say, surprised he’s offering me that much trust, but I guess he did save my ass a couple minutes ago so he probably figures I owe him. “I can do that.”

Declan settles back into a crouching position and closes his eyes. I glance at him briefly, then turn my attention back to the troll.

And the quickly weakening ward.

The music is still playing, the bass line providing an odd counter beat to the thump of the troll’s fist against the ward like some twisted sort of syncopation. My gaze moves to the entrance door that leads back out onto the street. There’s no way it would still be in one piece if the troll had come through there, so how did he even get inside the club?

I suppose that doesn’t really matter right now, though. The troll’s ponding fist is already slowing, the volume of his bellows falling. If he loses interest in getting past the ward, then he only has to turn around and stride outside to find some other target for his strange rage. That would be bad. A rampaging troll could destroy a city block if he wanted to.

I need to make sure the troll stays occupied long enough for Declan to finish his spell.

Squinting, I block out the craziness around me and focus in on the ward. It has features similar to a hospitality ward in a home, but altered for a public space. No one with violent intentions can pass. Well, not unless they shatter the damn thing like the troll’s trying to do. The magic threaded though the ward has grown weak and brittle under the constant attack and it won’t take much more for it to fall.

I dart a glance at Declan, then close my eyes, reaching out to get a deeper study of the ward. Some idiot laid the ward so it goes both ways, meaning if someone developed violent intentions while in the club, they wouldn’t be able to pass through the ward to leave. Dumb, but useful in the current situation.

If we get through this, I’m going to need to have a talk with Xander about who he’s letting do his wardwork.

I don’t know for sure why the troll hasn’t simply walked out the front door, but that likely means whatever he wants, whatever the target of his anger is in the club somewhere. If that’s the case, he’ll bang on the thing all damn night if he has to. But if I’m wrong and he decides to go look for easier prey? I can’t take that chance. I’ll open the ward enough to let the troll through, then close and reinforce it behind him, trapping him inside the club where Declan and I can—hopefully—handle the situation.

I dart another glance Declan’s way. He has a look of intense concentration on his face, his attention focused inward and his lips moving silently as he continues pulling together a spell. Good. That means he’ll pay me no attention. I send my senses toward the ward, tracing the lines of it as quickly as possible looking for something that can create an opening. There. Tugging at the small vulnerability, I tease one seam of the ward apart while keeping a tight hold on the rest.

The troll’s next flying fist meets no resistance and, for a second, the troll pauses, seemingly bewildered. He gets over his confusion quickly though and smashes the rest of the way through the opening I made. When his entire bulk is past, I stitch the ward closed behind him.

Declan jolts and his eyes fly open as the troll stomps closer to the bar. The fae’s brows are still drawn together in concentration.

Crap.

Maybe I acted too soon. I should have given him another few seconds before letting the troll in.

That’s the problem with spells in the human realm. The magic here is weaker, so anything big or particularly useful is slow. Wards are anchored and left in place, so they can be activated whenever you need them, but for the most part spells have to be cast on the spot. There’s no holding one in reserve ready to go and they’re much more complicated than a simple ‘abracadabra’.

“Do you have him?” I ask Declan, resisting the urge to tap in to the club’s other wards to form some sort of defense. “Or do we need to make a run for it?”

Declan holds up one finger, but doesn’t say anything.

The troll stalks closer, walking right by three people crouched behind an overturned table and approaching the bar. He sweeps one beefy arm across the top, creating an avalanche of glassware that shatters against the floor.

Declan jumps to his feet, giving himself a clear line of sight to the troll. He twists his hand through the air, pulling his fingers into a fist, then flinging them outward while releasing a melodic string of syllables. The spell jets toward the troll, wrapping itself around his ankles, then hardening and attaching itself to the floor to hold the troll in place.

Not too bad for something created under pressure.

The troll bellows and tries to yank his legs free, but he has no luck. Declan tosses out a second, much smaller spell that’s like pressing a mute button and the troll’s angry cries go silent as he continues to struggle against the spell imprisoning his legs.

Declan walks out from behind the bar, his head cocked to the side, and slowly approaches the troll. “What exactly is it?”

I blink at him. “You’ve never seen a troll before?”

“I’ve lived most of my life in the human realm. There are many fae creatures I’ve never seen.” His gaze slides to me. “I take it that means you have seen one before?”

“I know enough about them to identify one,” I fudge, walking over to join him. “And that’s a classic troll. Except for the behavior anyway.”

“Interesting.” Declan leans forward.

The troll lunges for Declan and I grab the fae, tugging him backward and out of reach.

Declan lets out a nervous chuckle. “Aggressive thing, isn’t it? Do you know how to get rid of it? I’m assuming we can’t just leave it in the middle of the incubi’s club.”

I ignore the callousness in Declan’s words as I observe the troll. Why is the creature so aggressive? There’s got to be something I’m missing. My body goes cold as the thought niggling at the back of my mind inches toward the forefront and I run my gaze over the troll, hoping I’m wrong.

But I’m not. Carved into the muddy green flesh of the troll’s neck right under his ear is the same symbol that was cut into Eoin Hawthorne’s forehead.

“Do you recognize that?” I ask Declan, pointing at the symbol.

“No. Should I?”

Great. I guess Jamison, who was more than happy to share my address, didn’t share much else about Eoin’s murder. “That symbol was, um, on your grandfather. It’s blood magic.”

“Blood magic?” Declan narrows his eyes at me. “You have enough experience with that kind of blasphemy to know it on sight?”

I purposely misinterpret his question. “I saw the crime scene photos. Finn has a copy of the report at home.”

He raises a brow, clearly not missing my avoidance of his question, but appearing to leave it alone for the moment. “And what does it mean?”

“It means someone is controlling the troll. Like I think they did with your grandfather to get to the necklace.”

Declan gives the troll a look of mild interest. “How did it get here?”

I shrug. “No clue.”

The troll is still grunting and bellowing silently as he frantically tries to get loose from Declan’s spell. There’s no awareness in the creature’s eyes that I can see, but that doesn’t stop my pity for him. Someone’s using him, making him act against his nature and I can’t help but compare his situation to Finn’s past.

It makes me sick.

The spell the Spring Queen used to strip away Finn’s free will took me weeks to break, unraveling it one string at a time, loosening the seams little by little until Finn could fight his own way out of the rest. I could have done it faster, but blood magic is insidious. Unraveling the spell too quickly would have ripped Finn’s mind apart, too slowly and the spell would have grown back before I could get rid of it.

I don’t have the luxury of that kind of time now.

The spell on Finn was used mainly to keep him from escaping, though she occasionally made him entertain her guests at parties. Whatever directive the troll is under has made him volatile and unstable. There’s too much rage for me to break through to him even if I knew how.

“I…I don’t know,” I say finally. “It’s not his fault someone’s using him, but…”

The door leading to the back and the VIP area swings open and Xander walks through, a crossbow slung over his back. His gaze sweeps to me.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says, his voice soft. “There’s no coming back for him.”

“You don’t know that,” I snap.

“I do,” he says firmly, giving me a pointed look.

Simon. Of course. This is what he meant by his crossbow comment earlier. He must’ve seen what was coming.

“Fine.” I swallow.

As if suddenly catching on to my frustration with the situation Declan reaches out and brushes a hand over my arm. “I’m sorry it couldn’t be saved.”

I grit my teeth at the word ‘it’ and bite back a scathing retort. “Let’s go.”

Declan’s brows draw together and he studies me for a moment, before following behind me toward the entrance. He draws to a stop by the ward the troll had been banging on, then reaches a hand out, feeling gently at the edges of the ward. “It didn’t break.”

I shrug and avert my eyes. Taking down the ward is one thing, but the ability to put a ward laid by someone else back up is not an ability I plan to admit to having. “He must have gotten through somehow. Sometimes brute force can get past the simpler wards if they aren’t anchored correctly.”

Which is technically true.

He cocks his head to the side, giving me a searching look, but doesn’t respond.

Behind us comes the twang of a crossbow. I flinch, refusing to look back, and continue walking without pause until I’m out of the club and halfway down the block. I don’t even care what Declan thinks he may have figured out at this point. The only thing I want to do right now is go home and give Finn a great big hug.

And then I want to hunt down whatever bastard is using blood magic to take away free will and let them feel the full force of my rage as I rip them apart.

Eight

My anger and frustration propel me for three blocks before Declan catches up to me at a corner. He reaches out to stop me, taking hold of my bicep, but I yank out of his grasp and step off the curb, narrowly missing getting hit by a car. The driver lays on his horn and I pull my lips back, baring my blunted canines in his direction.

Declan steps forward, placing a hand against my lower back and ushering me to the other side of the street.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he asks, his voice rising with a combination of worry and anger. “What is wrong with you?”

That’s a good question. Right now, everything is. Memories from my time in the fae realm are battering at the walls I locked them behind. The symbol, the situation, and the troll’s fate have all crashed together into my head, calling up a primal fear I thought I’d managed to escape a long time ago. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to simply get away.

Or rip every spell or ward I come across to pieces, consequences be damned.

Declan gently takes hold of my arm again, then turns me to face him, not the brightest idea under these circumstances since my rage is dying for a target. My gaze zeroes in on him. There’s a safety to yelling, to giving into the anger that allows me to push away the memories threatening to overwhelm me.

“Is Finn an ‘it’ to you?” I ask in a cold, quiet voice.

Declan drops his hand, then cocks his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“The troll—the living, thinking being who died back there—you kept calling him an ‘it’. You acted like his death was nothing. Someone stripped that troll of all his free will, took his choices away and made him do something he’d never do and all you saw was a thing.” I stab my finger into Declan’s chest, my eyes burning as the memories begin to overwhelm my senses. “You’re just like all the rest of them. The ones who used him. The ones who hurt him, who stripped away his humanity and treated him like a pet.”

My voice cracks on the last word. Crap. I’ve said too much, given too much away. He has to know I'm not talking about the troll. The fae’s expression shifts into the worst thing possible: pity. He reaches toward my hand, the one now resting against his chest, but I yank away.

“Don’t,” I say, curling my fingers into my palms and taking a deep breath through my nose trying to calm myself down.

He holds his hands up by his shoulders in surrender. “I don’t want to argue with you. This isn’t something—”

“That’s worth the trouble?”

“That I disagree with you on,” he says earnestly, a wrinkle forming between his brows. “I didn’t stop to consider the troll as anything other than a weapon being used against me and I apologize for that.” He pauses, as if carefully considering his next words. “I don’t know what happened to Finn or to you, but I’m not like whoever did it.”

“You’re fae,” I snap back. “So I’ll have to disagree on that point.”

“Not all fae are the same.” He shakes his head. “I admit that most are not always accepting of faelings, but I try to do better than that.”

I scoff under my breath, but don’t say anything.

“I’ve lived most of my life in the human realm,” he continues. “I know more faelings than full-blooded fae. I am not your enemy here.”

“All fae are enemies to me,” I retort. He doesn’t respond, but that look of pity returns.

“I’ll order us a car,” he says after a beat or two of silence, apparently giving up on arguing with me on this point.

Good.

I nod my assent, then lean back against the brick with my arms crossed over my chest.

Ten minutes or so later, a car pulls up to the curb. The driver confirms Declan’s name, then waits as we get into the backseat before pulling out onto the street to head toward my apartment. The ride is mostly silent with nothing but the sound of music playing at low volume as Declan and I stare out opposite windows.

My heart rate gradually returns to normal and I shove my emotions away to allow myself the mental space to think over tonight’s events more objectively. There’s something important I’m missing and I need to figure out what it is.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t notice we’ve arrived until Declan’s out of the car and opening my door. I mutter a ‘thanks’ as I get out of the vehicle, then head into my building. Declan pauses on the sidewalk—likely taking care of the tip and rating—then follows behind me as I trudge up the stairs. Once we reach my floor, he moves ahead of me to open the stairwell door.

I want to refuse his misplaced chivalry, but my lack of sleep and the emotional turmoil of the evening are finally catching up to me, leaving me both physically and mentally exhausted. I’ll pick my battles and Declan opening doors for me isn’t going to be one of them.

We walk the rest of the way down the hallway until we reach my door. Closing my eyes, I quickly create an opening in the wards, then unlock the door and gesture for Declan to precede me inside.

“You’re very skilled with wards,” he says as he passes, glancing at me over his shoulder with a considering look. “Who taught you?”

“Thanks,” I reply, ignoring the question as I follow him inside and head to the couch. He’s gotten enough of my secrets for tonight.

Finn’s bedroom door opens and the teen pokes his head into the living room, a small smile tugging at his lips when he sees me. The happy expression quickly disappears though as Finn takes in my bedraggled appearance.

“What happened?” he asks.

I shake my head. “There was a commotion at the club. People panicked and I almost got trampled.”

Finn narrows his eyes at me, knowing there’s more that I’m not telling him, but he’s not going to get me to spill. The last thing I want to do is tell him about the troll and upset him even more than he was earlier. It’s one thing for him to know a blood mage is involved, but a completely different thing for him to realize one came after me.

“What did you find out?” he asks, after studying me for a few beats.

“Not much.” I sigh. “Xander gave me a name and a phone number for the guy who hired him, but it’s an obvious alias.”

Finn sits down on the arm of the couch near me, holding his hand out expectantly. I dig the business card Xander gave me out of my pocket and hand it to Finn. He reads the sparse information on the front, then flips the card over, running his fingers over the paper.

“Anything else to go on?” he asks.

“Yeah, there’s some video but only of the client’s lackey.”

Finn presses his lips into a thin line, thinking.

“Xander said he’d send it to your file drop,” I say, watching Finn’s face closely. “Is there a reason you didn’t tell me you’ve been doing work for him this week? I thought you hated him.”

Finn looks away, shrugging sheepishly. “I just did a little skip tracing for him, research, nothing big. I wanted to help out and thought that was a way I could earn some money.”

“Finn…”

He glances up at me from under his brow, a scowl on his face. “You do things without telling me all the time.”

I sigh. “You’re right. But you need to be careful. Xander is—”

“I know what I’m doing.” Finn rolls his eyes, then hops to his feet and shoves the card into his back pocket. He brushes his hair out of his face. “I’ll go see what I can find out.”

“Go ahead and do your thing,” I say. “I need to clear up a couple things with Declan anyway.”

Finn raises a brow, but doesn’t comment, heading back to his room. As soon as the door closes, I whip up a quick sound dampening ward and drop it around us so Finn can’t overhear our conversation.

Declan pointedly glances around, raising an eyebrow. “Is there a reason for the secrecy?”

“Yeah,” I say. “You’re going to tell me what’s really going on here.”

He manages a decent attempt at looking confused, but I’m not buying it and a long silence passes between us as I consider him. His gaze darts away from mine and my suspicion rises, that feeling I had on the way here that I’m missing something getting even stronger.

I mentally run over what’s happened so far. After taking everything into account, there’s one fact that sticks out: The blood mage is going to a hells of a lot of trouble over what’s supposed to be a simple piece of jewelry.

“So…” I start. “Do you know what it takes to practice blood magic?”

Declan cocks his head to the side. “No. Does it matter? We need to—”

“Well, besides a complete lack of integrity and morals, since the magic doesn’t come naturally to fae or to humans, for someone to become a blood mage it takes years of work,” I say, ignoring whatever change of subject he was about to make. “It’s not something you’d pick up on a whim and the person who killed your grandfather and controlled that troll is no amateur. Blood magic takes a lot of power, a lot of skill, and a lot of risk.”

The corner of Declan’s mouth twitches into a small frown. “Do you have a point in telling me this?”

“Blood magic is difficult, rare, and dangerous.” I tilt my head to the side, studying him as the silence draws out. He meets my gaze briefly, then looks away. “So, why go through all that trouble for a single necklace?”

Declan blinks, his face a mask of innocent bemusement that he’s not pulling off. At all.

“It’s a family heirloom,” he says.

“Yeah, I got that,” I say. “But what else is it?”

Declan presses his lips together and averts his gaze, refusing to answer, but every second he’s silent just makes me all the more convinced I’m on the right track. There’s more to that necklace than he’s saying. A lot more.

Even if the damned thing is a powerful magical item worth millions of dollars, resorting to blood magic in the human realm not just once, but twice—especially in such a flashy, obvious way—is a huge risk. It won’t take the cops long to find out what that symbol means and human science can do things that magic can’t, like isolate DNA and maybe use that to find the blood mage, earning them an automatic death sentence.

Whatever the necklace really is, it’s worth not only killing for, but dying for.

Very few humans, less than a tenth of a percent, are capable of learning blood magic, so the odds are the blood mage is fae.

Fae aren’t immortal, but they have above average lifespans and there aren’t a whole lot of things the fae value enough to give up their long lives for. Except power.

“Declan, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what exactly it is we’re after.” I stare at him, waiting.

He closes his eyes and releases a slow breath. “The centerpiece of the necklace is part of the Autumn Court’s ríardú.”

My jaw drops. Even if it’s just a piece…

Oh crap.

If I had any sense at all, I’d walk away right now. The problem is, I think it’s too late for that.

Now that I’ve agreed to help Declan and appear to have inadvertently involved myself in a fight for a fatesdamned ríardú, I’ve likely put a target on my back.

And the only way to get rid of it is to complete the task I was hired for, then get me and Finn the hells out of Chicago and as far away from the fae as possible.

Nine

This is an absolute disaster.

I jump to my feet, then pace to the opposite end of the living room and back again, cursing every decision I’ve made since the moment I accepted that damn job. Normally, I vet every client myself before agreeing to anything, but Xander said this one was in a rush and the payout he offered was enough to make me take it on Xander’s word alone.

I should have known better.

Granted, there’s no way I could have predicted a mess of this magnitude, but if I’d looked just a little deeper, done a tiny bit more research on my target, I might have learned enough to know to stay the hells away. If I’d done my homework, I would have known Eoin Hawthorne was some kind of Autumn Court bigwig and turned down the job.

But I didn’t.

And now I’m mixed up in what might be the biggest power play between the Courts since the Merge itself. The only possible goal I can think of in stealing the Autumn Court’s ríardú is to take down the Court entirely by moving against their monarch.

Each fae Court has their own ríardú, relics from the time of creation that bestow the respective monarchs with the power of their Court. No one knows exactly how they work, but they are most often seen in the form of a jeweled crown that is placed on the head of each ruler at the time of their coronation. After that the ríardú is safely hidden away until it is time for a new monarch to rise. If a king or queen dies and there is no ríardú to pass along the power of the Court, the Court falls.

Like what happened to the Winter Court after the Merge, though the Winter ríardú going missing was only the final blow to the floundering Court rather than the catalyst to its downfall.

The official story is that the Winter King went mad and lost control of his magic, ripping apart the barriers holding the fae and human realms separate and causing the Merge. In the Spring Queen’s version, he threw a temper tantrum like a petulant child when another Court did something to irritate him. I’m sure the truth is more likely somewhere in the middle, but either way without the barriers, the realms crashed together and the why of things didn’t much matter at the time.

The first two years or so after the Merge were madness on every level. The humans were panicked. The fae were pissed. And nobody knew what to do.

Various human governments tried to make the fae stay in their own realm, but they couldn’t force the realm itself back into place. As far as anyone can tell, the Merge points—places where the two realms blend together—are permanent and the fae don’t take kindly to being ordered around by what they consider lesser creatures, even when those so-called ‘lesser creatures’ outnumbered them about a hundred thousand to one.

Fae magic, now flowing freely in the human realm, evened the odds a little. The power inside anyone with fae blood—prior to the Merge, travel between the realms was awkward, but certainly not impossible—awakened, revealing a quickly expanding population of faelings. But despite the advantage of the ability to use magic, the fae were barely more than holding the line. One full-blooded fae could take out a few thousand humans with a well-cast spell, but all it takes to kill a fae is a single iron bullet and casting a spell of that magnitude in the human realm requires hours of unbroken concentration and effort.

Everyone was fighting, but no one was winning—a war of attrition on both sides.

So, the fae struck a deal with the humans. They’d provide a scapegoat, someone the human governments could blame and punish for the mess. In return, the fae would be permitted to live in the human realm if they so desired and the humans would cease all hostilities toward them.

The target of this agreement?

The Winter King.

Together, the fae and the humans brought down Winter's monarch, first making him a pariah in both realms, then executing him in a very public way. Afterward, his already fractured Court fell apart when no one left knew the location of the ríardú—or of the King’s closest blood heir.

Now that I think about it, the Winter Court’s ríardú could have been stolen by another Court as part of that same plot. What better way to assure the complete destruction of a rival Court? Of course, I could be completely off target and pieces of the ríardú could simply be scattered throughout what’s left of Winter’s region in the fae realm never to be found again.

Taking apart a ríardú is common practice and there’s no set number of ways to break one down. After all, the more pieces the ríardú is in, the harder it is find and steal. It makes perfect sense for the Autumn Court to have dissembled theirs, but to keep even a tiny sliver of the thing in the human realm is beyond stupid.

Worse, if the size of the jewel in the necklace is anything to go by, the ‘centerpiece’ as Declan calls it is the main portion of the damned magical kingmaker. That’s not something the Autumn King—or is there a Queen these days?—would entrust to just anybody. I don’t follow enough of the gossip to know how close to the throne the Hawthorne family line might be, but if I had to take a guess at this point it would be pretty damn close.

I look over Declan with new eyes, though I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for. Some hint of royal lineage maybe? There’s none that I can see, but that’s not surprising. The only fae monarch I’ve really seen up close is the Spring Queen and there wasn’t anything particularly special about her except maybe for her ‘special’ brand of cruelty.

Declan looks up at me from his position on the couch, a worried frown on his face, before finally breaking the silence. “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?”

“I knew the Autumn Court doesn’t join in on all the political games of the other Courts, but I didn’t realize it was because the Autumn Court is apparently full of imbeciles,” I blurt out, my mouth jumping way ahead of my brain, tact be damned.

His expression goes cold, lips tight and green eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

I roll my eyes. “The human realm has got to be the worst place possible to store something so valuable. Human security measures are almost laughable in the face of the right spell and any magical security measures are much more limited here than they are in the fae realm.”

“It’s also the least likely place someone would look for it,” he replies stiffly.

I snort. “And how well did that work out for you?”

He averts his eyes, focusing his gaze on the floor. “In this case? Not very.”

I drag my hand over my face, then pinch the bridge of my nose between two fingers, thinking over my options. I’ve already agreed to help Declan retrieve the necklace and I’ll do whatever I have to so I can be sure Finn never has to go back to the fae realm. But this…I don’t know if this is a task I can complete. The players here are on an entirely different level than me and, if I’m right about Declan’s adjacency to the Autumn throne, the Spring Queen might even be one of them.

The thought alone makes me sick to my stomach. I’ll just have to pray that the investigation stays far, far away from the Spring Court. Finn isn’t the only one who would rather die than go back there.

I blow out a breath. “This changes things. You know that, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“We need—”

“I’m prepared to increase your compensation tenfold,” he says.

The mental math has me losing my train of thought for a second. Four million dollars. That is… a lot of money.

I hold my hand up before he can say anything else. “That’s very generous of you, but not exactly what I was talking about.”

He tilts his head, raising a brow quizzically.

“I meant it changes how we go about our investigation,” I say. “When an object with that kind of power is in play it means we need to be very careful with how we go about this. That is, unless you want everyone to figure out Autumn is missing a substantial piece of their ríardú.”

He huffs. “That’s the last thing we need.”

No kidding. If more people find out the Autumn Court’s ríardú is in play, then Declan and I won’t be the only ones hoping to retrieve it. “We should probably start with finding Smith since he’s where this started and either he’s the blood mage or the blood mage is working for him,” I say.

Declan nods in agreement.

“I don’t…have much to do with fae society, so I don’t know any of the players. Is there anyone you can think of who might know about the ríardú and have the means to arrange for it to be stolen? Anyone in particular who may have been acting suspicious recently?”

“No, not that I can think of.” He rubs his chin, brows drawn together.

“What about Smith? Any guesses on his real identity? Anyone you know of who might be powerful enough to learn blood magic?”

Declan thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “Sorry. I’ve never actually encountered blood magic before this evening. I wouldn’t even know where to begin figuring out who might be using it.”

I plop down on the couch beside him, going over the events of the night in my head. “Smith obviously knew where to send the troll this evening. Does anyone else know you’re looking for the ríardú or did you tell anyone what you were doing tonight?”

“Only my cousin.”

“Is it possible that—”

“No,” he says firmly “She has no reason to steal the necklace and would never stoop to using blood magic.”

I’m not sure I trust his ability to judge someone’s character so decisively, but I don’t think he’s going to budge on that. For now, I’ll take his word for it. “Is there anyone who may have overheard you speaking to your cousin?”

“There are…” He waves a hand through the air as if searching for a word. “Servants.”

“Human or fae?”

“Both.”

“Could any of them have overheard?” I ask.

“No, we were in her private rooms. There was no one else there. Besides I didn’t even know exactly where we were going until I got here.”

“Well, the only person who knew where I was going to be is Finn and I know he didn’t tell anyone,” I say.

Declan’s brow furrows and he’s quiet for a couple seconds before speaking. “Are you certain that the troll was even there for us? What if it—he was sent after Xander?”

I open my mouth to shoot down the idea, but then pause and turn the idea over in my mind, examining it from all angles. I thought the troll was sent after me, and by extension Declan, to tie up loose ends, but what Declan just suggested makes a lot more sense. If nobody knew Declan and I were going to be at XS, the only other target there would be the club owner.

Because Xander is the only connection back to Smith and getting rid of the incubus would be essential for Smith to prevent anything from tracing back to him. It was only dumb luck that Declan and I were there when the troll showed up. I was probably next on Smith’s list of loose ends to tie up if he succeeded in eliminating Xander.

What I don’t get, though, is why Smith bothered to have Xander hire me at all if the blood mage was planning to steal the necklace out from under me. Why not just let me retrieve the necklace and hand it off to Smith? I didn’t know what it was until now, so why go through the hassle of hiring a thief only to not make use of my services?

Unless…he did make use of my services, but not the ones I expected.

Wards can be tricky and rather literal. Eoin Hawthorne would have had a more personal connection to his household wards, something even the blood magic might not have been able to overcome.

Smith needed me to take down the wards. Which means he probably knows way more about my gift than I want him to.

“Not good,” I mutter to myself.

Declan raises a brow. “What?”

I massage my temple with one thumb. “I think you’re right about the troll being sent after Xander.”

Before Declan can say anything in response, Finn’s door swings open and he stomps out into the living room.

“A commotion,” he says, his voice tight with anger. “That’s what you call what happened at XS tonight?”

“I didn’t want to—”

“Upset me. Yeah, I know.” He sighs. “You can’t protect me from everything, Ari.”

I scowl at him. “I’ll damn well try.”

Another sigh. “I know you will. That’s the problem.” He plops down on the couch, squishing in between my hip and the arm, his tablet in his hand. “I think I found your guy.”

Declan scoots closer to me, leaning over my lap to get a better view of the tablet. Finn fiddles with a few things, running his finger over the screen and calling up a video.

“This is what Xander sent me.” He points to a nondescript man exiting the club on the video. “When the guy leaves, he gets into a dark sedan. I couldn’t make out the license plate, but I hacked into a few traffic cams and followed him as best I could.” He flicks his finger a few times, pulling up different still shots of a dark colored vehicle. “He headed North for quite a while, but I lost him somewhere around Montrose Harbor.”

“Do you think he got on a boat?” asks Declan.

Finn shakes his head. “I think he may have ditched the car at the harbor parking lot and gotten into a different one. It’s what I would have done if I wanted to avoid being followed.”

“I don’t get it,” I say. “How does that help us?”

“It doesn’t,” says Finn. “But he was at the club again tonight and wasn’t nearly so careful about covering his tracks.”

He pulls up another video, presumably from earlier today. The guy from the first video is standing outside XS, talking to someone. I lean closer to the screen.

“That’s one of the bouncers we talked to tonight,” I say.

Finn shoots me a droll look. “I know.” He points back to the screen. “This time he gets in an entirely different car and takes a direct route to Goose Island.” He pulls up a satellite view of the mostly industrialized man-made island that sits between the North branches of the river and the canal “I traced the ownership of all the properties in the area and I narrowed down his destination to one of these.” He circles three buildings on the Northern tip of the island with his finger. “All of these have gotten new tenants in the past year.”

I zoom in on the satellite view. “Any ideas on which we should check first?”

Finn bites at his lower lip and glances at me nervously from under the fringe of his hair.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“It won’t be hard to figure out which one it is once you get close,” he says. “When I was looking into the property owners, I came across some recent reports of strange occurrences… Like what might happen around a minor Merge point.”

Crap. Well, that probably explains how the troll got to the human realm.

Just when I thought my night couldn’t get any worse…

Well, at least it will make Smith’s lair easier to locate.

Ten

The last thing I want to do tonight is go hunt down a Merge point—it’s already after midnight and I’m exhausted—but time is, unfortunately, not on our side. Now that I know exactly what was stolen, waiting until morning to locate the blood mage isn’t really an option. The longer he has the ríardú in his possession, even if only a piece of it, the more likely there will be dire consequences for the Autumn Court—and potentially the fae realm as a whole.

When the Winter Court fell, its region of the fae realm became unstable. Without a monarch to hold Winter’s magic in check, it went wild. In some areas caustic thermal pools bubbled up and took over, and in others all the vegetation rotted while the wildlife starved. If another Court were to fall, leaving half the regions without a monarch, the destabilization might spread through the entire realm.

I drag myself back to my bedroom, then change into a tank top and pants more suited to running around an industrial area than the club gear I had on. Next, I braid my hair away from my face and shove my feet into a pair of sneakers before heading back out into the living room.

At some point Declan retreated to the bathroom and put his suit pants back on—they’re looser than Finn’s jeans—and traded the ripped button-down shirt for one of Finn’s t-shirts. He looks a little weird with the mishmash of clothing and the smudged eyeliner, especially when you add Finn’s boots to the outfit, but it’s not like we’re headed to a fashion show. Comfort and ease of movement are the only necessary features.

Finn grabs my arm as we head out the door, holding me just inside the apartment. I motion for Declan to go ahead of me, then raise my brows at the teen.

“Be careful,” he says.

“I’m always—”

“No. You’re not.” He sighs. “I don’t like this. It’s been years since you’ve even been within sight of a Merge point. The magic around those things is unstable at best. We have no idea how that might affect you now.” His gaze darts toward the door Declan just exited. “Or what he might see.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had plenty of experience with fluctuating magic,” I say, reaching up to clasp his shoulder, then pulling him down into a hug. “And it’s not just about the Autumn Court or their damned ríardú or helping the fae. I’m not letting a blood mage run around Chicago if I can help it.”

Finn nods, his hair brushing against my cheek, then straightens and digs a spare earpiece out of his pocket. “Take this. Once you’re there and figure out which property it is, give me a call and I’ll see if there’s anything I can do to help. I didn’t want to try to poke around in any security systems until you were on site and we were sure of which building you were going into.”

I take the small object from his hand and slide it into my ear. “Will do.”

Declan’s waiting on the sidewalk when I get downstairs, shifting back and forth on his feet. He gestures to a black sports car parked at the curb, one I’m pretty sure retails for more than my entire building.

“Did you order the luxury options or something?” I ask. “Who even uses a car like this for a rideshare app?”

“No one,” says Declan. He opens the front passenger door for me, then walks around and slides into the driver’s seat. “This one’s mine.”

Seriously? I shoot him a confused look, then glance up and down the shadowed street. What lights there are barely put out any illumination and the gutter is clogged with garbage. This is not the best neighborhood for a car like this to be left unattended. Not many people dare park around here, and those that do only because their vehicles aren’t worth the effort to steal. How in the hells did Declan keep this obviously expensive vehicle from being stolen?

Brows pulled together, I slide into the leather passenger seat, then close the door behind me. The interior of the car is spotless, every knob gleaming, and not a speck of dust anywhere. Declan pushes a button to turn the car on and the engine rumbles to life with a low purr. He pulls away from the curb, sliding onto the street, our destination already keyed into the GPS in the center of the dashboard.

The fae shifts gears smoothly—because of course the thing is stick shift since that adds an extra smidgen of pretentiousness to the whole thing—and ignores me. He’s silent for nearly ten blocks before he finally calls me out on staring at him. “What?”

“First of all, why didn’t we take your car instead of a rideshare earlier?”

“I didn’t want to have to find parking.”

I let out a sound of disbelief. “So, you decided to save time on parking by leaving your car in a neighborhood with one of the highest crime rates in the city?”

“No one noticed it,” he says. His moss-colored gaze darts to me, then back to the road in front of us. “My gift falls under illusion.”

Interesting. And unexpected. Illusion gifts aren’t common in full-blooded fae because they’re generally unimpressive magic-wise. Declan’s gist seems a little underwhelming for someone from a family I thought was fairly high in the Court hierarchy. But maybe I was wrong about how close to the throne the Hawthorne family is or maybe Declan is simply from a less powerful branch of that family tree. He does live in the human realm after all, something the more powerful fae tend to avoid.

When we reach our destination, Declan parks in a narrow alley between two buildings, backing his car in so he can pull out quickly if we need to. We both exit the vehicle and move to the end of the alley. He pauses, glancing at me, then closes his eyes. The car disappears from sight. Completely.

I tilt my head and study the space where I know the car is, but there’s not so much as a ripple in the air or a misplaced shadow. For every other fae I’ve encountered with this kind of gift, there was some seam or wrinkle that would give their visual deception away. Not Declan’s though. His is utterly perfect and it didn’t seem to take much out of him to do it. I guess even illusion gifts can be useful in the right fae.

“Impressive,” I say.

He dips his chin in acknowledgment, but doesn’t say anything as we head toward the first building Finn circled. I walk around the outside, my hand trailing along the corrugated metal exterior, then shake my head.

“Not this one.”

“No,” agrees Declan.

The second building is also not a winner, but as soon as I get within ten yards of the back of the third building, the Merge point announces itself as a pins-and-needles feeling crawling across my nerves. A shudder travels down my back and my stomach churns. The heavy feeling of that much fae magic holds nothing but bad memories for me and places like this, where there’s a rip in the veil between the realms, feel like throbbing wounds to me. Magic surges and recedes in a steady pulse as if the realms themselves have a shared heartbeat.

I take a few steps backward, swallowing down the burning at the back of my throat, then tap on my earpiece.

“Finn? You there?”

“Yeah.”

“The target is the last building on your list. What do you have on it?”

He’s quiet for a moment, probably reading something on his screen. “The property was operated as a private auto shop for over 30 years up until recently when the owner decided to lease the space out to some shell corporation.” He pauses, but I can still hear him muttering something under his breath as he continues his research. “I don’t see any security system, so the tenant’s either depending on magic to keep people out, or he doesn’t give a damn if they stumble in.”

“Given the strength of this Merge point, my money is on magical security since the extra magic will help boost it,” I say.

“That sounds most likely.”

“We’re going in. I’ll call you when I’m out.”

“Be careful, Ari.”

“Always.” I tap the earpiece to turn it off, then step toward the building, close enough to feel the fae magic slithering along my limbs and whispering in my ears like a siren’s call. Finn was right to be worried about this. It’s been years since I’ve been this close to the fae realm and the level of magic the Merge point is spitting out is giving me chills. Closing my eyes, I reach out with my senses looking for wards. The first one pops up right away, a simple barrier covering the entrance, but past that I can sense at least three more, two of which have some very deadly components.

“Lovely,” I say.

“What?” asks Declan.

“The wards on this place are crazy.”

His brow arches upward. “How can you tell from out here?”

I carefully think over my next words before they pass my lips. I have to tell him something, but I’m not going to just hand over my secrets.

“I have a gift for breaking wards,” I say slowly. “So, I can sense them.”

“That’s quite an impressive gift for a faeling.” He studies me with narrowed eyes. “I suppose that also explains why you’re so good with wards in general. Is that how you got past my grandfather’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Does that mean you can get past these ones too?”

“With time. Because of the Merge point, these wards are pretty amped up.” But so am I. I eyeball the entrance, then glance around the area, unable to shake the feeling of eyes on the back of my neck. “Can you hide us with your gift while I take down the first ward so we can get into the building? It shouldn’t take long, but I don’t like being out in the open like this.”

He nods and a few seconds later I feel a cool shimmer of power settle over me, Declan’s illusion magic I’m assuming.

Okay then. Time to get started. I position myself about five feet from the door and reach out to feel along the edges of the ward. As expected, this first one goes down quickly with very little effort on my part.

I motion for Declan to follow me inside, stopping him right past the entrance. “You should be fine to drop the illusion now.”

He doesn’t respond, but the feeling of his magic disappears. If the Merge point is affecting him at all, he’s not showing it.

My gaze scans the room we find ourselves in. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume we’d gotten this all wrong, that this place is exactly the auto shop it appears to be.

We’re standing in what looks like a waiting room, the kind people pass time in while they’re waiting for their vehicles to be serviced. There are chairs along the wall and a TV hanging up in one corner. A table under the TV holds magazines with pictures of various cars on them. There’s a desk in the far corner, presumably for an employee, and there’s a door that probably leads to the main area of the ‘shop’ behind the desk. That door is blocked by ward number two.

I cross the room to get a closer look at the ward. It’s not particularly complicated, but it would definitely kill anyone who tried to pass through unaware—and complete overkill if this were a real auto shop. I mentally reach out to the ward, tugging at the corners and picking it apart carefully until the whole thing drops away.

Slowly, I step past the doorway and into a larger, open room with Declan not far behind me. Five recessed car lifts are spaced evenly across the cement floor. There are toolboxes bolted into the walls with various tools that may or may not be used on cars sitting out. The place even smells a little like grease and exhaust.

Clearly Smith rented the place as is and didn’t bother to remodel anything. Which, unless he particularly needed an auto shop, is weird. What’s even weirder is that this room and the waiting room I entered from are all there is to the place and, other than the pulsing magic, there’s no signs of the Merge point.

What the hells is going on?

Merge points are not something that can be hidden. At least not normally. The fae realm bleeds over at the rips in a messed-up sort of magical diffusion. Strange plants, odd bugs, and technicolor glowing rocks are just some of the oddities found within a 50-yard radius of Merge points, but there’s absolutely nothing like that here.

I need to think about this for a second. I take three small steps forward, my gaze bouncing around the room. There’s another ward here somewhere, but I can’t see where. I stop in place and close my eyes, sending my senses out into the room and locating the ward almost immediately.

Oh. Now I understand. I open my eyes and study the floor by the nearest car lift. There’s an opening in the cement where it retracts into the floor, but instead of just a recessed area cut into the floor, there’s open air beneath, a tunnel of some sort heading down.

The Merge point is under the building.

A quick visual search of the room leads me to a set of switches on the wall. Since there are five switches and five lifts, I’m going to assume that’s what they’re for. I try the first switch and the lift covering the opening starts rising out of the floor. Once it’s reached its full height, I move closer.

The hole in the floor is covered by a ward, an interesting one designed to freeze intruders in place and somehow crush them with the lift itself. Carefully, I tease out the components of the ward and take it down. Once the last threads of the thing dissipate, a surge of fae magic wells up from the opening, washing over me along with the scent of mildew and damp. To be expected, I guess. We are awfully close to the river and I doubt the designers of this island planned on anyone having basements.

A set of narrow steps leads down into the darkness and there’s another ward waiting somewhere down there. I sigh, the memory of the tunnels beneath the Spring Court’s palace creeping over me. Those caverns may have been my refuge and my escape route, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy being underground. This is going to really suck.

“How deep do you think it goes?” asks Declan, stepping up behind me and scaring the crap out of me.

“Deep enough,” I mutter, then glance toward the toolboxes. “You think they have a flashlight in here somewhere? I don’t like the idea of going down there blind.”

“Doesn’t everyone carry a flashlight these days?” Declan pulls out his phone and waggles it back and forth—smartass—before turning on his flashlight app. He shines the light down the narrow stairwell. The illumination doesn’t extend very far, but I suppose it’s the best we’re going to get.

“After you,” he says, tilting his head toward the stairs.

Eleven

Descending into the dark underbelly of an auto shop in the middle of Chicago shouldn’t feel quite so much like venturing into the ruins of some jungle temple. Humidity hangs in the air like a curtain, heavy with the smell of dirt and plant life and only getting more oppressive the farther down we go. The vines twisting along the walls grow thicker and thicker until the stone to either side of us is completely covered in a mass of greenery.

We follow the staircase as it takes a sharp turn to the left, then suddenly ends at an entrance to a large cavern that’s dimly lit from above even though we’re underground. I glance up, unsurprised to find veins of glowing crystal twisting through the rock. I’m not sure what the stuff is called, but the same mineral lines the walls in the catacombs below the Spring palace.

The whole thing gives me a sudden urge to start humming the Indiana Jones theme song. All that’s missing is a pedestal in the center with some sort of ancient relic—like the one we’re looking for— spot lit by a single shaft of light. But, unfortunately, life isn’t like the movies and this situation won’t be as easily solved as that.

Declan turns off his phone’s flashlight and slides it into his pocket as he looks around with wide eyes. I study his expression and have to force my face to remain blank. That’s wonderment. He thinks this crap is pretty. Or amazing or something. Stupid, foolish fae.

It’s really just creepy. Like the flora and fauna now found in Winter’s region, the things that spring up around a Merge point are often twisted versions of the real thing.

Declan wanders closer to the wall where a flower protrudes from one of the vines. The bloom is pretty in that odd faelike way, but, like most things from the fae realm, beauty can be deceiving.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” I say in a dry voice.

Declan glances at me over his shoulder, a single brow raised in question. “Why not?”

I walk over to him, then slowly move my finger to point at the multicolored stamen extending from the center of the flower. The group of fuzzy-looking stalks hide a wickedly sharp set of barbs that curl back toward the stem in order to stab at anything—or anyone—who might try to pluck the flower.

Declan makes an intrigued face. “How did you know?”

“We’re within the radius of a Merge point,” I say in reply. “You probably don’t want to touch anything here, least of all the things that are alive.”

Declan sends his gaze over the cave-like room again. “The Merge point does all this?”

Is he kidding? Has he never been to the fae realm?

“Unstable fae magic leaking into the human realm does this,” I say. “The Merge point is just the break in the skin between the realms that allows the infection in.”

“Infection…” His brows draw together and he cocks his head to the side. “For someone with fae blood, you don’t seem too appreciative of the power it provides to you.”

I scoff. “I’m not. If there were a way to give up my fae blood, I’d do it in a heartbeat. It’s brought me nothing but trouble.”

He stares at me for a second as if trying to figure out if I’m actually serious, then shakes his head to himself. “So, what now?”

I point to what looks like another opening across the room. “That way. It’s the only other way to go.”

I make my way across the cavern, gesturing for Declan to follow. We make it to the opening in the wall without the Autumn fae taking any more dangerous detours. Thank the fates. But there’s a ward blocking our way forward.

And it’s not pretty.

My stomach churns as I take in the various components of the disgusting piece of wardwork. Every piece of the ward is designed to maim, kill and/or drain. At least this makes it pretty clear we’re not only in the right place but headed in the right direction. The odds are only someone corrupt enough to become a blood mage would think up some of those components.

“I can take down this ward, but it’s going to take a lot out of me,” I say. “You need to be ready to hide us in case there are any surprises.”

Declan eyes me speculatively, an unreadable expression on his face. His only reply is, “I’ll be ready.”

I take a deep breath and park my butt in the dirt directly in front of the ward. Reaching out with my senses, I start pulling at the bottom edge where the worst of the magic is concentrated. My sense of time deserts me, nausea hovering in the back of my throat as I pick the ward apart piece by piece, and by the time the last component is dismantled, my hands are shaking and my entire body has gone cold. As the ward finally falls, I lean to the side and vomit up what little I’ve managed to eat today.

Declan is beside me in an instant, his brows drawn together with worry and one hand hovering inches from my back as if he’s not sure whether he should touch me or not. He probably shouldn’t.

But, no matter how much I’d like to deny it—I can’t even lie to myself—I want him to.

Being here so close to the creeping magic of the fae realm and having to touch the horror of that particular ward even if only with my senses is bringing back things I can’t afford to remember. Allowing myself to lean into Declan’s hand could certainly help anchor me here in the present, but another thing I can’t afford is to depend on anyone else.

Least of all a fae.

I wave off Declan’s concern and his hand, standing up carefully on wobbly legs. A brisk shake of my head clears the worst of the cobwebs and I force my lips to form a smile. “It’s down. Let’s go.”

Declan doesn’t move, staring at the place the ward used to be. “You said your gift has to do with breaking wards?”

Crap. Crap. Crap.

“Something like that,” I say, hoping he’ll let my vague answer go.

He doesn’t. He narrows his eyes at me, cants his head to the side, and then calls checkmate, managing to word his query in a way that leaves me no wiggle room whatsoever. “What, specifically, is your gift Arielle Grey?”

Fae do so love their word play.

Since there’s not really any way for me to answer without giving away more information about myself than anyone except Finn knows, I say nothing. I’m sure my silence gives him enough to start piecing things together, but he can think what he wants. My truths are one of the few things that belong to me and I refuse to give them up without a fight.

“Let’s go,” I say, my voice hoarse.

“Not until—”

A loud screech echoes from the opening only recently covered by the ward. I have just enough time to grab Declan’s shirt and tug him to the ground before a large form rockets toward us, swooping through the air above our backs and into the high-ceilinged room.

“Stay down,” I hiss at Declan, one of my hands against his back, pressing him firmly into the ground when he tries to rise. “Can you hide us?”

“Yes,” he replies before the coolness of an illusion settles over us without any indication of effort on his part. I might have mocked similar gifts in the past, but his is levels above anything I’ve ever seen. Or maybe the Merge point is just giving his powers a boost.

A crescendoing thump of wings is the only warning as the creature above us dives lower and glides across the room only a few feet about the floor before lifting back into the air. Crap. I doubt Declan’s illusion will hold up if something actually crashes into us.

“A spell?” I ask.

He turns his head to look at me, his moss green eyes barely a foot from my own. “I need a line of sight. At least. It’d be preferable if whatever that thing is wasn’t flying. That wasn’t a possibility I planned for.”

“Here’s a piece of advice: if you’re near a Merge point, plan for every possibility.”

“You could have mentioned that before a”—he glances toward the ceiling and his voice goes up almost an entire octave—“is that a fatesdamned harpy?”

How in the hells can he recognize that, but not a common troll?

“Yeah,” I say. “And she’s pissed.”

“Blood magic?”

I shake my head. “I doubt it. Harpies are resistant to it. Plus, they’re just naturally hostile.”

Which is a bit of an understatement. The massive vulture-like birds with the ability to shift their head and torso into that of a humanoid female are some of the meanest creatures the fae realm has to offer. Add in their sharp beaks, bladed wingtips, and dagger-sized talons and harpies are also one of the most dangerous creatures, a veritable flying mandolin with an attitude.

But they’re also rare.

As in there are maybe ten harpies total giving me about a twenty percent chance of not literally getting my head bitten off if I try to reason with her as opposed to Declan and I lying the dirt until she loses interest and flies away—hopefully not further into the human realm.

“Can you remove the illusion from just me?” I ask.

“Why—”

“Doesn’t matter. Can you do it or not?”

He nods and the slight dampening effect on my senses caused by the illusion disappears.

“I’ll get her to come down here, but don’t throw a spell unless it looks like she’s going to attack.” I jump to my feet. Declan makes a choked noise, but I ignore him and take at least ten large steps away from where he’s still lying prone on the ground.

Framing my mouth with my hands, I yell up to the harpy, “Hey you, come down here!”

She zeroes in on me, then dives toward the ground, opening her wings at the last second to gentle her landing. I can’t tell for sure when she’s in full bird form, but the way she studies me instead of attacking leads me to believe my gamble was worth it. I freed two harpies on my way out of the Spring Court, and I’m pretty sure this is one of them.

I take a guess. “Abigail?”

The transformation happens like a shiver that starts at the top of her head and moves down to where her wings meet her body, leaving me looking at a very pretty dark-haired woman whose lower half just happens to be a rather terrifying bird.

“No, I am Agatha,” she says, smiling at me as she cocks her head to the side in a birdlike movement. Unlike dragon shifters, harpies lean more toward their animal natures. “I am surprised to see you, Arielle. I thought you left the fae realm never to return.”

“Me too,” I mutter, then louder I add, “I don’t know if a Merge point counts as going back to the fae realm, though. What are you doing here?”

Agatha shrugs, her human-like shoulders causing her wings to shift upward as well. “The fae who uses these caverns promised me the magic required for my egg if I would guard the tunnel from intruders.”

Smith purposely brought a harpy into the human realm? That’s…I don’t even know what that is.

I fight to keep a bland expression on my face. All harpies are females and the only way for them to reproduce is if the single egg they lay each decade or so is fertilized by the willingly given magic of a male fae. It’s an asinine system, but a male fae’s magic is one of the few things a harpy will bargain for.

“You don’t want his magic, Agatha,” I say after a brief pause to think through my words. “It’s dirty like…hers.”

She wrinkles her dainty nose. “I suppose he did smell of soot and blood, much like she did.”

“If I promise to find you the same thing he offered, will you let us pass?”

“Us?” She tilts her head to one side then back again.

Ooops. I didn’t mean to alert her to Declan’s presence. Harpies don’t like surprises any more than I do. I hold my hands palm out toward Agatha, and speak in a low voice. “Declan…please drop the illusion, come over here, and introduce yourself.”

To his credit, Declan doesn’t hesitate. He shimmers into view as he walks toward us slowly but steadily, mimicking my ‘I’m no threat’ posture. He stops at my side, facing Agatha, then dips his chin in greeting.

“Hello. I am Declan Hawthorne.”

Agatha hops closer, studying him closely. “Autumn Court?”

“Yes,” replies Declan.

The harpy makes a happy humming noise, then turns her attention to me, ignoring Declan altogether. “He smells much more pleasant than the cold one. You have a bargain, Arielle.”

I wince. “I didn’t mean—”

Agatha frowns. “That is a shame as I am restricted by my bargain with the other fae. It will not permit me to allow you passage unless you can offer me something of equal value.” She pauses, thinking. “What about the hatchling, Arielle? He is still in your care, yes?”

I chuckle, thinking of Finn’s reaction to being compared to a young bird. He’s come a long way from the gawky, undernourished ten-year-old boy he was when Agatha last saw him. “Yes, and he’s doing well.”

At that, Agatha actually smiles. Harpies aren’t known for having a gentle nature, but she and her sister always had a soft spot for the young dragon shifter even if he wasn’t their kind. They even did their best to look after him during the times I couldn’t during my time at the Spring Court.

“I can grant you free passage in exchange for a promise that you bring him to visit with me. That is equally valuable to me as the stinky fae’s magic,” she says.

“If Finn is willing, I will bring him to visit, but he has not been to the fae realm since…” I glance pointedly at Declan. “We left.”

“I understand,” says Agatha. “For your promise to bring Fintan if he is willing, I will allow you free passage.”

“Thank you, Agatha.” I pause, trying to find the right words for what I want to say next. “The male who tasked you with guarding this place. He is not a good person. You should not help him.”

“Your concern is appreciated,” she replies. “But there is much unrest between the Courts and there are not many options for me if I wish to fly free.”

I’m not entirely clear what she means by that, but before I have a chance to ask for clarification she reverts to her full-bird form and uses her wings to propel herself up to the ceiling.

Twelve

On the other side of the opening, we find a smaller cavern almost identical to the one we just left except for the large nest—Agatha’s I assume—sitting off to the side. Directly beside the vine-laced structure of sticks is the only visible exit. Declan follows me to the tunnel and we enter single file with me in front. The path slopes gently downward, bringing Declan and I deeper into the subterranean cavern system.

Declan gets his phone flashlight out again as the illumination from the cavern fades behind us. The rock walls here are inexplicably bare except for dripping moisture, the fae vines nowhere to be seen, and a chilly breeze blows toward us from whatever waits for us ahead. We must be under the river at this point, but I have no idea how far and the Merge point is deeper still.

How did Smith even find this place? Merge points aren’t exactly mapped and most of the smaller ones aren’t even completely static. Not to mention, unless there’s another way in and out, this doesn’t strike me as the most convenient place to have your base of operations.

“Living with a dragon shifter and friends with a harpy?” says Declan, startling me out of my thoughts. “There’s more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?”

“Isn’t that true for anyone?” I retort. “And I wouldn’t exactly call Agatha a friend. Harpies don’t experience emotions the same way we do. I know she can look humanoid, but harpies aren’t shifters in the normal sense of a person with an animal form. A harpy’s natural state is that of a bird. The female visage they can create is more like…bait.”

“Bait?”

I chuckle. “They eat flesh, preferably male. Well, unless that male is the source of the magic they’re using to fertilize their egg.”

Declan says nothing for a few seconds. “But Finn…?”

“Finn is a special case. Besides the fact that he’s ‘of the skies’, a completely separate designation to harpies, Agatha and her sister met him under extenuating circumstances.”

“I see.” He pauses again and I can almost hear him thinking. “How long did you and Finn reside in the fae realm?”

“Too long.”

“Did—”

“Shh.” I hold up a hand, pressing against his chest to stop him from walking forward.

The sound of talking echoes through the tunnel from somewhere ahead of us. Whoever’s up there is speaking too low for me to make out the words, but I’m pretty sure there are at least two people talking.

Smith’s not alone.

I press closer to the rock wall, moisture seeping into my shirt, then slowly make my way toward the sound. The echo must have traveled farther than I realized because it takes a good ten minutes to draw close to the end of the tunnel. As we round a bend, a pale light appears and I motion for Declan to shut off his flashlight app. He complies, then tucks his phone into his pocket.

We continue our approach slowly, each step soft and careful. When we reach the mouth of the tunnel, I press my entire back against the stone and peek into the lighted cavern beyond. The voices have stopped and I can’t see much of anything from this vantage point, but I’m not taking any chances.

“Can you hide us?” I ask.

“Yes,” whispers Declan. “But the illusion is not as effective if we’re moving around a lot.”

I think that over for a second. “If we move very slowly and only until we’re outside the mouth of the tunnel, will that work?”

He nods.

“Let’s go then.”

Declan grabs my hand, pulling me into his side so we’re touching from shoulder to hip. “Stay as close to me as possible.”

The feeling of Declan’s illusion settles over us and he squeezes my hand, presumably a signal that we’re okay to proceed. Sliding along the wall, I slowly make my way out of the tunnel, Declan following close behind, his long fingers still gripping mine. We push our backs against the rock wall just outside the opening, then stop to take in the space around us.

This cavern is smaller than the other two and seems more man-made than natural, like this place was carved from the rock around the strange mingling of realms at the other side of the room. No. I squint at the far wall. The actual Merge point is past that somewhere, as in it’s encased in solid rock.

The room is a dead end.

But there’s also no one here.

What the hells?

Maybe I was hearing things and there was no one down here? But if there’s no actual access to the fae realm…how in the hells did Smith get Agatha here? He couldn’t have paraded her through the human realm.

Declan drops the illusion, then squeezes my hand to get my attention. He jerks his chin toward a long table against the wall to our right. Various jewels are scattered over the wood along with one of those magnifying things jewelers use to study gem quality. There’s no necklace, but maybe Smith took it apart to segregate the piece of the ríardú? We walk over to the table and Declan’s gaze runs over the gems, cataloging each one.

“These are the gems from my grandfather’s safe,” he says.

“So, we’re in the right place,” I reply. “We just have to figure out which—”

“The ríardú is not here.”

“What do you mean?”

“These are simply the loose gems my grandfather had on hand. He…plied his trade as a jeweler in the human realm. He often had things like this around.”

Some pieces of the puzzle slide into place. Finn mentioned there was a list of gems that were taken from the safe. This must be them. “So he put the ríardú into a necklace and stored it with some other jewels to hide it in plain sight?”

“Something like that.”

Maybe I wasn’t giving the Autumn Court enough credit for cunning.

“Who else knew the necklace for what it was?”

Declan shrugs. “I’m not sure.”

“It’d be complete overkill to use blood magic to get them, but is it possible that Smith was only after the jewels? Could that have been all he took?”

Declan’s shaking his head before I even finish the question. “There are much more easily found and accessed jewel repositories. The ones from the safe are not even the most valuable and the necklace, were that all it was, isn’t worth a substantial amount of money.”

I’m pondering that when I catch a flash of movement from the corner of my eye. My gaze flies to a mirror propped against the wall closest to where the Merge point is. The surface shimmers, then shifts to show only a swirling mist seconds before a male fae with the distinctive silvery white hair of the Winter Court steps out of the mirror and into the room.

Damn. A traveling gift. That explains a lot. The biggest thing being why Smith has his lair all the way down here and where his ‘exit’ is. The human realm doesn’t have enough magic to support most travel gifts, so Smith must use this place as a waystation of sorts. Any trips into the human realm would likely only be one-way, but from here he could travel freely in and out of the fae realm.

Which means the ríardú could be anywhere by now.

Despite the fact I’m standing out in the open, the fae hasn’t noticed me and Declan yet, his attention focused on something in his hand. Declan grabs my upper arms and yanks me backward so my back is pressed against his chest and positions us against the wall a couple feet from the table, then the feeling of his magic settles over us again.

Unfortunately, illusion doesn’t muffle sound, so when my shoe scrapes across the ground, the fae jerks his head up and glances around the room, suspicion lining his features. His gaze passes right over me and Declan, and he goes back to staring at the thing in his hand as a second fae steps through the mirror, also clearly Winter Court.

This just gets worse and worse.

Neither of the fae are the guy on the video from Xander’s club, but something tells me the second guy is most likely the one who calls himself Mr. Smith. He’s middle-aged by fae standards with close-trimmed bright white hair and he carries an air of authority on his shoulders. His expression is blank, but his steel gray eyes are cold—much as I’d expect for a practitioner of blood magic.

I hold my breath as both fae approach the table. The first fae tosses whatever he had in his hand onto the wooden surface. Another jewel. Not the one from the necklace.

The older fae curses under his breath, then leans against the table, gripping the edge, his knuckles going white. “I don’t see how you missed it, Erik. My source said there was no question it was in the safe.”

Behind me, Declan’s entire body goes tense. There can’t be that many people who know about the ríardú, so whoever Smith’s source is not only betrayed Eoin Hawthorne, but the entire Autumn Court.

“I took everything in the safe. If the ríardú was in there, it would have to be one of these,” says the first fae—Erik. “Either your source lied or…”

“Someone must have beaten us to it.”

“That girl you hired—”

“No,” snaps Smith. “She was just there to break the wards to give you a safe exit and muddy the waters a little. You said yourself that she was out cold when I sent you through with the old man and you had him open the safe. She couldn’t have taken it.”

So, I was right about what he needed me for…

Smith curses again, then slams a fist against the table, the vibration scattering the gems. One of them, a deep purple amethyst, skitters off the edge of the table, bounces a couple times across the floor, then comes to rest against the side of my shoe.

Presumably that means the gem disappears from their view as it crosses the boundary of Declan’s illusion.

Not good.

A wrinkle forms between Smith’s brows and he tilts his head to the side. Without the illusion, he’d be looking right at Declan and me. Our cover is probably blown, even if not literally. I take a slow, deep breath. There aren’t many options. We’re seconds away from being discovered, so if I’m going to act, it needs to be now.

There’s no point in Declan and I both getting caught…

I yank away from the Autumn fae and push past the edge of the illusion, heading toward the two Winter fae. I don’t have a weapon—anyone with fae blood has to have a permit to carry anything more dangerous than a butter knife—but I’ve taken apart enough wards tonight that there should be something useful up my sleeve.

Well, as long as either Smith or his little friend is the wardworker who set them up.

Creating a new ward isn’t that much faster than putting together a spell, but calling up a completed ward I’ve recently dismantled—even if it’s not my ward—is nearly as simple as breathing to me. Granted, I’ve never tried it this far from the ward’s original position or when I’m not entirely sure the wardworker is within range so the essence of their magic can help me call the ward forward, but if the Merge point is strong enough for traveling magic it should give me enough of a boost to pull this off.

I grab for the remnants of the worst ward, the one that separated Agatha’s nesting cavern from the larger one. There’s definitely resistance, but not much more than at Club XS—and I wasn’t even moving that particular ward. The deadly magic from upstairs weaves together in front of me, creating a barrier that with a few tweaks only I can cross.

Erik scowls at me, silver eyes flashing with anger, and stalks forward. He’s even younger than I thought at first, maybe only a few years older than me and he practically exudes an air of spoiled petulance. “What did you do with the necklace, faeling?”

“Don’t.” Smith throws an arm out stopping the younger fae in his tracks. “That is some gift, Ms. Grey. I had heard that your ward breaking abilities were unparalleled, but not that you’re a weaver.”

“A weaver?” The Erik’s brow furrows. “That’s impossible, Corian. No faeling could—”

Smith—no, Corian—snorts in amusement, even though his eyes are wary. “She’s no faeling, Erik. She’s full-blooded Winter Court fae.”

Thirteen

I fight the urge to glance back toward Declan. He would have figured my true heritage out eventually, but I’d hoped that would happen much later, preferably after we’d located the ríardú and parted ways. Not to mention, I definitely never wanted him to hear the truth from the blood mage involved in Eoin’s murder. That’s not going to go over well.

But there’s no point in worrying about that now, not when I still have to deal with Corian.

If my unspoken threat—the deadly ward hanging in the air between us—bothers Corian at all he doesn’t show it. Instead, he studies my face, his calm gaze roaming across my features probably trying to analyze my parentage as that, along with my admittedly powerful gift, could help him figure out where I stand in the oh-so-important Court hierarchy.

Good luck, asshole. The only thing I know about my parents is they’re dead. I don’t even remember their faces, but they can’t have been too special since no one from Winter ever bothered to look for me after I disappeared into the Spring Court.

Erik, however, has a very different reaction. He’s no less unphased by my display of power, but rather than being worried or anything normal like that, he’s openly hostile, baring his teeth at me and practically growling. Over what, I’m not entirely sure, but he’s looking at me like I’ve just stolen his favorite toy. Corian’s attention maybe?

But why? I glance back and forth between the two fae. They don’t appear to share enough features to be related, but I suppose they could have some kind of mentor/mentee thing going on.

“My contact said you were a faeling,” murmurs Corian. “Unregistered, yes, but definitely no more than a half-blood. How is it that no one knows the truth?”

“What does it matter?” snaps Erik, scowling in my direction. “Yes, she has Winter Court blood, but she’s not on our side.”

Corian pats him on the shoulder, but his gaze stays fixed on me. “But perhaps she could be.”

“No.” Erik pulls away, stomping closer to the jewel-covered table, then fiddling with the gems, a petulant pout on his lips. “I’m the one with royal blood, the Winter King’s only heir, so I’m the one who decides who gets to join the new Winter Court.”

This ignorant jerk is Winter’s heir? I’m not sure how they plan to rebuild the Winter Court without the ríardú—unless they were thinking Autumn’s would suffice?—but I can’t imagine Erik would make a good monarch.

Corian closes his eyes in what looks to be an often-used expression, as if praying for patience with the younger fae, then speaks in a low, cajoling tone, “Think about it, Erik. With a gift like hers in our—your arsenal…” Erik doesn’t respond, so Corian concentrates his coaxing on me. “Ms. Grey, you can take down the ward. You have nothing to fear from us. In fact, I would greatly love to have your assistance with our goals. I was the Winter King’s highest adviser and continue to have many connections within the remaining fae in the Court. If you were to tell me a little more about yourself, I could—”

“No,” I say. “I don’t want any part of the Winter Court.”

A smug grin pulls at Erik’s lips. “I told you—”

“Hush,” snaps Corian, shooting a glare at Erik before turning his attention back to me. “I don’t understand. How is joining us not preferable to living in hiding and wasting your gift?”

“I’m not wasting my gift,” I say, gritting my teeth. There’s something in his words or maybe his tone that pokes at my instincts. Beyond being a blood mage, this guy is dangerous even if I can’t yet pinpoint exactly why.

“That those words can even pass your lips tells me you truly believe that,” replies Corian, one hand going to his chest. “But a gift like yours could make the difference in the coming fight. Come now, take down the ward and we can discuss this.”

A shudder goes down my back as his command slithers into my ear. Some sort of persuasion gift probably, which explains at least a little why Corian is willing to put up with Erik. Corian must not have the bloodline to be a monarch, so he’ll let Erik take the place of Monarch and control the younger fae from the shadows, leaving Corian as the real power behind the throne.

Does Erik even realize he’s going to be a puppet ruler with a blood mage pulling the strings?

Another shudder. I have my own hard-won protections against mind magic, but the thought of a fae with a persuasion gift also being a blood mage is sickening. And more than a little terrifying.

It’s pure dumb luck Corian hasn’t yet realized I’m not responsible for the illusion magic and am therefore not alone. I need to get rid of these two before they figure out Declan is with me because the Autumn fae isn’t likely to have taken the same precautions against mind magic that I have.

“No,” I say. “I won’t be taking part in any fight, especially considering your particular methods.”

The only outward sign of Corian’s anger at being defied is a twitch in the muscle by his eye. He plasters on an empty smile and adds a more conciliatory tone to his voice. “I know our methods thus far may have seemed—”

“Underhanded? Immoral? Depraved?” Corian tries very hard to act insulted, but he doesn’t quite pull it off. I continue, “No matter which adjective you insert, blood magic is disgusting and I’m done with this conversation. Nothing you say can persuade me.”

I take a second to enjoy the look of shock Corian can’t hide. The asshole’s obviously not used to people calling him out on his gift and being able to tell him no. Before he can say anything else, I turn my attention to the ward, reinforcing it with some special tweaks of my own, then anchor it into place across half the room, effectively dividing the space in half with Corian and Erik on the opposite side.

Corian lets out a sardonic chuckle. “Aren’t you just full of surprises.” He waves a hand through the air near the ward, effortlessly calling the glowing lines into view and studying them. “I might not have your skill as a weaver, but I can get through this eventually.”

“You won’t have the time,” I say as I slowly warp the edges of the ward, curling them around the two Winter fae and gradually herding them toward the mirror. I give them a cheeky grin. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Erik gives me a dark look, one that promises retribution, but Corian only looks thoughtful. He tips his head, his eyes glinting with something close to amusement. “Another time then, Ms. Grey.”

He grabs Erik’s arm and pulls him to the mirror before the ward can get any closer. Seconds later, the two of them disappear into the glass off to only the fates know where, but hopefully someplace far, far away.

“Not on your life, asshole,” I mutter before letting out a deep breath and relaxing my hold on the ward. At least I don’t have to take it down again. Leaving the damn thing in place not only saves me effort, but it should inconvenience the hells out of Corian and his little lackey.

I blow out a breath and try to collect my thoughts.

With problem number one taken care of, now it’s time to face problem number two: Declan and his newfound knowledge of my true heritage. I have no idea how he’s going to react to that revelation, but I somehow doubt he’s going to be very happy about it. Especially since I’m Winter Court.

“You can drop the illusion now,” I say as I turn to face the ‘wall’. Nothing happens. “Declan, we need to get out of here. I don’t know how long they’ll be gone and I can’t guarantee they traveled to the fae realm and won’t be waiting for us upstairs in the auto shop.”

The illusion falls away, revealing a blank-faced Declan. “Do you take me for a fool?”

Yup. He’s not taking this well at all.

I snort. “You’re a lot of things—like annoying—but I don’t think you’re a fool.”

He stalks forward, towering over me. “Was that little performance for my benefit? Has this all been one big act? Perhaps in the hopes I’ll reveal where the other pieces of the ríardú are?”

“Performance? I don’t know what the hells you’re talking about.” I go to shove him in the chest, but he grabs my wrists, squeezing so hard I can almost feel the bones grinding together.

“Let’s see… It seems awfully suspicious that the person who hired you just happens to be a member of the disgraced Winter King’s retinue who’s trying to rebuild his Court.” He leans forward, his sneering mouth inches from my face. “And then you turn out to be a full-blooded Winter Court fae with the most powerful gift I’ve ever even heard of.”

“Yeah, I am.” I knee him in the groin with enough force to make him let me go, but not enough to hurt him badly. He grunts and hunches over, then I lean over him, spitting my next words at him. “And I never hid what I was. You just made assumptions and didn’t look any closer.”

He glares at me. “He sounded awfully friendly, not like someone who’d set you up to take the fall for my grandfather’s murder.”

I roll my eyes, struggling to hold my temper in check. He has a right to be pissed, I even expected him to be, but to accuse me of setting him up, of working with Corian…

“First of all, of course he sounded friendly,” I say through my teeth. “He was trying to use his persuasion gift on me. Second, if you were paying attention, you’d realize I wasn’t hired to take the fall—which was actually even news to me. I was hired to take down your grandfather’s wards so the traveling idiot had a way out of the house. There’s not enough magic in the human realm for anything but a one-way trip.”

Most of the hostility and suspicion slowly drains out of Declan’s expression.

I continue, my hostility still in full force, “Think of me what you will, but I don’t give a crap about Court politics. I’m only helping you because I don’t want to be arrested, not out of any loyalty to the fae. No Court has my allegiance, least of all one that would employ a slimy blood mage with a fatesdamned persuasion gift to do their dirty work.”

I spin around, then walk into the tunnel, leaving Declan to follow me—or not—and trying to resist the urge to tell Agatha she can eat him. He has no reason to distrust me enough to accuse me of working with that scumbag. Sure, I have secrets, but so does he. It’s not my fault he made assumptions and I went along with them.

The sound of jogging footsteps reaches my ears only seconds before Declan arrives at my side. I glance at him from the corner of my eye. His lips are pressed into a thin line and his green eyes are hard. If I had to name the expression, I’d call it ‘resolve’. He doesn’t say anything—probably for the best since I’m absolutely furious with him—but he walks with me as if we’re still partners or whatever in this situation.

Which I suppose is a good thing. As angry as I am and as much as I don’t want to be involved in this situation, I even less want whatever power struggle going on between the Courts to get worse—or for that ríardú to fall into the wrong hands. The idea of Corian or someone like him finding a way to get the powers of a monarch either by proxy or by hijacking a ríardú is horrifying.

Declan and I trek through Agatha’s nesting cavern and the larger one after it without seeing her, then head up the stairwell. Once we’re back in the auto shop on the surface, I eye the stairwell under the lift. The last thing we need is to leave the entrance unguarded, but I don’t want to take the time to lay my own ward and I can’t pull any of the others over here since the wardworker, whether that’s Corian or Erik, is who knows where right now. I’ll have to settle for lowering the lift back into place and hoping no one actually works here.

“We can call it in to the detectives,” says Declan.

“Huh?”

He jerks his chin to the opening in the floor. “The Merge point. That way it can be blocked off and the Winter Court won’t be able to use this place anymore. It’d also make sure no one else stumbles across it either.”

“I’ll have to find a way to get Agatha home first. If anyone else goes down there, she’d attack and they’d kill her.”

“Oh yeah, the harpy…” Declan’s brows pull together and a hint of suspicion narrows his eyes as if he’s just not remembering that—admittedly—weird coincidence. “Explain to me your relationship with her again.”

“We’ve already been over this. I told you—”

“No,” he says firmly. “I want the whole story. I think you owe me that much.”

“The whole story involves more secrets than just mine,” I say. “But I can tell you this much: I rescued Agatha and her sister from a very unpleasant cage. One someone I care about shared for a time.”

“Finn.”

I don’t acknowledge his response, but I don’t think I have to. He’s got enough of the pieces to get the picture. I’m not going to put it together for him.

I lower the hydraulic lift back into place, then the two of us walk out into the night air. Exhaustion hangs heavy on my limbs, but there’s also a thrum of frustration. We not only didn’t catch the culprit or even locate the ríardú, but we spent most of the evening going in the wrong direction.

And we have no other leads.

I drag a hand over my face and turn my earpiece on. Might as well check in. “Hey Finn?”

He answers immediately. “Ari! I—”

“Smith wasn’t the thief. Well, he was involved but—”

“Yeah, I know,” says Finn.

“What?”

“That’s what I was just about to tell you. You mentioned earlier something about how the other thief was able to follow you without you noticing, so I decided to figure out how and when the thief made their entrance and exit. I went back through the security vids from the house and I think I found something. Get back here ASAP so I can go over it with you.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Can’t you just tell me now?”

“Nope. I need Declan to take a look at some of this before I’ll know whether or not my theory is right.”

I mumble an agreement and follow Declan to the car. All I really want to do is collapse into bed, but whatever new lead Finn is chasing is going to take precedence.

Fourteen

Finn grabs my arm as soon as I walk in the door and drags me back to his room. He gestures for me to sit, then plops into the chair at the desk in front of his monitors, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he pulls up the various windows he needs.

“First, I wanted to figure out exactly when the thief went in, so I reviewed the security vids for the two hours prior to your arrival and found nothing,” he says quickly, bouncing a little in his seat. “There was nothing at four hours, nothing at six…by the time I got to twelve hours prior to your entry I knew something was fishy.” Finn pauses and glances at me over his shoulder, his brow furrowing and some of his eagerness fading. “You don’t seem very surprised by this information…”

“I told you we figured out Smith—his real name is Corian by the way— wasn’t the culprit. Well, he and his accomplice are both fae, Winter Court to be exact, and the accomplice, Erik, has a traveling gift. He used magic to get in, then left when I was passed out on the floor in the study. I was basically there to clear the way for his exit.”

“That makes sense.” Finn nods to himself and continues typing. Finally, he’s got what he wants up on his monitors and he gestures me closer.

One monitor is playing a video of Eoin’s driveway as a variety of people arrive and go inside, the other screen is split into four quadrants each showing videos from other parts of the outside of the property. The feed is obviously from the exterior security cameras, but I have no idea what I’m looking for and tell Finn as much.

“Hey, Declan,” Finn yells over his shoulder. “Come in here.”

I force my face to stillness, hiding my shock. Finn does not invite people into his space often, so granting Declan entry is a big show of trust. The Autumn fae wouldn’t know that though. Declan pokes his head through the doorway, then strides inside, coming up to stand beside me on my right. He hasn’t said much since we left Goose Island, but he’s not pressing me for information either, so I’ll call that a win for now.

“These feeds are from last weekend,” says Finn, pointing at the monitors. “The night before Ari, um… went inside your grandfather had some kind of party, right?”

“Yes,” says Declan. If he’s disconcerted by Finn hacking into his grandfather’s security system, he doesn’t show it. “To celebrate the Autumnal equinox. My grandfather throws—threw a party for it every year.” He looks down at his hands, his voice going soft. “I wasn’t able to attend this year. I wish I had.”

I can’t help a sudden wave of sympathy for him. My fingers twitch, wanting to reach out, but I curl them into my palm instead.

Finn advances the video, the people scurrying around like ants, first pulling up in fancy cars around dusk, entering the house, then as night falls and it gets later, exiting and being ferried away. The last few guests have left and now all that’s happening is the catering service is packing up. Two guys and a girl are loading up trays and boxes, while a fourth person is carrying out what looks like a table centerpiece that he passes to the girl standing in the back of the truck.

“Did you see it?” asks Finn excitedly.

Declan and I both shake our heads.

“I didn’t catch it the first time around either.” He rewinds the video, then sets it to play at a slower speed and zooms in on the caterers. “Watch the guy with the centerpiece.”

The guy has both hands wrapped around a vase filled with some kind of weird plant-like stuff—a decorator I am not—and as he approaches the back of the van, he shakes his hair out of his face revealing slightly pointed ear tips.

“He’s a faeling,” mutters Declan.

“Yeah,” says Finn. “Most of the catering staff is, probably why your grandfather hired them. That’s not what I’m talking about, though. Watch the hand-off here.”

Finn slows the video down even more as the faeling with the vase reaches forward to hand it to his coworker. Right when the girl takes hold of the vase, the faeling fumbles it. One side of the vase slips downward and as the guy goes to steady it, the hand he had on the side of the vase away from the cameras comes into view for just a second. There’s something shiny clenched in his fingers and what looks like the clasp end of a necklace dangling down between his fingers. As he turns to walk back into the house, he makes a motion with his fingers that, while subtle, is clear enough for me to identify. He’s shoving something up his sleeve.

“That’s impossible,” says Declan. “The necklace couldn’t have been taken during the party.”

“How sure about that are you?” I ask.

“My grandfather has used that caterer for years. All their employees are registered and they vet them thoroughly even beyond that.”

I scoff. “The fact that they’re registered only means there’s a file down at the registrar’s office that lists their gift and their percentage of fae blood. Oh, and that they probably get paid more. As for the caterer vetting them? If there’s nothing to find, it doesn’t mean anything. This could have been the guy’s first job.”

“But how would he have gotten past the wards and into the safe?”

“Wards aren’t foolproof,” I say. “Just because someone doesn’t have my gift doesn’t mean they can’t break wards, just that it would take them a lot more time and effort. The party was what? Six hours long?”

Finn nods. “Around that.”

“So, Eoin had people in and out of his house for at least ten hours with setup and all that. Because he depended on magical security inside, we don’t have any video on the interior. For all we know the guy asked to use the bathroom, then disappeared for eight hours as he took down the wards and stole the necklace.”

“It’s even simpler than that,” says Finn. He starts typing again, pulling up another window. He pauses it somewhere near the beginning of the party as a glamorous fae woman arrives in the company of a large entourage. Finn points to the piece of jewelry on her neck. “The necklace wasn’t in the safe.”

Declan curses under his breath. “Why would he let her parade it around like that…?”

“Who is she?” I ask.

“My cousin,” replies Declan after a slight pause, his voice tight. “But if the necklace had gone missing directly from her person, no one would have been permitted to leave until it was found. Not to mention there would have been no way to keep it quiet. It would have been chaos.”

Finn speeds up the video until it reaches the point where the same woman is leaving. He points to her neck. “No one knew it went missing. At some point during the party, it was switched for a fake.”

“How do you know that’s a fake?” I ask.

“Look closely,” says Finn, pausing the video again. He zooms in on the necklace and pulls up a picture of the real necklace next to the video still. “The differences are small, but they’re there.”

Declan leans closer to the monitor, his gaze bouncing between the video and the picture. His jaw tenses as he grits his teeth. “I don’t understand how this could have happened and nobody noticed.”

Finn shrugs. “People only see what they expect to see.”

Declan’s gaze slides to me. “As I’ve so recently learned.”

“Or Eoin and your cousin were trying to keep the missing necklace quiet for some reason,” I add.

“That’s ridiculous,” says Declan. “Even if he told no one else, if my grandfather knew the necklace was missing, he would have told me.”

“Apparently not,” I reply.

“No. I had an appointment with him the day after his death. He was probably going to tell me then. What possible reason would he have for keeping it from me?” asks Declan.

I let out an incredulous laugh. “The same reason you didn’t report the necklace missing to the cops.”

Declan stills. “How did you…?”

“Really?” I gesture at Finn. “I have my own personal hacker.”

“Oh,” says Declan.

“So, why didn’t you mention the necklace to the police?” asks Finn, glancing back over his shoulder at Declan.

Declan sighs. “Because, should it become known that part of the Autumn Court’s ríardú is missing, then that makes assassination attempts against our Queen much more likely. If the Autumn Queen is killed and there’s no way to bestow the monarch’s power on anyone else…”

“The Autumn Court will fall,” I say. “Just like Winter did.”

Declan only nods, but I can almost see the thoughts racing through his head as his brows draw together.

“And that’s also why you’re stuck with us as allies, huh?” asks Finn. “If the wrong person gets wind of the missing ríardú, then everything falls apart.”

Declan averts his gaze, but that’s answer enough.

“I don’t know that I’d call us allies,” I say, remembering how quickly Declan jumped to the conclusion that I was in league with Corian earlier. “More like I was already sort of involved and he had leverage over me. I think it would be more accurate to call me a reluctant employee.”

“Reluctant?” Declan scoffs. “You didn’t seem very ‘reluctant’ when I offered to pay you. It was your choice to accept or not.”

“My choice,” I say flatly. That was probably the absolute worst thing he could’ve said to me in this moment. “You threatened to turn me in to the cops, then offered me more money than I’ve seen in my life. Where exactly was the choice? Choose to be arrested and let Finn get locked up? Choose to continue barely making ends meet? Do you think I steal things for fun?” I sneer at him. “Your pampered fae ass has no concept of what it means to truly struggle and you’re telling me I had a choice?”

He opens his mouth, closes it, then open it again, but no words come out, so my mouth continues running instead.

“My choice would be to not struggle for money because the only employment available to me without registering doesn’t provide enough income to live on. My choice would be to never see another fae again.” My upper lip curls away from my teeth. “My choice would be for you to have told me the truth about the situation from the beginning. But instead, you dragged me into what’s either an assassination plot, a fight for succession, or fates knows what else and you did it under false pretenses.”

“These are life and death circumstances,” replies Declan. “If I’d told you the full truth, you would have refused to help me. The ríardú is important even if—”

“Not to me it’s not. You know I’m full-blooded fae now so you know I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t give a crap about Court politics. And what’s the point of the monarchs anyway? Do they keep their Courts in line? Do they care at all about their ‘subjects’?” I snort. “Not likely. Granted, I’ve only really spent time around the Spring Queen, though I crossed paths with Summer’s Queen a couple times, but I think I have a good concept of what the monarchs are. They like to play their silly games while everyone around them bows and scrapes for favor.”

“You’ve never met the Autumn Queen,” he says softly.

“And I don’t want to!” I yell back, absolutely livid over his blind loyalty to someone who is probably just like her.

I close my eyes and release a slow breath, trying to get control of my temper. “Look, none of that matters now anyway. You’ve already got me locked into a promise to help, so let’s figure out our next steps.”

Declan apparently knows when to hold his tongue, because he only presses his lips together and nods, saying nothing in reply. I focus on Finn’s monitors where he’s silently studying a still shot of the faeling thief.

“What have you found out about this guy?” I ask, knowing Finn is at least two steps ahead of me already.

“I hacked into the catering company’s employment records and got a name, but not much else.” Finn pulls up some sort of employee profile that includes a clear shot of the faeling’s face.

Ben Rivers is in his late twenties with dark hair and eyes. He’s worked for the catering company for the past five years and has no criminal record. Well, not in the human realm at least. There’s no address listed, but as expected, there is a registration number which means the information we need won’t be found in the caterer’s records.

In the years following the Merge, a lot of faelings were killed or used for their gifts. Because of that, employers are no longer permitted to keep that information on file in case of a data breach. Things like a faeling’s address—and more importantly their gift—can only be gotten through the registrar’s office and they don’t give that kind of info out to just anybody.

Great for faelings—I guess?—not so convenient for me right now.

I eyeball Declan who’s studying the picture with cold eyes as if he can force the faeling to give up all his secrets with just a look. The fae’s gaze shifts to Finn. “Well?”

“Well what?” I ask, my eyes narrowing at the tone in his voice.

Declan twirls his hand in an impatient gesture. “Where’s the rest of it? How do we find him?”

Finn’s smoke-colored pupils meet mine and he raises his brows before shaking his head. “You guys are going to have to go to the registrar’s office if you want his address.”

“Why?” Declan’s brows pull together. “Isn’t this what you do?”

Finn huffs. “Because I’m good, but not that good. The registrar’s network is self-contained and the only access points are inside the building.”

Declan stares blankly at Finn, obviously not understanding what that means.

“I can get into almost any system with internet access,” continues Finn. “But the registrar’s system is like its own ecosystem. It doesn’t connect to anything outside of itself.”

“I see,” says Declan. He turns his attention to me. “So, what do we do?”

“We go down there and hope they’re nice enough to give us the info we need? I’ve never dealt with the registrar’s office, so this is all new to me,” I say. “If we had the time, I could probably figure out a way to break in and—”

“I’ll get us the access we need,” says Declan. He glances at his watch. “They open at nine on Monday. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

He turns and walks toward the door, pauses, takes another step, then pauses again to glance back at me. “I’m sorry, Ari. Both for getting you involved in all this and for my accusations earlier.” He swallows. “If you’d like to be relieved of any obligation to help, I’ll do so.”

I’m too stunned to respond.

“I’ll still pay you, of course,” adds Declan quickly as if he thinks that’s the basis for my hesitation.

Every ounce of self-preservation I have screams at me to take the offer, but my conscience won’t let me. Declan isn’t perfect, but he also isn’t entirely the cold, hard fae I expected him to be and I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t see this through and he got hurt.

His money may have gotten things in motion at Club XS, but waving hundred-dollar bills around would do nothing to fend off a harpy or break those wards at the auto shop. What would have happened to him if I hadn’t been there?

“I’ll see you Monday,” I say, ignoring everything else.

Shock briefly passes over Declan’s features, but then he gives a curt nod and leaves without another word.

Finn and I share a look and he raises his brows. “What—”

“Not a word,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

He represses a smile, then goes back to his computer screens.

“He wouldn’t have gotten half as far without our help,” I say. “If I leave him to his own devices now, he’s bound to fail and I have no doubt that would come back somehow and bite me on the ass.”

“Ok, Ari,” he says in the verbal equivalent of smiling and nodding.

I scowl at the teen, but I’ll only dig myself in deeper if I keep trying to justify my refusal of Declan’s offer as anything other than what it was: a strange desire to protect the Autumn fae.

Fifteen

On Monday morning, I’m in the kitchen pouring myself a cup of coffee when my wards register Declan’s presence. My gaze strays to the clock. It’s barely seven. He’s early. Ugh.

Rolling my eyes, I adjust the wards enough to allow him entry, then move to the couch and plop down on the ratty cushion with my steaming mug in my hand. A second later, Declan taps on the door.

“Come in,” I call without even glancing at the door before lifting the cup to my face and inhaling the scent of my much-needed blast of caffeine.

The door opens and Declan pokes his head in, his brows drawn together as he glances around for a second before his gaze lands on me. He frowns. “Do you often just let people into your house without checking who it is?”

“Wards,” I say, giving him a baleful stare over my mug.

I don’t bother to explain any further, but he must get it because the concerned parent look drops off his face as he enters and shuts the front door behind him. My gaze rakes over him as he walks toward me.

Clearly at least one of us got some sleep. The Autumn fae is immaculate, decked out in another fancy suit—is that what they call bespoke?—this one a dark black with pale green pinstripes running through it. His red hair is perfectly tousled, his moss-colored eyes bright and alert. In other words, he’s looking way more attractive than he has any right to this early in the morning and I kind of want to hate him for it.

Plus, I’m not fond of morning people and it seems he’s the worst kind: an enthusiastic go-getter.

But I suppose one of us has to be and Declan’s whole arrogant, rich guy persona will probably do us a lot more good at the registrar’s office than my half-awake gutter trash one. I’ve found I work much better with magic than with people. Dealing with bureaucracy? That’s well beyond my skill set.

There are also strict limits on my ability for subterfuge since I can’t straight out lie—neither can Declan for that matter—and I don’t think the employees at the registrar’s office will take me silently handing them a business card as permission to give me access to any records. Hopefully, Declan was able to do whatever it was he said he could otherwise I have no idea how in the hells we’ll get the information we need.

I take another sip of my coffee as Declan stands over me, literally looking down his nose at me with a blank expression. What happened to the guy who offered up that soft, sincere apology? Perhaps turning down his offer the other day was a little premature.

“You’re going to need to change,” he says, giving a pointed look to my sleepy-time couture consisting of a tank top and baggy sweatpants. I’m pretty sure his eyes also take in my lack of a bra, but the glance at my chest is so quick I can’t say for sure.

I raise my brows, matching my nonchalance with his. “I figured as much.”

“You should attempt to look professional.”

“Professional what? Stick up my ass?” I scowl at him. It’s too damn early for this.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I think you know what I mean.”

I silently take my sweet time finishing my coffee before taking my cup over to the sink to wash it. “What exactly is our angle here? What are we going to tell them?”

“The truth,” he says. “Or as close to it as possible. That my grandfather hired a caterer and we’re trying to track down one of the employees. The security measures are more to prevent humans from accessing restricted information. I doubt they’ll have much issue with giving us the information since we’re both fae.”

“So your whole plan is just walking in there and asking for the information? Isn’t there paperwork to fill out for that kind of thing? What if they ask me for ID?”

“You’re my assistant today. They won’t require anything of you.”

“Your assistant?”

“There are some things that the Hawthorne name is good for. They won’t question me.” He pauses. “Besides, full-blooded fae don’t have to register if they live in the fae realm.”

“Which I don’t.”

“They won’t know that.”

“Unless they ask me directly…”

“You’re good at avoiding direct answers,” he replies, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Besides, I’m sure there will be plenty of bureaucratic red tape, but I’ll make sure they don’t pay much attention to you.”

“If you say so…” I start toward my room. “You’re on the hook for bail if I get arrested for being unregistered,” I call out over my shoulder as I shut my bedroom door.

First order of business: figuring out what the hells I’m going to wear. My closet is rather…sparse so my options are limited. I tug out the black pants I wore to the club Saturday night and pair them with a shimmery grey blouse and a pair of black ankle boots. The look edges more toward goth than personal assistant, but this is what I have so it’s what’s going to have to work.

Declan gazes sweeps over me when I exit back into the living room. “Good enough I suppose.”

“Now don’t overdo it with the compliments,” I say.

“I’ll try to contain myself,” he replies, his mouth curving into a small smile, the first flash of the Declan from the other night I’ve seen this morning.

I call out a goodbye to Finn, who is likely fast asleep and won’t even hear me, then Declan and I head downstairs. His car is waiting at the curb directly in front of my building, in full view of the entire neighborhood.

“You’re taking a risk parking that thing here without the illusion,” I say.

He shrugs. “It’s insured.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the arrogance of that statement and just get in the passenger seat. The registrar’s office is a few blocks from the Federal Building in downtown Chicago, so the drive takes almost thirty minutes in the morning traffic. Declan parks in one of the garages, then the two of us go down to street level and start walking down Van Buren toward Grant Park.

Three blocks later, we arrive at a nondescript building with a bland gray facade facing the street. Simple block letters spell out Registry of the Greater Chicago Area on the concrete exterior wall next to the single door at the top of a low staircase.

Declan climbs the four wide stairs and I follow close behind. He presses the black plastic button next to the door.

A speaker crackles to life and a snooty voice says, “State your name and Court.”

“Declan Hawthorne.” He pauses, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “Autumn Court. I am also accompanied by an assistant.”

There’s a loud beep and the sound of a lock disengaging.

“You may enter,” says the disembodied voice. I guess Declan wasn’t too far off about the Hawthorne name opening doors since they didn’t even ask for mine.

Declan pushes the door open and we file inside, finding ourselves in a stark, tile-floored and white-walled waiting room eerily reminiscent of the DMV. Well, I suppose this place hands out licenses of a different type so that actually makes sense.

Arrows on the floor light up and lead us toward a receptionist desk where an actual pixie sits typing away at a computer. She has a name tag that reads “Priscilla” resting on her chest just above her boobs.

That’s definitely unexpected. Not the name. The pixie.

I’ve never seen one in the human realm and I’ve certainly never seen one with a desk job. The small, sprite-like creatures that come in varying shades of green typically stick to the forests and glades of the fae realm.

“Are you looking for a marriage license?” she asks. “If so—”

“No,” Declan and I say simultaneously and with equal vehemence.

The pixie blinks at us, slightly taken aback by the volume of our denial I’d guess. “Well, then if you’re here to register, you need to provide 2 forms of ID as well as proof of—”

“We’re just here to get an address,” I break in.

She purses her lips. “In that case, have you already filled out and submitted form C-458 and had it approved by—”

“I simply need contact information for a faeling who works for a catering company hired by my grandfather,” says Declan.

Priscilla tilts her head to the side. “Have you contacted the catering company to request this information?”

“No.”

“Then, you’ll need to fill out form C-45893 and have your grandfather—”

“He’s passed on,” replies Declan, his voice growing tighter.

The pixie sighs. “Then, you’ll need to fill out Form C-45896 and submit it along with a copy of the death certificate and the catering contract.”

Declan releases a slow breath through his nostrils. “I don’t have access to any of that yet. I have reason to believe the faeling has knowledge of a theft that occurred during the catered party and I need to speak with him as soon as possible.” He pulls a sheet of paper with gilded edges from his pocket. “I am making this request with the authority of the Autumn Queen.”

The pixie’s eyes widen. She takes the shiny paper from Declan, holding it closer to her face and squinting. Then sniffing it. She nods to herself, seemingly impressed. “I’ve never seen a completed Form M-001 before.” She darts a glance at Declan. “I’ll get someone to come down here to pull the record and escort you to a viewing room right away.”

“Viewing room?” asks Declan.

She purses her lips. “All files must be reviewed on the premises. Autumn Queen’s agent or not, you simply cannot wander around with our files all willy nilly.”

Priscilla presses a button on the phone near her keyboard and a few moments later a man I’m pretty sure has some fae blood walks over. Priscilla hands him Declan’s form. He glances at it, then looks at Declan.

“And you have the faeling’s registration number?”

Declan nods and pulls out another sheet of paper, this one simple notebook paper with Finn’s messy handwriting on it. “Here it is.”

The man pockets the piece of paper, then gestures for us to follow him. He leads us behind the main counter and down a hallway to the left that’s lined with narrow doors marked as ‘viewing rooms’. Opening the door to the last one on the right, he motions for us to go inside.

Declan goes in first and I follow, finding myself in a sparse, windowless room with nothing more than a table and two chairs. The…unfortunate decor choices remind me of the police interrogation room, though maybe that was the intent.

“I’ll be right back,” says our escort after glancing at the sheet of paper again. He lets the door swing shut and Declan and I are left in silence.

I whirl on him. “How in the hells did you manage to get whatever that form was signed by the Autumn Queen?”

“I asked her,” he replies simply.

I narrow my eyes at him. In my experience, monarchs don’t tend to take requests. There’s definitely much more to the story, but from the look on his face, he’s not going to elaborate on that. Who is this guy that he can just call up the Autumn Queen and ask for a favor? And not only that, but to actually have one granted in little more than twenty-four hours?

I shake my head, swallowing down any follow up questions, then take a seat in the chair not occupied by Declan. We sit in silence for a moment before a thought occurs to me.

“Do you think your fancy form can get you the records for that guy Corian and his little protege?” I ask. “I mean, they didn’t take the ríardú but locating them is definitely on my agenda and we’re here anyway, so…”

“It’s unlikely,” says Declan. “I doubt they reside in the human realm and even if they do, I doubt they’d bother to register.” He pauses. “And I already have people looking for them in the fae realm.”

“I suppose that answers the question of whether or not you were planning on turning them into the cops,” I say, a small smile curving at my lips.

He scoffs. “The human justice system is too good for them. They will feel the full wrath of the Autumn Court.”

“Good,” I say. And I mean it.

Declan holds my gaze for a moment before shifting his to the top of the table. “I—”

The door swings open and the man from before scurries inside, a slim metal box about the size of a ream of paper in his hand. He sets the item on the table and places his palm on top, muttering what I assume is a pass phrase of some type for whatever magic secures the box.

So not only are the registrar’s records not digitized, but they’re also magically secured. Interesting.

The top of the box slides down to reveal a stack of papers held together with a simple paper clip. Somewhat anticlimactic after all that build up.

The man dips his chin in our direction, then leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. Declan reaches over and grabs the stack of papers.

His gaze skims over the information. “The address is recent as of two months ago. It’s a ways out but the rest of my day is free, so we should be able to go out there today.”

I lean closer, my arm brushing against his, and the scent of autumn leaves tickles at my nose. He’s right the address is pretty recent, but that’s not what I’m most curious about at the moment. I glance to the bottom of the page where it lists information on his gift.

“I think I know how he got the necklace,” I say, pointing at the ‘Gift Class’ designation in the file. “Sleight of hand, common with minor thievery like pickpocketing, but this is the first I’ve seen someone use it to pull off a heist this big.”

“The question is did he steal it for himself or at the direction of someone else?” asks Declan half to himself.

I run my gaze up to the criminal record section to find it listed as ‘N/A’

“A guy this clean isn’t likely to randomly decide to steal a priceless magical artifact,” I say. “What possible use could he have for it? Someone must have put him up to it.”

“If that’s the case, what are the chances that he’ll still have the ríardú?”

I shrug. “Not very good, but he’s the only lead we have. Hopefully he’s willing to give up whoever hired him.”

I flip to the next page and my gaze skips down to the next section and my blood goes cold. Given my luck, I half expected him to be allied with the Spring Court and I was right.

But it’s the name listed under the heading ‘Closest Fae Relative’ that makes me feel on the verge of becoming violently ill.

Irina Grace, otherwise known as the Spring Queen.

Worse, in parentheses next to her name is the word ‘grandmother’.

Sixteen

The nearly hour-long drive to the address in Ben’s file passes in silence, me busy contemplating his family ties and what they might mean, and Declan…I don’t know. Maybe he figured out I needed some quiet time.

I should use some of this time to call and update Finn, but the odds are the kid’s still asleep. Dragon shifter or human, most teenagers tend to sleep half the day away and waking him up just makes him grumpy for the rest of the day. Besides, the GPS has us arriving at our destination in only three minutes and getting Finn awake and coherent takes much more time than that.

Following the GPS’s instructions, Declan takes the next turn into a large subdivision. He cruises slowly down the quiet residential street. Cookie cutter houses—probably the result of a strict HOA—line the sides, perfect green lawns in front of every one. Various people stroll or jog along the sidewalks, both singles and small groups, completing the very suburban tableau. All in all, it’s almost depressingly normal.

After our last clue following excursion with the deserted auto shop, deadly wards, and creepy underground lair, our arrival in Ben’s neighborhood is almost disappointing. I’m not sure what I expected but a collection of simple mid-sized colonials in the fairly upscale suburb of Naperville is definitely not it.

How in the hells would Ben even afford a house in a neighborhood like this?

If he was full-blooded fae, I could possibly understand, but as a faeling employed as a catering assistant or whatever his title might be? There’s no way. And whether he’s really her relative or not, the fates know the Spring Queen doesn’t care for faelings, so she’s definitely not bank rolling this guy.

The Spring Queen cares for only one thing: herself.

Declan takes two more turns, then drives down Ben’s street, both of us studying the house as we pass. At the next block, he pulls around the corner and parks by the curb.

Thankfully, the fae’s fancy car won’t look too out of place here. The vehicle is likely in a higher price bracket than the residents here can afford, but at least no one’s going to steal the damn thing.

“What next?” he asks.

“I think knocking on the door is in order,” I reply. Declan looks skeptical. “We don’t exactly have time for surveillance.” I glance up and down the street. “Besides it’s the middle of the day in suburbia. I don’t think we’re going to have any battles on the street and the guy doesn’t exactly have a gift with offensive capabilities.”

“Fine,” says Declan. “I’ll follow your lead then.”

We both exit the car and I move to walk beside Declan as we make our way around the corner and up the street. His whole body is tense and he keeps looking from side to side like he’s expecting someone to jump out of the bushes at any moment. He’s going to give us away if he doesn’t relax a little.

I slide my hand into his, interlinking our fingers, as I shoot a wide smile at the woman pushing a baby stroller along the sidewalk. Once she’s past, I squeeze Declan’s fingers.

“Try to act naturally,” I say. “What are you so worried about anyway?”

He purses his lips. “If we’re caught—”

“Doing what? Knocking on the guy’s door? We aren’t doing anything wrong. He’s the one who stole from you.”

“The one we think is the thief,” he replies. “The videos Finn found aren’t necessarily definitive and, given the faeling’s connections, if I accuse him of this it could set off all sort of complications within the Courts.”

I’m silent, barely holding back a snort. Pretty much anything can set off ‘complications’ between the Courts. They’re almost always spoiling for a fight.

“You did see that, right?” asks Declan. “That the faeling’s closest fae relative is the Spring Queen?”

“Yes…,” I say slowly. Why does he know the Spring Queen by name? “But I doubt she cares. She has no use for faelings.”

A pair of joggers run past us on the right, one of them huffing out a polite ‘hello’ as she goes by. I return the greeting while Declan makes an expression I think is supposed to be a smile, but instead looks more like a grimace.

The second jogger glances at him over her shoulder, her brows pulling together. Which is not so good in an area where people might call the cops if we look too suspicious. My social skills aren’t that great, but even I can pull off a believable ‘normal’. If Declan doesn’t relax a little, we’re going to end up on the bad side of the neighborhood watch.

Thankfully, we don’t have any more human encounters before we reach Ben’s address, a two-story house with gray siding, white shutters, and a full front porch. We walk up the steps of the porch and approach the front door, me in front with Declan standing just over my shoulder. I press the doorbell, listening as a cheery little tune echoes through the house. No answer. I try the doorbell again with the same result.

“Maybe no one’s home?” says Declan.

“Possibly.”

Leaning to the side, I ring the doorbell again while peeking through the glass insert beside the front door. The frosted and beveled surface doesn’t make for the best visibility, but I can’t make out anyone moving around.

Closing my eyes, I send my senses out looking for wards. None.

I straighten, then glance up and down the street. There are still a few people out and about walking their dogs or going for a run, but no one seems to be paying Declan and I any attention now that the Autumn fae isn’t walking down the sidewalk with a suspicion inducing expression.

“Can you hide me?” I ask.

Declan’s brow’s pull together. “Why?”

I gesture at the door. “So, I can pick the lock obviously.”

He blinks, then his gaze darts to one of the dog walkers on the opposite side of the street.

“I wouldn’t be a very good thief if I depended solely on magic, now, would I?”

He mutters something about me not being a very good thief anyway, but does as I requested. The illusion magic settles over me. I pull the rolled-up case holding my spare set of lock picks from my pocket, select the ones I need, then set to unlocking the door.

The doorknob lock is first.

Slowly, I use the picks to manipulate the tumblers and a minute or two later, the final one clicks into place. The deadbolt takes longer, but not by much. When I’m done, I remove my picks, stow them away, then reach for the knob. The door opens without protest and I slip inside, gesturing for Declan to follow me.

The open foyer is dim and quiet and there’s a staleness to the air in the house, like its residents haven’t been around for a while. I send out some more magical feelers, to make sure my rushed inspection earlier was correct and it was. No wards.

“Hello?” I call out. “Anyone home?”

Declan whirls on me, his eyebrows practically touching his hairline. I shrug. We’ve already broken in. Announcing our presence won’t make anything worse and it could save us from a nasty surprise.

Only silence answers me. I move farther into the house, heading toward the back where there’s an open family room-kitchen combo. There’s a thin layer of dust on the coffee table in front of the dark brown leather couch, but everything is neat and orderly.

“Ari?” My head darts up at Declan’s call. He’s standing near one of the shelves next to the big screen TV mounted on the wall and he’s holding what looks like a picture frame.

I make my way to Declan and he turns the frame to face me as I approach, his brows quirking upward. The simple silver frame holds what looks like a wedding picture, two very human women with their arms wrapped around one another. Neither one of them look anything like the faeling we’re looking for.

My gaze moves to the two built-in bookshelves on either side of the TV. Among the knickknacks and books there are more framed pictures, all of them showing one or both women from the wedding picture in various places across the world.

Well, that explains why there aren’t any wards. This house belongs to two humans.

“Maybe they’re on an extended vacation and he’s house-sitting?” says Declan, slowly as if trying to convince himself.

I glance around, my nose wrinkling at the musty, stale air as I wander into the kitchen. “If that’s the case, he’s not doing a very good job.”

The counters are bare, the sink empty. I open the fridge and sneak a peek inside, finding only a couple takeout boxes and some random condiments. Poking at one of the boxes, I take a sniff, then recoil at the half-rotten odor. Not recent takeout. Ugh.

It isn’t until the fridge is closed again that I notice the laminated sheet of paper on the front held on by a magnet. It’s a list of ‘emergency numbers’ for things like plumbers, electricians, an alarm company, and a vet. Below that is a hotel itinerary for a European trip.

“The homeowners have been gone at least four weeks.” I let out a sigh of relief, then glance around again. “I think you’re right about Ben house sitting—or at least someone is supposed to be.”

“It would have to be him,” says Declan. “The registrar’s office would have verified his address. They don’t just take people’s words for that kind of thing.”

I raise my brows. “Unless you’re a relative of the Spring Queen.”

Declan goes quiet, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Does that mean we came all the way out here for nothing?”

“I’m not sure. Let’s take a look around before we jump to any conclusions.”

He rubs at his temple with one hand, then gestures for me to lead the way.

The two of us make our way upstairs. I peek into the master bedroom, but it looks unused, the bed made, dust on the dresser, and all the blinds closed. The bathroom in the hallway smells damp, like someone forgot to turn on the exhaust fan when they took a shower and there’s a musty towel crumpled on the floor. Someone has definitely been here since the homeowners left, but not recently.

The bedroom next to the bathroom seems a little fresher with no dust lingering on the furniture and an open suitcase sitting in the corner. The three other bedrooms, however, are closed off, the air inside stale and uncirculated.

Something doesn’t feel right. Someone’s been here since the homeowners left, presumably Ben, but then where is he? Why does it look like no one’s been here in at least a week?

“Did you see any other doors?” I ask. “This place probably has a basement we should check.”

Declan nods. “I think there was one off the kitchen.”

We head back downstairs, Declan leading the way to a door in the wall across from the fridge. I open the door. Yup, this is definitely the way to the basement. There’s a narrow wooden stairway leading down into the darkness, just like in every horror movie ever made. And my nightmares.

A shudder travels down my back. Fates I hate being underground. But we can’t leave here without finding out what Ben knows, so into the dark, dank basement I go.

The wooden stairs creak under my feet and I flick the light switch at the bottom, revealing an unfinished basement that likely covers the same footprint as the house above. The air is cool enough down here to bring goosebumps up along my arms and there’s a heavy musty smell.

My nostrils twitch as I glance around the space. There’s nothing down here but stacks of boxes and what looks like a dehumidifier in the corner, running along at a steady hum. Maybe the smell is from the water that thing pulled from the air.

Declan’s feet hit the floor behind me as a rustling sound comes from behind one of the stacks of boxes. An orange tabby cat darts out from behind the boxes, heading toward the steps. He stops at Declan’s feet, twirling around the fae’s ankles and loudly meowing.

The feline must be who the vet’s number was for, but what is he doing down here? The cat bumps his head against Declan’s shin and Declan picks him up. The cat’s chest rumbles with a loud purr as Declan strokes his back.

Another waft of scent heads my way and I wrinkle my nose. Whatever the smell is, it's really foul. Maybe the cat was using the corner as a litter box. I retrace the cat’s steps, crossing the basement and stepping around the wall of boxes to look behind them.

“Uh, Declan?” I call out.

“Yes?”

“I don’t think we’re going to get any information from Ben,” I say, my gaze focused firmly on the sight on the ground at my feet.

The sound of Declan’s footsteps hits my ears as he crosses the basement over to me. “Why do you say that?”

“Because he’s dead.” I glance from the body with the chewed-on face to Declan. “And you might want to put the cat down.”

Declan makes a gagging noise, turning his face away from the body, then sets the cat on the concrete and nudges him away with one foot. I don’t blame the fae. The feline’s dietary habits definitely leave something to be desired.

I crouch down closer to the body. Even though the cat’s been gnawing at its face, it isn’t hard to tell the body belongs to Ben Rivers. There’s no telltale injuries or obvious causes of death, but the guy has been dead a while. At least a week by my guess.

“I think he was killed as soon as he handed off the ríardú,” I say. “Probably right after he got back here from Eoin’s party.”

Declan eyes me. “Wouldn’t there be more of a…smell issue if he’s been dead that long?”

I shake my head. “Not necessarily. It’s cool enough down here to slow decomp and with that dehumidifier there’s not much moisture in the air.”

He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t want to ask how you’d know that.”

And I wouldn’t answer him if he did. I’m not an expert or anything, but I saw more than a few dead bodies during my tenure at the Spring Court. I rise to my feet and turn to Declan.

“So, what’s next?” I ask. “We’ve kind of hit a dead end. Literally.”

Declan sighs. “I don’t know. If we—”

I jump up and slap my hand over his mouth, silencing him, as I tilt my head to the side and listen. “There’s someone upstairs.”

Seventeen

The floorboards above us creak as the new arrival makes their way through the house above us, moving directly toward the basement. The door at the top of the stairs swings open and a pair of men’s dress shoes comes into view as the person descends.

“I have to give you credit, Hawthorne. You made it this far much more quickly than I expected,” says the person on the stairs as he continues downward.

The voice is familiar, but it takes me a second to place it, mostly because the human realm is the last place I’d ever expect to see him.

Warren Grace.

There are few people I despise as much as I despise the Spring Queen and her eldest son is definitely one of those people. He wasn’t around much when I was at the Spring Court—he has his own residence away from the palace—but his laughter is part of the soundtrack in my nightmares.

Warren reaches the bottom of the stairs and steps into view, looking almost unchanged from when I last saw him despite the passage of years. He has the same forsythia yellow hair as his mother and eyes the bright green of new grass.

I’d once found him attractive in the way of a besotted preteen blinded by a pretty face, but then I had the misfortune of getting to know him. Looking at him now, all I can see is his cruelty and his cunning. His eyes are only a few shades lighter than Declan’s but exponentially colder and lacking any of the warmth found in the Autumn fae’s.

I’m not exactly sure when Declan went from ‘the lesser evil’ to ‘not evil’, but seeing him and Warren almost side by side like this makes me understand why.

Because of all the fae I’ve known, Declan is the only one with morals or any sort of compassion.

“Do tell how you managed to put it all together,” says Warren in a mocking voice, all his attention focused on Declan. “What is it that I—”

“Hello, Warren,” I say in a low voice, fighting to keep myself from outright snarling.

The Spring fae makes a choked noise as his gaze meets mine, but he quickly covers his surprise. “Arielle,” he says in a sickly-sweet voice. “I didn’t expect you to join Hawthorne on this misguided quest, but I’m glad to see you.”

“The feeling is not mutual.” My voice is flat and cold, my eyes narrowed as I curl my fingers into my palms, pressing my nails into the skin. “Why are you here? What does she even want with Autumn’s ríardú?”

Warren’s expression is a predatory thing that wouldn’t look out of place on a movie villain. “My mother aspires to unite the Courts under one central power.”

“Herself,” I say, not even needing to ask. I’m not sure how she thinks she’d do that, but logic and the Spring Queen’s ego go together like oil and water.

“A single piece of the ríardú isn’t enough to do anything,” breaks in Declan, his voice hard as he moves closer to me so we’re standing almost shoulder to shoulder. “Your mother is asking for war.”

Warren chuckles. “Who said we only had the one piece? Eoin wasn’t the only caretaker to be, well, careless with what was entrusted to them. His piece was only the biggest. My mother has been putting this together for decades. Before the Merge even.” He turns an unreadable look on me, a sly smile twisting his lips. “But not by much.”

What is that supposed to mean?

“There was only one more thing my mother needed to assemble the pieces she’s gathered,” continues Warren like some monologuing villain. “And thanks to your bumbling investigation, you managed to lead us right to it, Hawthorne.”

Declan’s brows draw together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Without the original mold, she had to reshape the ríardú, a task that requires a very specific type of heat to power the forge,” says Warren, smirking.

There’s a long pause as Declan stares at Warren, but something must click for the Autumn fae because all the color leaves his face. His eyes dart to me, almost an involuntary movement, before going back to Warren.

Dread curls in my stomach, cold and empty. Warren isn’t known for subtlety and the way he’s grinning sets my teeth on edge. He’s too cool, too confident. I don’t like it. I like the expression on Declan’s face even less. What am I missing here?

“Whatever you’re planning, you’ll fail. You will never get close enough to kill her and take the power. She won’t be drawn out,” says Declan. “Autumn’s Queen is no fool.”

“She won’t be drawn out? Not even for a memorial for one of her own?”

Declan’s jaw tightens as he glares at Warren.

“Mother will be properly horrified, of course,” continues Warren. “So much so that she simply has to deliver her condolences in person. The culprit was not only from her Court, but from her line after all.” He glances at Ben’s body and mimes wiping tears away. “The poor, simple creature, so desperate for favor, so desperate to join my Court that he lost his mind and murdered Autumn’s—”

“You won’t get away with this,” says Declan, his lips pulling away from his teeth. “And even if Irina holds Autumn’s ríardú, that’s not enough to take control of all the Courts.”

Warren laughs. “As they say, two out of three ain’t bad.”

Declan steps forward, like he’s going to push his way to the stairs, but Warren extends his hand, palm up as if holding something. Most likely a spell.

No. Not a spell.

Perched on Warren’s palm is a glass sphere about the size of a golf ball. Warren smirks and weaves the ball through his fingers. Declan glances between us, his brows pinched together with confusion, but I know exactly what Warren holds. Well, not exactly, just that it’ll probably kill us.

Warren has a very unique gift. I’m not sure what exactly it’s called or even what class it’s part of, but he can create those little glass spheres and they can contain anything from an insect to a rampaging ogre, sort of like a Pokémon ball of horrors.

“I’ve brought a friend to play with you,” says Warren as he weaves the sphere through his fingers. “You remember Barnaby, don’t you Arielle?”

I freeze in place, my limbs going cold and my stomach dropping. The stupid, benign sounding name belongs to the Spring Queen’s pet wyvern, not a creature I want to deal with.

Wyverns are a crooked offshoot of the dragon family tree. They are more reptile than anything and have no human form. A full-grown wyvern stands only about three feet tall, much smaller than a full-grown dragon, but just as deadly. They have two legs as opposed to four, but the claw-like appendages their wings are attached to can act very much like arms. Well, if by ‘arms’ you mean ‘over-sized spring-loaded spears’.

And the wyvern characteristic that makes Warren so sure Declan and I aren’t making it out of here? They’re immune to spells.

Without weapons, Declan and I are totally and completely screwed.

At least the damn things don’t breathe fire, so we won’t be burned to death. That’s a plus.

Warren chuckles, then lets the sphere drop from his hand. The glass shatters against the concrete floor and a maelstrom of white smoke expands from the wreckage, then takes the semi-familiar shape of a dark green wyvern. Warren clicks his tongue, pointing toward Declan and I, then he backs up the stairs as Barnaby bobs and weaves his way toward me.

“By the way, Ari,” calls Warren over his shoulder as he heads up the stair. “You should ask Hawthorne how he found your apartment.”

I slide my gaze to Declan. “What—”

“We don’t have time for that,” says Declan, avoiding my gaze. “If we don’t get past the wyvern, it won’t matter anyway.”

He’s right. I guess. But some instinct is still screaming at me that I’m not going to like his explanation when I finally get one. But…back to the matter at hand: The vicious wyvern blocking the only way out of here.

I glance around the basement. Making another exit could be an option—the house isn’t immune to spells—but the walls and floor are concrete and putting together a spell to get through that would take way more time than we have.

“Ideas?” I ask. “And before you suggest it, wyverns are immune to spells.”

“I don’t suppose this is another one of your more deadly friends like the harpy?” asks Declan with forced lightness.

“Unfortunately not,” I say, shooting him a grim smile before turning my full attention back to the wyvern as I try to work out some options.

Declan can’t hide us with an illusion. Well, he could, but it wouldn’t do any good. The wyvern would just sniff us out.

Spells don’t work on wyverns, but what about wards? I’ve never heard of anyone trying to use one of those against the creatures. Maybe I could be the first? Except I don’t have any wards to pull from and working up one from scratch will take too much time.

My gaze catches on the pieces of the sphere that previously held the wyvern and an idea begins to take shape. I can work with other people’s wards and, presumably, their spells too though I’ve never tried. Could that skill translate to working with someone else’s gift?

It’s worth a shot.

“Distract him,” I say.

Declan gives me an incredulous look. “How exactly do you propose I do that?”

“I don’t know. Wave your arms around or something.”

He lets out a doubtful huff, but he follows my instruction, waving his arms over his head and yelling, “Hey you, scaly thing, over here.”

I dart forward, grabbing one of the pieces of the sphere, then retreat until my back is against the wall. There’s definitely magic in the thing. The question is whether or not I can figure out how to use it.

Corian called me a ‘weaver’, a term I’d never heard before but it seems like an accurate description of my gift. I’ve always known it was powerful, but little more than that. I don’t know the scope. I don’t know the limits.

And I’ve damn sure never tried to weave together a power that belongs to someone else, but right now I’m out of options.

I squeeze my eyes closed, blocking out the sounds around me and attempting to get a strangle hold on my concentration. Instead of the same threads I sense with wards, there are tiny wisps of magic, like unwoven silk fibers, along the edges of the piece in my hand. The first time I grab for one, it slips from my grip almost immediately.

I grit my teeth and try again to take hold of them. And again. If I can’t—

There. Got it. I keep a tight mental grip on the slippery fiber and start tugging on another one connected to a different piece of the broken sphere. I pull the two pieces of the sphere closer together and immediately see my next problem.

There’s no way to put the sphere back the way it was, not quickly anyway. Doing a mental puzzle with greased pieces would take way more time than I have. I’ll have to settle for trying to recreate enough of the sphere to use as a barrier to push the wyvern back and allow us to get out of the basement.

I gather up as many of the pieces as I can and form them into a rough mosaic held together by joining the dangling ends of magic with haphazard knots. The cobbled together shield is small, barely two feet across, but it will have to do.

“Declan! Get behind me!”

The Autumn fae immediately complies, leaving the wyvern whirling to face me as he bares his teeth. A slitted tongue flicks out between his lips and he hisses as he takes two steps forward.

I shove my hands out, pushing the reconstructed remnants of the sphere toward the wyvern’s head. Instinctively, he backs up. I guess being in that sphere wasn’t much fun. I turn slowly, and the wyvern turns with me eyeballing the makeshift shield the entire time.

“Go,” I tell Declan once my back is facing the stairs.

“What about—”

“Just go! Get out of here!”

He shoots me a conflicted look, then runs up the stairs, his footsteps clattering against the wood. I hold my position until the door at the top of the stairs opens, then drop the cobbled together barrier. Spinning on my heel, I make a mad dash for the stairs.

I’m almost halfway up when the wyvern growls—from way too close behind me. A line of fire rips down my back as a claw cuts through my shirt and my skin before catching on the waistband of my pants. I stumble, my chin crashing into the stairs. My teeth vibrate in my skull from the blow and the claw tugs me backward, dragging me down at least three stairs.

The wyvern screeches in victory as he uses the claw stuck in my pants to pull me down another two stairs. I risk a glance over my shoulder. My back is coated in red and I’m almost in the reach of the wyvern’s jaws now. My feet scrabble for purchase as I reach around to try to get the thing’s claw loose.

But the blood pouring from the wound on my back coats my hands, making it impossible for me to get any sort of grip on the slippery surface.

I’m dragged down another step.

“Ari!” yells Declan from the top of the stairs, his face contorted with terror.

The fool decided to wait for me.

I’m about to tell him to just leave me—someone needs to tell Finn what happened—but the basement around me disappears, everything going black, and my words are lost. When the darkness recedes, I’m back in the bowels of the Spring palace, the Queen’s leering face looking down on me from above and the ground around me covered with broken, bloody dragon scales.

I open my mouth in a soundless scream.

Eighteen

The world around me is nothing but flashes of light and memory as ice cold terror rockets through my limbs. My lungs are too frozen to draw air and panic tugs at my chest as I scratch frantically at my throat trying to breathe. Another set of hands grabs my own, holding tightly to my wrists and bringing another wash of fear.

I have to get away.

I can’t stay here.

I can’t breathe.

I’m going to die.

An eternity later, whispered words in a voice that isn’t hers find their way into my ears. “It’s okay, Ari. I’ve got you. It was just an illusion.”

Illusion?

Declan.

With that realization comes air as I take a gasping breath and open my eyes. I’m on the hard tile of the kitchen floor, half lying in Declan’s lap. He sits with his back against the cabinets, stroking my hair with a worried frown creasing his brow.

He grasps my chin turning my face enough so I meet his searching green eyes. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“What in all the fiery hells was that?” I ask in a shaky voice.

Declan releases my chin and turns his face away. His voice goes quiet. “It’s part of my gift. I can… project someone’s greatest fear directly into their minds. I didn’t know what else to do or even if it would work on the wyvern, but I had to do something. I can’t really aim the projections and you and the wyvern were so close together… I didn’t mean to…”

Bile burns at the back of my throat and a tremor moves through my limbs, but I’m coherent enough to understand what he’s saying. I hadn’t been impressed with Declan’s illusion gift, but I damn sure am now. And more than a little wary.

A shudder travels down my back. Gifts with any sort of mental aspect are absolutely terrifying. He could disable me with half a thought. If he’d been trying to hurt me…he would’ve succeeded.

But Declan isn’t like the other fae I’ve known and I don’t think he’d deliberately harm me.

I take a deep, steadying breath, then grab Declan’s hand, squeezing gently. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah.” I release his hand, then push myself up into a sitting position. Pain jolts down my back as my muscles pull at the wound from the wyvern’s claw. I inhale sharply, closing my eyes as I force back a whimper. “On second thought, I’ve definitely been better.”

Declan lets out a soft huff of a laugh. “Do you think you can stand?”

I nod, pressing my lips together. Declan rises, then reaches down and helps me to my feet. Once up, I lean against the counter, breathing deeply, and wait for the wave of pain to pass with my eyes closed. Cracking open one eye, I send a wry smile at Declan. “Have any good healing spells in your arsenal?”

He grimaces. “Nothing of note, but I can probably at least get the bleeding to stop.”

I turn so my injured back is facing him. “Have at it.”

“Uh…” He clears his throat. “I’ll need to remove your shirt.”

“Fine,” I say. It’ll be awkward, but what choice do I have? “Might as well just rip it the rest of the way and save me the trouble of trying to lift my arms.”

“Sure.” Declan’s fingers brush against the skin on my lower back as he takes hold of either side of the ragged opening in the cotton shirt. He tugs, ripping the fabric that covers my back. Two harder yanks break apart the collar at the neck and the bottom hem, leaving me wearing what’s essentially a backwards cardigan, though bloodier and trashier.

Declan stills, his breath stuttering in his chest. And this is why I’d have preferred to leave my shirt on. I grit my teeth and close my eyes, knowing exactly what he’s seeing that caused his reaction. The pale skin of my back is crisscrossed with scars. Some of the milder ones are visible if I’m wearing a tank top, but the area between the bottom of my shoulder blades and the top of my jeans is a twisted mess of tissue.

One of Declan’s fingers ghosts along a scar that extends almost from one side of my back to the other.

“What happened?” he asks softly.

“Do the spell, Declan.”

He ignores me, his hand moving to run along another scar. “Who did this?”

“It. Doesn’t. Matter,” I bite out.

“Of course it—”

“Declan!” I snap. “Just do the fatesdamned healing spell so we can get out of here. The more you delay, the closer the Spring Queen gets to her goals.”

He doesn’t respond, but he settles his hands against the ragged skin of my back on either side of the wound caused by the wyvern’s claw. His palms warm as he mutters a simple incantation.

He was right. The spell does little more than stop the bleeding and take away a bit of the pain, but it’s the best I’m going to get right now.

The second he stops speaking and the warmth from his hands fades, I pull away from his touch, the vulnerability of his hands on my scars is just too much. Quickly, I flip the ripped shirt around to cover my back and leaving it open in the front. The movement tugs at the barely healed muscles, but I’d rather my boobs be on display than my back. At least I have a bra on.

Declan’s gaze is frozen on my cleavage, his jaw dropping ever so slightly. Typical male.

“They’re just boobs. Get over it.”

A flush spread over his cheeks and he sends his gaze to the floor, then shrugs out of his suit jacket and holds it out to me. “For the walk to the car?”

I take the jacket and put it on. Slowly. This injury is really going to put a damper on my ability to get things done. Declan’s jacket is too big for me, the sleeves hanging over my hands and the bottom of it nearly reaching my knees, but at least it fastens and provides some coverage. I resist the urge to bury my nose in the collar and take comfort in the sharp scent of leaves and cedar.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say, dragging a hand over my face. “Maybe Finn will have some more info for us when we get back or…” I sigh. “I don’t know.”

Declan looks as if he’s about to say something, but then simply nods and gestures for me to precede him from the house.

I’ve had enough of illusion magic today, so I don’t bother asking the Autumn fae to try to hide us. Declan isn’t much more than a little disheveled, but I’m a mess, one with visible blood somewhere on me no doubt. If we got odd looks when we first arrived in this suburban neighborhood, the looks we’re getting now are downright shocked.

I suppose it doesn’t matter at this point though. We keep our heads down, ignoring everyone we pass until we get back to the car. Declan opens my door for me, something I’m more than grateful for since I don’t know how much my back muscles would have liked that particular movement.

Carefully, I slide into the passenger seat and tilt my head back to rest against the seat. I close my eyes, trying to grab a quick nap, but my brain is too wired for sleep. After about five minutes, I sigh and open my eyes.

“So…,” I say, searching for something to break the silence. “That illusion ability you have is interesting.”

Declan glances at me from the corner of his eye. “Yes. It is.”

“Is that all you have to say about it?”

Another glance. “If we’re going to talk about ‘interesting’ abilities, care to explain exactly what you did to fend off the wyvern?”

That would be a no. I press my lips together and stare out the window, ignoring the question. The thing of it is, I don’t know exactly what I did—not for sure—and Declan has enough of my secrets for the moment. I’m already feeling raw enough without revealing any more.

We spend the rest of the drive in silence. Once we’re back at my apartment, Declan parks. He leaves his hands on the steering wheel, then glances up at my building, looking—of all things—nervous. And maybe a bit resigned.

I don’t comment on the behavior, but his gaze comes up to meet mine, an apology in his eyes I don’t quite understand.

“What’s—”

“We should go upstairs,” he says softly. “Talk there.”

So, that’s what we do. He settles an illusion over his car, and we head inside.

It isn’t until I’m in the hallway approaching my front door that I realize something is wrong. My wards are… I squint. Not broken, but definitely not whole either.

I pick up my pace, jogging up to my door. The wood around the frame is slightly splintered and the lock isn’t set. I swallow as I turn the knob and push open the door.

“Finn?” I poke my head inside, then glance around the small space. The apartment is quiet, TV off, bedroom doors both closed. Walking further inside, I call out Finn’s name again. No answer.

Dread coils in my stomach and I have to force myself to stay calm as I move through the apartment. Everything’s going to be fine. He’s here somewhere.

I can’t accept anything else.

But the living room is empty. So is the kitchen. His bedroom is empty, computer monitors dark. My bedroom is empty.

“No,” I say softly to myself, shaking my head. “No no no.”

My mind whirls with all the possible things that could have gone wrong, following one path, then another, and another, not able to focus on any one thing. Did he leave? Was he taken? If so, by who? And where? And how? And—

Something clicks into place as snippets of Warren’s voice play though my head.

…you managed to lead us right to it

…a very specific type of heat to power the forge

…ask Hawthorne how he found your apartment

That is an interesting question. How did Declan find his way to my door? Now that I think about it, he only said Jamison gave him my name. I assumed that meant the cop also gave Declan my address. But not once did the fae actually say that.

“How did you find my apartment?” I ask in a quiet voice.

“The cops had some of your belongings and a business card you left them with your name. I hired someone to do a locater spell,” he replies in almost a whisper, his entire body tensed as if preparing for a blow. I stare at him, waiting for the rest of it.

He closes his eyes and rubs his hand over his forehead, anguish lining his features. “She had an odd reaction to your name, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”

“Who was she?” I ask, but I think I already know the answer.

“Because of the circumstances, I didn’t want to go to a member of my Court.” He sighs. “So, I went to Genna Reed.”

One of the Spring Queen’s lackeys. Not particularly powerful overall, but she has quite the knack for finding things and sells her services often in the human realm. Frankly, I’m a little surprised she’s never tried to locate me before, but I guess no one cared until they needed something from me. Or, rather, they needed Finn.

I take a deep breath, struggling to hold back the part of me that wants nothing more than to rip Declan apart. “This is your fault then.”

He holds his hands up in a ‘calm down’ gesture which only enrages me more. This pampered asshole has not only ruined my life, but Finn’s too all because his stupid Court was, well, stupid. I’m too pissed to be eloquent right now.

Declan steps toward me, reaching. “Ari—”

I shove at his chest and he stumbles backward. “No! You led them here and they took him and…” I turn away, squeezing my eyes closed against tears and my hands curling into fists at my sides. “You have no idea what this will do to him. None.” My gaze comes up to meet his. “Get. Out.”

“Ari, please…”

I ignore him and turn away, pulling myself together, before kicking into planning gear. Obviously, there’s no question that I’m going after Finn. I just have to come up with a plan.

Or, actually, I only have to alter a previously thought-out plan.

Finn and I knew we might be found, that we might have to run one day, so we both have go-bags packed and ready. Granted, our whole bus route out of the city and stashed beater car won’t do me any good under these particular circumstances, but at least we’ll have clothes, money, and ID when I get Finn back.

Because there’s no question that I will. I won’t accept any other outcome.

I jog to my room and dig around in the back of my closet until I find the black backpack shoved in the corner. The thing is slightly overfull so the zipper sticks a little when I open it, but a quick visual inventory shows me everything is still there.

So, that’s step one complete.

Next step is changing. Blending in is asking for a bit much, but that doesn’t mean I need to stand out by waltzing around in a too big jacket with a bloody shirt and messy hair. I strip, the pain in my back little more than an inconvenience in the face of my panicked preparations.

“Ari—” Declan makes a choked noise, but I don’t have time to deal with his delicate sensibilities right now.

“I thought I told you to leave.”

He ignores me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m changing so I can go get Finn back.”

“Shouldn’t you take some time to think about this? Running off without—”

“There is no time,” I snap. “Every second he’s there means less of a chance I’ll get him back. Not whole anyway.”

“What—”

“Did you know Finn doesn't leave the apartment?” I ask in a forced conversational tone.

Declan looks taken aback, his jaw dropping open and brow furrowing. “Ever?”

“Ever,” I confirm. “That’s why he’s so into his computers. It’s the only way he interacts with anyone besides me. He’s terrified of the outside world—the fae realm most of all—and with good reason. You know nothing about what the fae have put him through.” I step toward Declan and poke him in the chest. “Your idealized version of the fae realm and the monarchy isn’t reality. Fae are cruel and vicious, the monarchs most of all. The Spring Queen stole Finn before he was hatched. He didn’t even have a name until I gave him one.”

Declan looks stricken, his face drawn and pale.

“You wanted to know how I know so much about blood magic, right? She used it to strip Finn of his free will, stuck a collar on him before he could walk and forced him to shift and entertain her guests. Like you, they thought of him as only a thing there to amuse them and I was only a lowly Winter Court nobody who was a target of their anger. From the time the Spring Queen ‘took me in’ as a toddler to when I escaped at sixteen, I spent my time trying to stay as invisible as possible.” I turn around and gesture at my now bare back. “As you’ve probably gathered, I wasn’t always successful.”

Declan is silent, his gaze fixed on the floor, so I turn to my dresser, yanking open the top drawer. The movement tugs at my injury and I hiss through my teeth. Even worse, instead of opening like the damn piece of furniture is supposed to, the drawer goes off its tracks and sticks crookedly, leaving me no room to get at the shirts inside. No matter how many times I tug, the drawer won’t come free.

I don’t have time for this!

I kick the bottom of the dresser, ignoring the jolt of pain in my toes. My breaths are coming faster and faster as my panicked anger rises, choking me. Something is dripping down my back, probably blood since I likely opened the wound again, and hot tears overflow my eyes and trail down my cheeks. I lean over and place my forehead against the top of the dresser drawing deep breaths in and out, trying to calm myself, but it’s not working. The idea that Finn is back in the Spring Queen’s clutches and I have no idea what she’s doing to him is just too much.

“Ari,” says Declan in such a way that I don’t think it’s the first time he’s called my name. He settles his hands on my shoulders making what I guess is supposed to be soothing noises. I want to pull away from him, but it’s actually helping. “We’ll get him back. I’ll go with you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

And I don’t really want to.

I blow out a breath, forcing myself to get a grip. I won’t do Finn any good like this. Being angry is fine—anger I can use. Being completely out of control is not.

As pissed as I am at Declan for leading the Spring Court right to my door—to Finn—if I’m completely honest with myself, I know it would have happened eventually. The fact that we went six years without being found was a miracle and probably only possible because no one was actively looking for us.

I just wish it could have stayed that way.

Declan shifts his weight like he wants to hug me or something, but either doesn’t want to irritate my injury or is afraid I might attack him. Or maybe he’s just uncomfortable with my state of undress. Instead, he ends up gently guiding me away from the dresser, then fiddling with the drawer long enough to get the damn thing to open correctly. He hands me a shirt from the top, but pulls it away when I try to take it from him.

“We need to stop the bleeding again first.” His face is creased with worry. “And maybe think about finding someone more well-versed in healing spells than I am. That injury will hinder—”

“I’ll live,” I say. “I won’t let Finn stay there a second longer than necessary just because I’m uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” His voice rises like he’s about to argue, but something must show on my face because he simply sighs. “At least let me stop the bleeding and bandage the wound. Please.”

I stare at him, studying his face. There’s nothing but sincerity in those moss green eyes and, as much as I kind of want to blame this whole situation on him, I know it’s not entirely his fault. “Fine, but be quick about it.”

Declan places his hands on my hips and turns me so my back is facing him. He performs a spell similar to the one he did earlier with the warm hands and soft words, then wets a washcloth from the bathroom and gently rubs away the dried blood. He’s silent the entire time, making the whole thing a little overly intimate and a lot awkward.

“There’s a first aid kit in the medicine cabinet,” I mutter.

He breathes out in a sound that might be relief then fetches the small red box. There isn’t much in the thing, but he finds some antibiotic ointment and some butterfly strips and makes quick work of doctoring me up. His first aid skills are better than his healing spells.

“Thanks,” I say softly.

“You’re welcome,” he says in a voice equally as soft. “So, what’s the plan? I assume you have one?”

Not much of one.

“Well, the first step is getting to the fae realm,” I say after a long pause. “The nearest mapped Merge point is over a hundred miles away. Getting there would take more time than I’m willing to spend, not to mention the time traveling across the fae realm itself, so I thought I’d attempt to go make nice with the homicidal blood mage and hope he’ll be willing to let me use his little traveling friend.”

Nineteen

Another silent drive, this one much shorter, brings us back to Goose Island. Declan parks in the same alley as when we were here the other night, then sits with his hands clenched around the steering wheel. He closes his eyes and drops his chin to his chest, his whole body thrumming with tension.

“There’s…” He lets his voice trial off with a frustrated exhalation. “We could—You need to think about this for a second. There are other Merge points.” He swallows. “Why don’t you let me take you to a different one?”

“No,” I say. “This is the closest one and—”

“And you’ll end up indebted to Corian. Is that what you really want?”

No, I don’t. But that doesn’t matter. “This is the fastest way to get to Finn, so this is what I’m doing. If you don’t like it, don’t come with me.”

“I just think—”

“No. You don’t. That’s what got us into this situation.” I narrow my eyes. “And just so we’re clear my only objective if getting Finn back. I’m not going for Autumn’s ríardú or whatever pieces of it she has.”

Hurt flashes across his face and his voice is soft when he says, “I’m not asking you to.”

“Nice. Good talk. Let’s go.”

“Ari…,” he starts, but I’m done listening.

I tuck the backpack into the footwell for when we return, then jump out of the car, my back flaring with pain, and jog toward the still deserted auto shop. Declan mutters under his breath, but follows me a couple seconds later. Right as I reach the door, he grabs my arm, pulling me to a stop.

“What if Corian wants something you’re not willing to give?” he asks, his brow creased with worry.

“There’s nothing I won’t give to get Finn back,” I say firmly. Which is entirely true, but I spent the car ride here thinking over my options and, thanks to Warren’s big mouth, I figured out exactly what to use to convince Corian to help me. I’m not thrilled about doing it, but what I have to offer is something I’m more than willing to give the Winter fae if it means getting Finn back.

But it’s not something I can tell Declan about.

“I —”

“Don’t care.” I tug out of his hold and head into the shop, grateful I don’t have to take the time to remove all the wards again. I tap my foot impatiently as I wait for the lift over the stairwell to rise, ducking under it as soon as it’s risen high enough for me to do so. I suppose there are some benefits to being relatively short.

My shoes barely seem to touch the ground as I run down the stairs. At the bottom, I practically trip into the cavern, just managing to catch myself with a hand on the cold stone wall. The vines shift slightly under my palm, but I ignore them. There’s no time to worry about creepy fae plants right now.

Agatha will know if Corian and Erik have returned. Plus, I have another favor to ask of her. I cup my hands around my mouth and yell her name toward the ceiling.

There’s gust of air and the harpy’s large form descends from above, landing on the ground a few feet in front of me. Agatha tilts her head to the side, studying me with almost reptilian eyes. I definitely see the bird’s dinosaur ancestors in that look. Her human form shimmers into place.

“What has caused you this distress?” she asks. Her nose twitches. “And why do you smell of blood and…wyvern?”

I wave off her last question and focus on the first. “The Spring Queen has Finn.”

She recoils, a mixture of anger and disgust on her face. “For what purpose?”

“It would take too long to explain, but basically, she’s trying to take over the Autumn Court and she needs Finn’s dragon fire to do it. I need to get to the fae realm.”

“Yes, you do. But I do not know if I can assist you,” she replies. “I cannot go past the warding and, as you’ve seen, the actual Merge point is encased in stone.”

“Do you have a way to contact Corian? Or Erik?”

Her brows draw together in a clearly confused way.

“The male fae who made a deal with you. The blood mage and his younger… friend.”

She purses her lips and tilts her head to the other side. “I do not, but I have heard him in the lower antechamber, the one nearest the Merge point.”

Trying to take down the altered ward, I imagine. “How long ago did you last hear anything from down there?”

She shrugs, her oddly delicate shoulders shifting her wings with the movement. “Perhaps an hour ago.”

Which means there’s a good chance they’re gone by now. Crap.

“I’m going to go check.” I glance over my shoulder at the stairwell, biting at my lower lip. Time to ask for that favor. “Declan, my friend from before, he’s not far behind me can you…delay him for a bit?”

Agatha blinks and cocks her head to the side. “For how long?”

“I don’t know. Ten minutes? There’s something I need to do and I’d prefer he not be there,” I say.

“I shall try,” she replies.

Good enough.

I jog across the chamber and all the way down to the smaller room where the mirror is. The ward I pulled into place the other night is still here, but it only takes a moment for me to rip it down. The image in the glass isn’t a reflection of the room I’m in, rather it shows the foyer of a fairly luxurious apartment or house. Where Corian and Erik live maybe? If Corian was here earlier, he and Erik are clearly absent now. So, what now?

I stare at the mirror, running ideas over in my head. If I can’t talk to Corian, I can’t make a deal with him. There’s no way for me to get to the Merge point behind solid rock. I can’t travel through the mirror without Erik.

Or can I?

My gift allowed me to pull together the threads of Warren’s magical sphere. What’s to say I can’t do something similar with Erik’s traveling magic?

I dash over to the mirror and run my fingers over the frame, searching frantically for any hint of magic, any bit of Erik’s traveling gift I might be able to tie together to get me to the fae realm.

Closing my eyes, I search for those wispy fibers I encountered when working with Warren’s sphere, but there’s no hint of magic at all. Clearly, this isn’t going to work the same way as with the pieces of the sphere. The mirror itself isn’t magic, so there’s no threads for me to grab at, nothing for me to bind together.

I look again.

Nothing.

It seems whatever magic constitutes a traveling gift isn’t something I can weave together using my own gift.

“Dammit!” I slam my palm against the rock beside the mirror.

Back to plan A.

I’m not entirely sure how a traveling gift works or if sound can make the trip through the mirror, but… It’s worth a shot, especially considering the odds are high that whatever location is showing in the glass is where the two Winter fae currently are.

“Corian!” I yell.

No response.

A breeze flutters the curtains in the room on the other side of the mirror.

I yell the Winter fae’s name again, then Erik’s. Then, I pound on the mirror with my fist, my nostrils flaring with frustration. The glass is surprisingly resilient, the surface barely even registering the force of my hits.

Nothing happens.

My desperation and anger flare and I start running my fingers over the mirror frame again, trying to find another way to grab hold of the elusive traveling magic. But there’s still nothing there. I’m seriously considering picking apart the frame when Corian steps into view on the other side of the mirror, Erik just behind him.

I drop my hands to my sides and try to pull myself together. Trying to negotiate with the Winter fae from a position of obvious desperation wouldn’t go well.

Corian’s gaze passes over me, then he gives me a patronizing smile, his brows lifted. “You seem…stressed, Ms. Grey. Did something happen? Have you rethought the offer of joining us?”

“No,” I say, as much steel in my tone as I can manage. “But I need your help. Or, rather, Erik’s help to get to the Spring palace.”

The corner of Corian’s mouth twitches while Erik snaps out, “And why should we help you?”

I ignore Erik and focus on Corian. He’s the one who’s really in charge. “The Spring Queen took something important to me and I need to get it back.”

He’s unmoved, not even a hint of interest in his cold, silver eyes.

“She has Autumn’s ríardú and she’s trying to unite all of the Courts under herself,” I say.

Corian cocks his head to the side, contemplative. “And you’d be willing to retrieve it for me in exchange for the use of Erik’s gift?”

“No,” I say. “I can’t. I’m already bound by a promise to the Autumn Court, but there has to be something else you want…”

I’m not revealing what I know unless there’s no other choice.

Corian rubs his chin. “I understand you are bound by your word to Autumn, but there is simply nothing else I want.” He pauses. “Unless you’d like to pledge your loyalty to our cause.”

That’s a big no. I won’t pledge my loyalty to a cause I don’t believe in, no matter what blood runs in my veins. Though, my scruples about involving myself with the blood mage don’t extend to preventing me from offering him something much more powerful. But I can’t worry about that now. This is for Finn.

“Well, Ms. Grey? I told you what I wanted. Do we have an agreement?”

Here goes nothing…

“The location of Winter’s ríardú,” I say in a low voice. “That’s my counteroffer.”

Erik rolls his eyes. “That’s been lost for over two decades. What makes you think you can find it?”

“I don’t have to find it,” I say. “Because I already know where it is.”

It’s at the Spring palace.

I didn’t pay much attention to Warren’s words at the time—too busy trying to survive the wyvern—but he gave away a lot more than he realized. He said Spring Queen has ‘two out of three’. I assumed he was referring to the three active Courts, meaning he was counting Spring’s own ríardú as one of the two held by Spring. But he also said she’s been planning her little takeover for a while even before the Merge, as in around the time Winter’s ríardú disappeared.

I could be wrong, but I highly doubt it.

“Say that again,” says Corian, watching my face carefully, I assume to determine if I’m playing word games in order to lie.

“I know where Winter’s ríardú is and I’m willing to trade its location for transportation.”

And this is exactly why I asked Agatha to delay Declan. I didn’t want him here for this. There’s no telling what he’d think of me if he knew I’m offering something so powerful to a blood mage, no matter my reasons, and I have no doubt he’d try to stop me.

Corian rubs his hand over his chin, studying my face. “No. I help you and you bring it to me.”

I pause, considering my options. Once I get Finn, I’ll have to make at least one more trip to the fae realm to retrieve Autumn’s ríardú so it wouldn’t take much additional effort on my part to grab Winter’s at the same time. The idea of physically putting the ríardú into Corian’s hands, makes me squeamish, but the method of delivery doesn’t truly matter. Whether or not I’m the one to actually give the thing to him, allowing a blood mage to get his hands on such a powerful relic will be one of the most despicable things I’ve ever done.

But it will get me to Finn.

“Fine. You have a deal,” I say.

“I would have your vow,” he replies in a low voice.

“In exchange for Erik using his traveling gift to transport me to the fae realm as close to the Spring palace as is feasible, I vow to retrieve Winter’s ríardú and bring it to you.”

Corian considers me. “Within a week.”

I balk. “I’m not sure—”

“Within a month, then.”

“Agreed and so vowed,” I say quickly as footsteps sound in the tunnel behind me. Declan.

Declan bursts into the room, his gaze narrowing in on me before swinging first to Erik and then Corian. “What vow did you just make, Ari?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “All you need to know is it had nothing to do with your Court’s ríardú.”

Declan frowns, but doesn’t respond.

Corian watches the exchange with interest, then motions to Erik. “You have witnessed her vow?”

“Yes,” says Erik, his upper lip curling slightly. “I still think it’s crap.”

The older fae’s mouth tightens, but he says nothing, only gestures for Erik to follow him. The two of them step through the mirror into the chamber with me. Erik’s wearing an expression like he has a nasty taste in his mouth about the whole thing, but I don’t care.

“So, how does this work?” I ask. “Is there a network of mirrors and you send us to the one closest to the palace?”

Erik rolls his eyes. “I am Winter’s heir and too powerful to be restricted by mirrors. As long as the trip starts by going through a mirror, my gift allows for travel to almost anywhere in the fae realm I can picture.” I try to keep my shock at the impressiveness of that off my face, but must fail because Erik smirks. “It is only in the human realm that I’m limited to exiting from mirrors.”

The best response I can come up with is, “Interesting.”

“Prepare the mirror,” says Corian. “Is the Autumn—”

“Yes,” says Declan sharply. “I’m going with her.”

Corian’s mouth curls into a small, satisfied smile as if Declan just confirmed something for him.

Erik grumbles under his breath, but walks over to the mirror and starts doing whatever it is he does to make it into a traveling portal. A minute or two later, he glances over his shoulder at Corian. “It’s ready.”

Corian gestures me toward the mirror that now shows only a swirling gray mist.

“The Autumn fae should go first,” says Erik. “Going in order of decreasing mass is the best way to allow me to maintain the stability of the portal.”

“And if you can’t maintain the stability?” I ask.

Erik’s lips curl into a somewhat sinister smile. “Then, you might arrive in separate locations.”

I get the feeling there’s an implied ‘if you arrive at all’ that belongs at the end of that statement. Declan and I share a look. He’s clearly apprehensive, but he’s just going to have to get over it.

“Anytime now,” says Erik, shooting a hard look at Declan and jerking his chin toward the mirror. “I can’t hold this forever.”

Declan glances back and forth between me and the mirror for a second, before seeming to resolve himself into going for it. He walks to the mirror and hesitantly places a palm on the glass, then pushes through. With one last glance at me over his shoulder, he vanishes.

The speed of the swirling mist increases and Erik grits his teeth, but those are the only outward signs that anything happened. He darts a glance at me.

I guess that means it’s my turn.

Taking a deep breath, I step up beside Erik, then reach out to touch the mirror. Before my fingers can make contact, Corian grabs my arm, painfully digging his fingers into my bicep.

“Remember your vow, Ms. Grey,” he says, almost hissing the words into my ear. “Winter’s ríardú is mine.”

“Well, mine actually,” says Erik, smirking. “But that’s just semantics.” His eyes arrow on me, malice flickering in their depths. “Much like the varied definitions of the word feasible.”

My stomach drops as I replay the words to the vow in my head. I don’t think Erik has chosen to define feasibility the same way I meant it as in as close to the Spring palace as possible.

Erik’s definition might be closer to as close as is convenient.

And I’m sure Erik and I don’t share the same definition of that word either. Whatever location he finds convenient, will probably be as inconvenient to me as he can make it within the confines of the bargain.

I open my mouth, but before any words can pass my lips, Erik shoves me into the mirror and the underground cavern disappears.

“Enjoy your trip to the fae realm, Ari,” his voice calls out after me.

Twenty

The gray nothingness of traveling fades away and I stumble into the fae realm, soggy ground sucking at my shoes. A heavy fog hangs in the air, thick with the smell of rotting vegetation and dampness.

A swamp. That asshole landed me smack dab in the middle of a fatesdamned swamp.

Then again, it could be worse. At least he didn’t send me to the Wastes. One visit to that place was more than enough.

The humidity is like a wet blanket and the magic here is almost as oppressive as the air. Magic in the fae realm—excluding that in the destabilized Winter region—isn’t as unbalanced and unpredictable as it is around Merge points, but it’s still levels above anything found in the human realm and the metaphysical weight of it makes it feel as if gravity has been turned up a notch. After being away for so long, the sensation is a bit heady.

And I hate everything that feeling represents.

I bite at my lower lip as I glance at my surroundings. The swamp stretches out as far as I can see, the same in every direction. There are no familiar landmarks—not to me at least—and I can’t say for sure which region this is. Spring is the mostly likely since I doubt the bargain would have let Erik go too far, but with the thick humidity, this place is warm enough to be Summer as well. Maybe I’m in the stretch of land between the two seasonal Courts?

So, which way do I go? I can’t afford to head off in the wrong direction, but without a map or even a general knowledge of the area, I’m pretty much lost and useless. The longer it takes me to get to the palace the longer Finn is—

No.

I’m not going to let myself get caught up in all the uncertainties. Even if I don’t know exactly where, I’m in the fae realm and therefore closer to Finn. All I need to do is get to him. But first…

“Declan?” I turn in a circle, squinting into the fog. Hopefully, the fates didn’t completely screw me over and the portal was stable enough that the Autumn fae isn’t miles away somewhere.

“Over here,” replies Declan in an odd voice from behind a tree to my right.

I trudge through the muck toward his voice and find him with one foot stuck in the bog up to his ankle. He tries to yank his foot out of the sucking quagmire, but only succeeds in having it sink in farther.

“Don’t fight it,” I say.

He slowly pans his head to look at me, one red brow raised.

“Trying to yank your foot straight out won’t do any good. You need to slowly lift it at an angle so your lower leg is sort of parallel to the ground and then you should be able to escape the muck easily.”

He eyes me doubtfully, but he listens, forcing himself to relax and carefully free his foot as I directed. There’s mud all the way up to his knee, but at least he kept his shoe. I don’t know about him, but I sure as hells wouldn’t want to tromp around out here barefoot.

Declan levers himself to his feet in a graceful maneuver I probably couldn’t even manage on dry ground. His face is flushed, eyes bright, and pupils dilated almost as if he’s sick.

Or high on the fatesdamned magic.

“How long has it been since you’ve been to the fae realm?” I ask, a bit unnerved by how affected he appears to be. If he doesn’t acclimate somehow, he’ll not only be useless to me, but I’d probably end up having to babysit him to make sure he doesn’t drown or get lost in the bog.

He blinks, slow and cat-like. “I was…four, maybe five. So, twenty years give or take. They moved me to the human realm right after the Merge.”

“Moved you?”

“It was too dangerous. The Courts in turmoil and our Queen new to the throne when my brother and his family were assassinated. My family thought it’d be safer for me in the human realm. Like the ríardú.”

“And we all know how that turned out,” I mutter, then pause, replaying his words in my head. It sounds almost like the Autumn Court considers Declan of equal importance to the ríardú. “We’re definitely going to have a discussion about your move and why your safety was so important later, but right now I need you to pull yourself together.”

He does another one of those slow blinks. “How?”

Good question.

We don’t have the time for him to simply adjust to the heightened magic levels, but if he could expend some of that power…

And I know just the way to make the best use of his short-lived power up.

I spin around and lift the back of my shirt, wincing as the muscles pull. “Try the healing spell again. Put as much power into it as you can.”

He hums his agreement and his hands come to rest against my skin, his long fingers curling around my sides as his thumbs rub gently along the edges of my spine. Warmth flows from him to me without him saying a single word and the borders of the wound from the wyvern knit together from the deepest part of the injury up through the break in the skin.

Declan makes a pleased noise and releases me, before he runs two fingers over what I imagine must be a new scar. A shiver travels down my back as his fingertips heat to an almost uncomfortable level, pressing even more magic into my skin.

When his fingers travel the same space again, they meet nothing but smoothness. Even the scar is gone. Those nimble fingers find another, older wound and fire licks across the skin.

I yank myself away from his touch, dropping my shirt as I turn around. “I’ve never heard of a healing spell that could…”

The color has left Declan’s face, the spray of freckles over his nose standing out against the stark white skin. His hand is still raised as if reaching for something no longer there and, as I watch, a full body shudder flows down from his shoulders and his knees give out. He stumbles sideways, catching himself with one hand against a tree.

“What did you do to me?” The question is whispered, but hits me like he shouted.

“Nothing,” I snap. “It’s a bit of magic overload. You were a little loopy and I thought putting the power to use might help.”

“I think I overdid it.”

“Sounds accurate,” I say, twisting around to get a look at my back. “That was closer to a fatesgiven miracle than a healing spell.”

He raises one hand in front of his face, staring at his palm. “Are spells always like that here?”

“If you’re not used to it? Sometimes. Especially when you first arrive.”

“I don’t remember anything like that ever happening before,” he says.

I shrug. “It’s been a while and you were young. I didn’t leave until I was sixteen and even then I’d…acclimated myself to shifting magic levels.”

“Acclimated yourself?”

I sigh. Might as well start at the beginning.

“The first ward I ever broke was on the lock to the iron manacles she made me wear to cut me off from magic,” I say.

Declan raises his brows in question.

“It was actually the day I met Finn,” I continue. “Well, sort of. She’d just acquired his egg. It was so pretty, but it was cold to the touch. I was only six and I’d never seen a dragon egg before, but I knew they were supposed to be warm. The manacles wouldn’t allow me to cast, not even a simple warming spell. Something told me to look at the ward and before I even knew what I was doing, I unraveled it.”

“You broke a ward with no training?” he asks, half incredulous.

“I’m almost entirely self-taught,” I say, rubbing at my wrists absentmindedly. “After I broke that first ward, I knew I couldn’t leave it like that. She would have sensed something was different or I would have screwed up and given myself away, so I practiced until I could have that ward down and back up again in seconds. I spent hours going back and forth—ward on, ward off—until I eventually got used to the surge of magic each time the ward was down.”

“Were you in a cage too?” he asks in a low voice.

“Not like you’re thinking,” I reply. “But I spent my time around them. The Spring Queen keeps her menagerie in the catacombs below the palace. It was easy enough to disappear there for a while and I liked most of the inhabitants.” I chuckle to myself. “I let them all out when I left, even the not-so-nice ones. I bet she was furious.”

Declan gives me a soft, sad smile. “I’m sure she was.”

“Well…um…,” I stammer awkwardly as I shake myself out of my memories. That was way more information than he needed or probably wanted, certainly more than I wanted to reveal. I’m not sure what came over me. “We should get going.”

“Of course,” says Declan, dropping the fond look he was sending in my direction. He glances from side to side. “Do you know how to get to the palace from here?”

“Not really…”

“What about a navigation spell?” he asks. “I know a few simple ones that work in the human realm, but…”

I shake my head. “You just expended an amount of magical energy I don’t even know how to quantify. There’s no way to know how your casting might be affected by the magic levels here. You probably shouldn’t be doing any spells.”

He nods in agreement. “You’re probably correct.”

“If there was just one landmark…” I spin slowly around, my eyes squinted to study the horizon. Well, as much of it as I can see through the mist and trees.

On my second rotation, I spot a tiny floating light in the distance. I pause, waiting to confirm I’m seeing what I think I am. The light dips, then bounces back upward, dancing above the mucky water. A couple seconds later a second light joins in.

“That way,” I say, pointing in the direction of the lights.

Declan follows my finger with his gaze, squinting. “Why that way?”

“To follow the wisps.”

“But I thought those things only lead travelers astray?”

“Only if they’re trying to go east. Wisps gravitate in the direction of the setting sun—west— which just happens to also be in the direction of the Spring palace. The fae realm is laid out almost like a compass with each seasonal Court at one of the cardinal points, so as long as we head in the right general direction, I can course correct when we get closer.”

“If you say so.” He gestures for me to lead the way and we move toward the wisps, which continue bouncing away from us.

We’ve only been walking for five minutes when he asks the question I’ve been dreading.

“What did you promise him, Ari?” he asks quietly.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” I say, my voice hard. “And it’s already done, so just leave it.” I don’t need him making me feel any worse about the situation than I already do.

Declan releases an exasperated breath, but says nothing.

We continue on in silence, the sun beating down through the scraggly trees. Even in Spring, the late afternoon sun burns bright with heat. Sweat beads at my brow and pretty much everywhere else. I lift my hair away from the back of my neck, then braid it away from my face and twist it into a bun at the top of my head. It doesn’t help much, but anything is better than nothing.

Before long, my feet are soaking wet in my sneakers. The squishy feeling with each step is kind of gross, but I can’t imagine how Declan feels in those no-longer-shiny dress shoes on his feet with one of them probably filled with sludge. They aren’t designed to be all terrain and I doubt they have much cushioning.

Thirty minutes or so into our involuntary hike, Declan stops. His face is flushed, but this time from exertion, his cheeks and nose bright red and damp with perspiration. Too bad we didn’t think to pack any sunscreen.

“Any idea how much farther?” he asks.

“No,” I reply. “I wish I knew.”

Declan sighs, then shakes his head before quickly unbuttoning his shirt, stripping it off, and tying it around his waist, leaving only his thin tank top style undershirt. This is the first time I’ve seen him in so little clothing and he’s surprisingly muscular under that suit. He has a swimmer’s build, leanly muscled with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and all the pale skin I can see is lightly dusted with freckles.

My mouth goes dry and I rip my gaze away from him. Not for you, Ari.

We trudge along for another twenty minutes or so before the ground begins to grow firmer and the heavy humidity in the air starts to lift. The temperature isn’t any better and the trees are thinning and blocking even less of the sun, but it’s still an improvement. At least the smell is better.

Eventually we transition into something closer to a woodland forest than a bog of eternal stench. The trees around us go from stunted, soggy things to tall oaks and maples with budding leaves and a breeze dances through the air bringing with it the scent of fresh cut grass.

We’re definitely making progress.

Or maybe not. The wisps faded at the edge of the swamp—their natural habitat—and I could’ve sworn we continued on a straight path, but I’m pretty sure this is the second time we’ve passed that particular group of trees.

Crap.

I stop in place, putting my hands on my hips and looking around. At ground level, the forest isn’t much less dense than the swamp and trees don’t make for the best visibility. With no way to orient myself from down here, there’s only one way to figure out the way forward: I have to get above the tree line.

At least my back is healed otherwise this would really hurt.

I walk over to a towering oak tree with leaves just starting to emerge from their buds. Pausing just below the lowest branch, I study the limbs and try to plan out my climb to the top, something that’s much easier to do from the ground than if I get stuck halfway up. There are a few dead spots I need to avoid so I should—

“Hello.”

I jolt backward and end up on the ground on my ass, staring stupidly up at the set of eyes in the tree’s trunk. No. The eyes aren’t part of the tree’s truck, they belong to a dryad.

The tree spirits are odd, capricious creatures who spend their lives with a single tree, both nurturing the tree and taking nourishment from it in a mutually beneficial symbiotic relationship. They have the intelligence—and sometimes the attitude—of small children, but are relatively friendly and can be helpful as long as you don’t threaten their homes.

I push to my feet, then brush off my pants. “Hello. Would you be willing to assist me? I’d rather not climb your tree if I don’t have to.”

The dryad leans forward so her upper torso emerges from the tree. “Perhaps,” she says. “If your request is within my power.”

“I’m trying to get to the Spring palace. Would you be able to point me in the right direction?”

“No.” The dryad sinks backward disappearing into the tree’s trunk and leaving only her eyes showing. “I do not care for Spring. Her minions have been stripping the forest.”

Stripping the forest? That’s probably something I should be concerned about, but rescuing Finn is the only thing I have time to worry about right now.

“I don’t like Spring either,” I say. “I only want to go there to save my friend. He’s a dragon shifter and the Queen took him.”

Her eyes narrow. “Dragons breathe fire.”

“Yes, they do,” I say slowly.

“Fire destroys forests like mine,” she says scowling.

“But Finn wouldn’t do that. He’s just a kid and he…likes trees,” I finish awkwardly, trying to find some common ground.

The dryad purses her lips. “He will not burn the forest?”

“No.”

“You promise?”

“I do,” I say, wincing at the extremely general wording I’ve locked myself into. I make a mental note to tell Finn not to start any fires in any forest. Ever.

“Okay then.” Her upper half pops out of the tree again and she points to the left. “Look for the maple who was struck by lightning over that ridge. From there you should be able to see where the forest ends.”

And if I’m remembering correctly, the palace isn’t far beyond that.

Hold on, Finn. I’m coming.

Twenty-One

Most people—well, most humans—think of castles when they think of the fae Court palaces, those crenelated monstrosities from history made up of cold stone and dark corridors. But the fae monarchs, at least the ones who designed the palaces, prefer more open areas with wide walkways and lots of light. The Spring Queen is no different.

Her palace sits perched atop a rolling hill, looking for all the world like an ancient Roman villa, with tall, marble columns, multiple courtyards, fountains, and colorful wall art. But all that beauty is nothing but a shiny veneer over a place that holds nothing but bad memories for me and for many others.

From the bottom of the hill the palace grounds appear to be unexpectedly crowded. Many of the people moving around wear the dull garb of servants, but there’s also plenty of fae draped with silk and jewels. Certainly more than the normal number of courtiers who have the Queen’s favor in any one week. I’m not sure what’s going on, but it could work to our advantage, providing enough distraction for Declan and I to avoid detection.

Not that I’m planning for us to enter from aboveground.

The Spring Queen is a lot of things—a raging bitch being chief among them—but she isn’t very creative. I have no doubt Finn will be in the same place he spent his entire infancy and most of his childhood: the menagerie. After all, she already knows the cages there can contain a dragon.

As horrible as it is to think about Finn being locked up down there, it makes this rescue mission so much easier. The menagerie is part of the catacombs and there’s a hidden entrance that should allow us to slip inside and while avoiding even setting foot on the actual grounds of the palace.

That is, provided the entrance is still there. After all, it’s been six years since I’ve used it.

I observe the activity at the palace for a few more minutes, then tug Declan around the bottom of the hill to a small stand of trees. A few yards past that, the ground splits into a narrow ravine lined with rock on either side.

Declan peers over the edge and raises a brow. The gap in the earth isn’t very deep, but it’s still quite a ways down.

“Is there a reason I don’t just use an illusion to hide us so we can use a more easily accessible entrance?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I don’t want to get caught.”

He shoots me a droll look.

“You don’t have enough experience using your gift in the fae realm. Sure, it might come in handy if there’s no other option, but I don’t want to depend solely on that to avoid detection.” I tilt my head in the direction of the palace. “There’s lots of people moving around up there. The catacombs are not only the quickest route to Finn, but they’re likely to be deserted.”

He glances over the edge of the ravine again.

“It’ll be fine,” I say. “I used this route all the time when I was a kid.”

Declan doesn’t look reassured, but he also doesn't argue.

I swing my legs over the side of the ravine, feeling out stable holds with my feet and one hand. Once I’ve got them, I bring my other arm down and slowly climb down. I let myself fall the last couple feet, bending my knees to absorb the impact. Declan, whose arms and legs are longer than mine giving him better reach and making him much faster, drops to the ground beside me only a second later.

We make our way down the ravine, our feet squelching in the shallow mud on the bottom. As the passage narrows, less light reaches us and we’re both forced to turn so our shoulders are parallel with the sides. The rock scrapes against my back and chest as I squeeze through a particularly tight spot. Declan almost gets stuck, but manages to force his way past, his jaw tensed and his lips pressed into a thin line. From here, the path slopes downward and the ground above comes together forming a tunnel that descends into the earth.

Declan eyes the dark opening warily.

“It’ll open up some once we’re farther in,” I say.

“And you’re positive about that?” asks Declan.

“Yes.”

He releases an uneasy breath. “Okay. I trust you.”

I force my expression to stay neutral, hiding my shock, then shuffle sideways into the tunnel. Rock presses against me on either side for twenty yards or so, then the pressure is suddenly gone, and I’m in a small cavern. Absolutely zero light reaches in here, so I rest my palm against the wall to orient myself.

Declan arrives a few seconds later. His feet stumble, scraping across the floor. He crashes into me, then grabs my arms to keep the both of us from falling. As he steadies himself, he tugs me closer, his hands still gripping my biceps as if he’s afraid he’ll lose me in the darkness.

“Do you have some sort of night vision I don’t know about?” he asks with forced lightness.

I chuckle. “Nope. I just know my way around.” His fingers tighten. “Don’t worry. The catacombs aren’t far and they have the same kind of lighting as the cavern near the Merge point.”

“And if the landscape has changed since you were last down here stumbling around in the dark?”

“Unless you have your handy flashlight app, that’s a risk we’re going to have to take. Move by sliding your feet so you don’t trip on anything.” I reach up and take one of his hands, linking my fingers with his and squeezing. “I’ve got you.”

If his behavior up till now is anything to go by, he’s probably not going to like what comes next.

With my palm brushing along the wall, I carefully make my way around the sides of the small cavern until my fingers find the passage that will lead us the rest of the way to the catacombs. I crouch and tug Declan down beside me, then guide his hand around the borders of the low tunnel through the rock.

“It’s not as narrow as the ravine getting in here, but we’ll have to crawl,” I say.

“How far?” asks Declan, his voice tight.

“Fifty yards or so.”

He inhales as if bracing himself, then releases a loud breath. “Ari, I…I don’t know if I can do it.”

“You can,” I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. I’m not cut out for pep talks. “I was eight the first time I crawled through there and, at the time, I didn’t even know if there was anything on the other end.”

No response.

“Declan, come on.” I pull at his hand, attempting to tug him forward, then quickly add an unconvincing, “You can do this.”

He doesn’t budge. I’m about to try a more forceful tactic, fates know I’m not one for diplomacy, but then the clamminess of his palms and the slight tremble in his fingers register in my brain.

Declan isn’t just scared or nervous. He’s downright terrified. I suppose that means I shouldn’t be an asshole.

My shoulders slump. As much as a second pair of hands might be useful, I can’t force him to do this. “I’ll take you back to the ravine. You can wait for me—for us there.”

“No.” His fingers tighten on my hand almost painfully and he scoots over until his shoulder bumps mine. “I can do it. Just…don’t let go.”

“I’m kind of going to need that hand though…”

He lets out a nervous sounding laugh that’s barely more than a puff of air. “I’ll hold on to one of your ankles or something then if that’s acceptable.”

I gently squeeze his fingers. “That’ll work.”

Releasing his hand, I position myself on my hands and knees, then slide into the tunnel, pulling my body forward with my hands. Declan’s breathing a little too fast as he crawls in behind me, but he’s doing it. The trip is painstakingly slow and, true to his word, Declan’s fingers stay firmly wrapped around my left ankle the entire time.

I’m not sure exactly how long it takes, but it feels like hours before the blackness gradually lifts and light outlines the exit up ahead. Declan lets out a shaky breath and his grip on my ankle loosens. Slightly.

A few minutes later, I wiggle out of the tunnel and crouch by the opening while I wait for Declan to do the same. The catacombs are a network of arched tunnels, the paths interspersed with small alcoves and larger squared off stone chambers carved directly into the rock—like the one I’m in now.

Declan awkwardly squirms his way out of the tunnel, then sits up and sneezes twice into the crook of his elbow. The Autumn fae is covered in dust, a large streak of it over one cheek, and cobwebs decorate his hair. He looks surprisingly adorable all ruffled and—

Nope. Not going there.

He sneezes again, then glances at me and wrinkles his nose. “I don’t suppose we’re going out a different way?”

I grimace. “Sorry.”

“I suppose I’ll make do.” He runs his fingers through his hair, then looks at his hand with disgust before wiping it on his pants. “Where to now?”

“We’re going to pause here for a second while I check out the ward situation,” I say.

Declan makes a noise of agreement.

I close my eyes and send my senses out as far as they can go, which, in the fae realm, is actually quite far. There are a few wards, but nothing major and nothing that leads me to believe this area is any more guarded than it used to be. She must not have figured out this was my escape route—that is, if she even bothered to look for me before she needed Finn’s fire.

This is great news. I release a slow breath, relaxing ever so slightly. It won’t be much longer now, Finn.

I rise to my feet, then move across the chamber to where it opens out into the main corridor, gesturing for Declan to follow. A quick glance in either direction confirms there aren’t any visible guards. I make quick work of the nearest ward—a simple one only meant to alert if someone crossed it without disarming it—and head to the right.

Pausing intermittently to disable wards and check for guards at each intersection, I progress toward the menagerie with Declan close behind. We’re silent, the only sound the soft noise of our feet moving across the dirt floor.

As we draw closer to the menagerie, worry churns in my stomach. It’s too quiet. This area used to be filled with chirps and growls and all sorts of other noises. There’s the possibility she never replaced her little collection after I freed them all, but if that’s the case, she might not be holding Finn down here after all.

And I don’t want to contemplate what that might mean I’ll have to do to find him. Sure, I know my way around the palace well enough, but getting around unnoticed? Not likely. When I come back for the ríardú—or, hopefully, ríardús—I’ll have a more complete plan like I was casing the place for a job, which, technically, I suppose I would be.

But that doesn’t help me right now.

The tunnel we’re in exits into a natural cavern rather than an excavated chamber. We’re no longer under the palace and there are small openings in the ceiling, barely pinpricks from all the way down here, to let light inside. The cavern itself extends for at least a hundred yards in all directions.

But, despite the expanse, the menagerie seems much smaller to my now adult eyes.

I walk along the edges of the cavern, examining the bar-fronted cells carved into the rock closest to the entrance. They’re all empty.

She likely hasn’t replaced her collection then. These first few cells are where she kept what she considered her most interesting ‘specimens’, like the wyvern and, for a brief period of time, a griffin among various other magical creatures.

Shifting direction, I move toward the opposite corner which contains the cage Finn used to share with Agatha and Abigail. Though rare, the harpies never appealed to the Spring Queen in the same way as some of the others, probably because she couldn’t control them. Instead, she was forced to use threats against Finn’s well-being to keep the sisters in line.

The opening to this cell is no bigger than the others, but the ceiling is higher, allowing the winged creatures that used to live here to at least get a taste of flying. The harpy sisters clawed perches into the rock at various levels and they used to coax Finn into testing out his wings. He was small enough then to learn the basic mechanics of flying in the limited space, but he’s never flown in the open sky.

That freedom is one of many things I wish I could give him, but the magic in the human realm is barely enough to enable partial shifting, much less a full shift and flying.

“Finn?” I push my face against the bars. “Are you in here?”

There’s no answer. I squint into the darkness—what I wouldn’t give for a fatesdamned flashlight right now—but as far as I can tell the cage is empty. I tilt my head around, trying to get a look at the ledges farther up.

“Ari?” Declan’s voice from my left is quiet, almost stricken.

I glance over my shoulder and he points into a smaller side chamber, the one the Queen used to house her most difficult ‘pets’. I jog over. The first few cages are empty, but the one on the end contains a black dragon whose scales are edged with white and gold. I haven’t seen Finn’s dragon form in years, but I recognize him all the same.

Finn is curled into a ball, seemingly fast asleep on the ground, but there’s a glint of metal around his neck. I step closer, squinting at the symbols lining the collar. I’m not close enough to make them out clearly, but I’m pretty sure they’re not blood magic.

Thank the fates.

I place a hand against the bars, then immediately snatch it back as the burning sensation registers. Iron.

“Finn,” I call softly. “Fintan Grey, wake up.”

Except for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Finn doesn’t move. I need to get him out of there. Or I need to get in.

I take a step back, eyeing the bars—and the space between them. This cell is different than the ones in the main chamber, meant more for containment than display. Thankfully, keeping something in is different than keeping someone out. The iron in the bars would dissuade most anyone else from doing what I’m about to, but I’ll survive.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, then blow out as much air as possible before squeezing my shoulders in between the bars. The iron burns, even through my clothes, as I wiggle further into the cell. For a second, my shoulders get stuck and the iron sizzles against the bare skin of my upper arm. A scream threatens to break free from my chest, but then, with one more good push, I’m through. My nerve endings are jumping with agony and my heart is nearly beating out of my chest, but I made it.

Ignoring the lingering pain, I rush to Finn’s side, dropping to my knees and placing my fingers against the collar. Not blood magic. Thank the fates. Just a simple metal collar preventing him from shifting back, a very easy thing to take care of.

I run a finger along the edge of the collar until my fingers find a slight indentation, then push against it. With a quiet click, the collar swings open and I remove it from Finn’s neck, then drop it on the ground.

“Finn?” I lean closer to the dragon, gently stroking the shiny black scales of his snout which are each nearly as large as my hand. “I need you to shift back so we can get you out of here.”

One of the dragon’s eyes cracks open in a dazed sort of way. He blinks, his slitted pupils enlarging and constricting in a way that’s not normal. He must’ve been drugged or something.

I reach up and run my hand over his head, the scales warm to the touch. Clearly, he can’t get out of here under his own power and there’s no way Declan and I can drag a full-sized dragon anywhere without being noticed. Shifting is the only option. So how do I get him to do it?

“Finn.” I gently push at his head. No response, so I poke him in the nostril. “You need to wake up.”

His eyes open again, the dark gray orbs narrowing slightly, and he huffs almost the same way he does when he’s annoyed with me when I’m trying to wake him up as a human.

“Good,” I say. “Now, shift back.”

He snorts and rolls over, his eyes closing again as he curls up like a house-sized cat, tucking his face under his tail, then releasing a long, slow breath.

I put on my best big sister-slash-mom voice. “Fintan Grey, if you don’t shift back right now, I’m going to take a baseball bat to your favorite monitor.”

That definitely gets a reaction. Finn’s head jerks up and his gaze lands on me, his eyes still unfocused. He snorts and shakes his head as if trying to clear it.

“That’s it, Finn,” I say. “Now shift.”

Whether it was the command in my voice or my threat to damage his computer equipment, Finn listens. The change rolls over him like a wave as he shrinks down, his scales retreating and leaving behind a teen boy in filthy pajamas kneeling in the dirt.

“Ari,” he croaks.

I run to him, fall to my knees, and wrap him in my arms. Even in the little time we’ve been apart, he feels thinner, more fragile.

“Need to breathe.” He pats at my shoulder and I loosen the apparently lung-crushing hug. “Oh, hey, Declan.”

“Finn, I’m glad to see you’re okay,” says Declan in a warm voice as he steps closer behind me.

Finn chuckles, brushing his hair out of his face. “Okay might be a bit of a stretch, but I’m definitely alive and things are looking up.”

“We’re going to have to take the tunnel out,” I say. “But once we get out of here we can find another way to go that doesn’t require a trip through the Wastes. We’ll—”

“We can’t leave yet,” says Finn, rubbing a hand over his eyes like he’s wiping away sleep.

“Why the hells not?”

“Because of Autumn’s ríardú. She—”

“We already know about that,” I interrupt, tugging at his arm. “And I’ll come back for the pieces she has another time. Right now, I’m worried about you.”

Finn shakes his head. “It can’t wait, Ari. She doesn’t just have pieces. She has the whole thing and she’s already forged them together. I’m not sure what, but she has something planned for tonight. If you don’t take it now, it’ll be too late.”

Twenty-Two

Finn’s revelation shatters my hopes of a simple, undetected escape. If the Spring Queen has the entirety of Autumn’s ríardú, I can’t let her keep it. I’m not even sure what she plans to do with the thing, but leaving that much power in her hands would be a very bad thing.

And as much as I don’t care about fae politics, I’m willing to admit I’ve grown a little attached to Declan. Whatever the Spring Queen’s scheme, it won’t be good for anyone in the Autumn Court.

I squeeze myself back between the bars to exit the cage. Finn does the same—with a bit more effort. Dragon shifters don’t suffer the same effects from iron as the fae, but he’s still bigger than me.

“Do you know where she’s keeping it?” I ask Finn, already trying to cobble a plan together in my head.

“The sitting room off her bedroom,” says Finn. “That’s where…”

“She called out your fire and made you forge the stolen pieces together,” I finish softly.

“Yeah.” His lips tremble and he shifts his gaze to stare at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“None of this is your fault,” I say, rubbing a hand over his back. My eyes find Declan’s. “I need you to get Finn out of here and keep him safe.”

His lips tighten, but he gives the barest nod of his head. “Of course.”

“Wait a second,” says Finn, his gaze flying to me, a hint of petulance flashing across his features. “I want to help.”

“No,” I say firmly. He opens his mouth and I hold up my hand. “This isn’t up for negotiation. I know my way around the palace. Getting in and out undetected will be that much harder if I have to watch over you too.”

“You don’t need to watch over me,” snaps Finn. “I’m not a kid.”

I grab his shoulder. “Please, don’t argue with me on this. I’ll be distracted unless I know you’re safe.”

“Fine.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks away, pouting. As reluctant as his agreement is, it’s the best I’m going to get.

I help Finn to his feet, then pace to the other side of the chamber as I try to work out my best course of action. This is going to be messy and my odds of pulling this off without any complications are not good. To get to the Queen’s sitting room, I’ll have to go through the most traveled parts of the palace. In broad daylight. With no prep work and no Finn as backup.

I’m going to have to do a lot of improvising along the way.

“Do you know how to get back to the tunnel we came in through?” I ask Declan.

He opens his mouth, then closes it again before finally speaking in a strained voice. “Is that the only way out?”

“No,” I say slowly. “But it’s the best option.”

“I don’t think I can do that again and certainly not…” He swallows. “…without you.”

This has to be the worst possible day for Declan to discover his claustrophobia, but there’s no other choice but to work around it somehow. I scan my memories for another easily accessible escape route that doesn’t require all three of us to go tromping around the palace.

The waste chute near the kitchen.

Not the most pleasant route to travel, but preferable to any of the other ways to access the sewer channels that lead out to the river. As an added bonus, the chute is on the basement level, so there shouldn’t be anyone but servants down there.

I explain my plan to Declan and Finn. “Do you think you can hold an illusion over us once we get to the basement level, Declan?”

“Yes,” he says. “With the added magic…I don’t think that will be a problem at all.”

Escape route plan B set, I lead everyone through the twists and turns of the catacombs. Finn is still a little out of it, but the lingering effects of the drug or whatever gradually fade as he moves around. Ten minutes later, we reach a narrow staircase headed up toward the basement level. The door at the top is warded, but that’s no problem for me.

I reach out to the ward, then set to picking it apart piece by piece. Since this ward is on a door that provides access to the lower level of the palace itself, it’s a little more complicated—and a little more deadly—than the ones in the catacombs. Hold. Slice. Immolate. Not a pleasant death, burning to ash with your throat slit.

Once the ward is down, I crack open the door. There’s no one in sight in the hallway, so I slowly push the door open the rest of the way and gesture for Declan and Finn to follow me. Provided things haven’t changed, we should be in a storage area not far from where we need to go.

The feeling of Declan’s illusion magic settles over me. Good idea. Now hidden from sight—hopefully— the three of us slink up the hallway with me in the lead. At the first intersection, I pause, poking my head around the corner and glancing in both directions. I have faith in Declan’s gift, but it never hurts to be extra careful. There are people moving around to the right, but since that’s not the direction we need to go in, I won’t worry about them.

I go to the left, hugging close to the wall, then pause again at the next intersection as I repeat my actions from earlier. This time there are two servants chatting in the hallway in the direction we need to go.

Should I wait them out or try to sneak past? I bite at my lower lip, debating.

My decision is made for me when they say their goodbyes and one of them starts heading in our direction. Crap. I press my back against the wall, gesturing for Declan and Finn to do the same, as I try to quiet my breathing.

The servant turns the corner, passing only inches in front of our group, but pays us no attention. I wait to release the breath I’m holding until the servant turns to go down another hallway.

That was close.

Our next close call comes when we have to pass by the entry to the kitchens, the one place in the palace guaranteed to almost always have people in it. But Declan’s illusion keeps us out of sight as the three of us dart across the doorway one by one and into the small alcove on the other side that holds our destination.

As a potential—though unlikely—access point into the palace, the waste chute is warded. However, the barrier is meant to keep things out rather than in, so I’ll leave this one in place. If I want to stay undetected, it’s best to mess with as few of the security measures as possible.

Finn lifts the door to the chute and leans over to inside. He wrinkles his nose. “How far down does it go?”

“I’m not sure,” I say. “But I know it goes to the sewers and the sewers will take you to the river. I can’t help you if you run into any issues down there, but—”

“We’ll handle them,” says Declan.

“I still think it’s stupid that you won’t let me help,” says Finn, pouting. “I’ll go along with it, but if you get caught, I’m coming in after you so I can say ‘I told you so’.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” I reply, smiling.

“I hate the idea of leaving you here,” he says, voice cracking. He grabs me, pulling me into a tight hug and burying his face in my shoulder. “You’d better not get caught. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Always.”

“I’ll see you on the other side then.” Finn hops into the chute, giving me a mock salute as he slides down and disappears.

When I’m sure Finn is out of hearing range, I turn to Declan.

“Do you remember the maple tree that was hit by lightning?” I ask.

He nods, brows drawing together.

“That’s where I’ll meet you guys. If I’m not there within two hours, I want you to take Finn and get him somewhere safe. The Autumn Court is an option if you think they’ll accept him, but—”

“He’s not going to leave you behind,” says Declan. His voice goes softer. “And neither am I.”

“Declan, I—”

“Don’t argue with me on this.” He places his hand on either side of my face. Holding my gaze, he gently rubs his thumb across the skin of my cheek, then leans down and brushes his lips over mine. The kiss is over almost as quickly as it began and he disappears down the chute, leaving me running my thumb over my still tingling lips.

He kissed me.

I’m not sure what brought the action on or quite how I feel about it, but… A small, almost giddy smile tugs at my mouth and my heart leaps in my chest as the brief moment replays in my head. I let myself enjoy the sensation for a few more seconds, then tuck the memory safely away. It will be a cherished souvenir of my time with the Autumn fae, something to remember him by, because once he finds out what I promised Corian…

I shake the thought away. Now isn’t the time to worry about it. I need to get back on task. No more distractions.

Without Declan, there’s no more illusion to hide me from sight and the corridors on the main levels are too busy for me to walk out in the open, especially with the way I currently look. I might be able to pull off a glamour spell, but the effectiveness of that depends on me being generally inconspicuous and right now I’m covered in dust and mud and I probably smell like a swamp. People will notice me.

Unless I grab a change of clothes.

I move toward the kitchen entry, pausing to wait for the servants inside to look away, then dart across and jog down the hallway toward the laundry. Peeking around the doorway, I make note of two servants inside working with the dirty clothes.

The glamour spell that wouldn’t do me any good walking around on the grounds, will serve me well in this situation as long as the servants are distracted. I just hope I’m not too out of practice. Taking a deep breath, I carefully lay the spell over myself, lessening the feeling of my presence to others.

I walk through the door, immediately moving to the wall as far away from the servants as possible. If they look directly at me, the spell won’t matter. Thankfully, the two servants continue chatting as I make my way around the edges of the room.

“There’s been a lot more laundry since the prince’s betrothed arrived,” says one woman.

Warren’s engaged? Since when? And to who?

“At least double,” replies the other woman. “And with the fete scheduled to last until…”

The rest of the other servant’s response is lost as I move behind one of the wash tubs, the gushing water drowning out any other sounds in the room. But at least I now have an explanation for all the activity at the palace. There’s a fete going on, so most of the people should be down in the courtyards rather than roaming the corridors, a detail that will make my task so much easier because there will be fewer people along my route to the Queen’s sitting room.

Now, all I need is the right ‘costume’.

Stacks of clean servant’s uniforms sit on the shelves against the wall opposite me and I grab the first set my hands land on, a plain linen dress and apron. I’m stuck with my tennis shoes unless I want to go barefoot, but this should be good enough. I don’t have far to go.

Head down, I walk quickly out of the laundry room, down the hall, and up the stairs to the ground floor of the palace. I’d love to make a detour to figure out exactly what the Queen is celebrating—anything that’s good for her likely isn’t good for anyone else—but I don’t have the time. A couple fae decked out in flowing gowns and glittering jewels walk past, but they ignore me, either because of my spell or because of the servant uniform I’m wearing. I make it all the way to the second floor and to the door of the Queen’s sitting room without being questioned.

I let out a slow breath, smiling to myself. The worst part is over, now I just need to get Autumn’s ríardú—and, hopefully, Winter’s too. Kill two birds with one stone and all that—then get the hells out of here.

The ward over the door looks deceptively simple, but it was designed that way. If my gift didn’t allow me to sense the components and see the threads, I’d be tricked into breaking only part of the ward, leaving all the deadliest components in place for me to get caught in.

Even with the added power boost of being in the fae realm, it takes me a good thirty minutes to fully disarm the ward, definitely not ideal. I finally push open the door and enter the sitting room, casting a glance around. Where would she keep a powerful magical relic? The space isn’t overly large. A couch. A writing desk in the corner. A few side tables and other furniture. A wall of shelving.

There.

A hutch is tucked into the corner, a plain, unadorned piece of furniture made of dark wood. Anyone else would probably overlook it, but I can see the ward surrounding it. And there’s something else different about it that I can’t quite figure out.

The ward on the thing isn’t overly complicated and not half as deadly as the one on the door. It mostly holds intruders in place until they’re released by someone, though it would make the wait for release exceptionally painful. I suppose if someone made it past that first ward, palace security might want to question them. It only takes about ten minutes or so of intense concentration before I get the second ward down and then pull open the doors of the hutch.

Inside, there are three shelves. A golden circlet so simple it’s almost crude rests on the middle shelf. There are gemstones messily fused around the band, but the one that holds my attention is the jewel affixed to its center. I recognize the dark red ruby as the centerpiece of the necklace I was hired to steal.

Which makes this gaudy, poorly constructed crown Autumn’s ríardú.

The Spring Queen clearly cared for function and threw form out the window when she was putting this thing together. Not my problem, though. Autumn can reassemble—or disassemble— the crown however they want once I hand it over.

A quick scan for wards tells me it’s safe to grab the circlet. I pick it up and a pinprick of magic zaps my fingertips, almost like the thing is feeling me out. Weird. I slide the metal band into the pocket of the apron.

Once Autumn’s ríardú is out of sight, something else tugs on my attention, tickling at the edges of my perception. The chill of ice and snow dances along my nerves. Winter magic. Strong Winter magic.

Almost involuntarily my gaze shifts toward the bottom shelf. Tucked away half-hidden behind a stack of baubles is a metal chest etched with snowflakes. I reach out, but then snatch my hand back. What am I doing? I know better than to grab things without checking for wards.

I squint, tilting my head to the side. The chest is definitely warded, but in a way I’ve never seen before. It has ward stacked upon ward stacked upon ward. No one is getting in that thing without the key or a way to disarm it. Or both. Given that the box reeks of Winter magic, I doubt the Spring Queen has ever been able to open it.

Could this box hold Winter’s ríardú just sitting there untouched after all this time?

I take stock of the wards for a second time and that weird tugging sensation begins again. It’s as if the chest itself wants me to do something, as if it’s trying to tell me something.

Okay weird Winter box. I’m game. Let’s do this.

I close my eyes, then reach out with my senses, scanning over every strand of every piece to locate what’s calling to me.

There.

Buried under the layers of wards, there’s a loose thread of magic, one I’m pretty sure was carefully hidden and not left by accident, as if this thing has been waiting for someone with my particular gift to unravel it.

I reach out and grip the end of the loose thread. One quick tug is all it takes. The whole system of wards flashes brighter, then goes dull, the ward now inert. Seems a little too simple, but I don’t know of anyone else besides me who would have been able to pull it off.

I touch the box with one finger to be sure there aren’t any other traps. Nothing happens so I use the same finger to carefully flip open the lid and reveal what’s inside.

A crown, one much more elegant than the mess the Spring Queen made of Autumn’s ríardú. Thin silver wire twisted into an intricate pattern makes up the band and flawless diamonds are spaced evenly around it, attached to the metal in some invisible way I can’t figure out. Pure perfection and stunning beauty, this is what I’d expect a ríardú to look like.

And this one can only belong to Winter.

Whether from never being taken apart or just from sitting idle so long, the crown practically vibrates with power, tendrils reaching out to me as if begging me to pick it up.

So, I listen.

Reaching out, I take hold of the delicately woven silver band. Magic pokes at my fingertips, just like with Autumn’s circlet, but this magic doesn’t let go. Instead, it draws me in and the world around me disappears into swirling mist.

Twenty-Three

I find myself standing—or maybe floating?—in a heavy white fog. There are shadows in the distance, but they’re too far away for me to make out what they are. Hells, I can barely make out my own hand in front of my face.

A tinkling melody drifts through the air, almost familiar. Something in the back of my mind definitely recognizes the tune and the words, only a murmur in this case, are eerily familiar, but I can’t place the song even though I can almost sing along.

I take a few steps toward the sound, the white mist curling around my ankles and legs, but I don’t seem to be going anywhere or making any actual forward progress.

Where am I? What is this place?

I reach out, waving my hand through the fog to try to clear some of it away and get a better look around. The cool dampness I’d expect is muted, almost nonexistent, and no matter how rapidly I move my hand, the fog doesn’t dissipate or lighten in any way.

I break into a run, but nothing around me changes, like I’m running in place. Swallowing, I glance around me, uneasiness beginning to creep up my spine.

At this point where I am doesn’t matter half as much as how I’m supposed to get out of here.

“Hello?” I call. The only answer is my own voice echoing back at me, but the lingering melody suddenly cuts out, leaving me in an eerie silence.

I call out again. This time there’s no echo. The sound of my voice falls flat, first dampened, then extinguished. Nausea churns in my stomach.

The shadows in the distance begin to move, dancing along the edge of what I’d consider the horizon anywhere else but here. One shadow separates from the others and walks toward me, growing gradually more distinct as it draws closer. The blurred edges become sharper, revealing the shape of a woman near my height.

She’s fae, that much is clear, but the points to her ears are more jagged, the structure of her face harsher as if someone drew her using only straight lines and sharp angles. Her hair is a fall of shimmering silver, so smooth it almost looks like a sheet of metal. She stops a couple feet in front of me, studying my face with an intensity that has her glowing silver eyes practically boring into my soul.

“Hello, Arielle Grey,” she says. Her voice a musical lilt to it that sounds out of place coming from her stern slash of a mouth.

“How do you know my name?” I ask.

“I am the guardian of the Winter Court,” she replies. “I know all my children.”

My mouth goes dry and all I can do is blink at her. Finally, I croak out the only question I can think of. “Am I dead?”

The severity of her face softens as she smiles. “No, dear. This is merely an in-between place where I meet with those to whom I grant the powers of my Court.”

Grant the powers of her Court? Is she talking about a monarch’s powers? Does that mean I’m somehow inside the fatesdamned ríardú?

She continues, “I can see you have many questions, but we do not have the luxury of time. You must take on the power of those who came before you otherwise it will be lost forever.”

“Wait a second,” I say. “Are you saying you’re going to make me a monarch? Winter's monarch?”

“Yes.”

“But you can’t. I’m—”

“The Winter King’s lost daughter, his forgotten heir,” she says so matter of fact that it takes me a second to actually process the words.

No.

“That’s not possible.” I shake my head, taking an involuntary step backward. “I can’t be the child of a madman.”

Sympathy pulls at her expression along with pity and something else. “He was no madman. He was a father in mourning.”

“Mourning?”

“It is true the Merge was the fault of the Winter King, but his actions were not malicious.”

“He destroyed the barriers separating the realms,” I say in a flat voice. “What other reason—”

“Your siblings were assassinated and you stolen away. He was searching for you,” the guardian says. “Misguided though his actions were, they were done out of love.”

A lump sticks in my throat at the thought I had siblings, that I had a father who cared for me enough to nearly rip the world apart. In all my childish fantasies of who my parents were and what might have happened to them, the idea that my father was the disgraced Winter King never even crossed my mind.

And why would it have?

At the Spring Court I was nothing. The Spring Queen told me I was nothing.

But…she also joked about the Winter King’s ‘tantrum’ and how if he’d only let it go, he might still have a Court.

Am I that ‘it’?

Does that mean… Does she know? She must.

And, given I ended up in her Court, she was likely involved in my kidnapping, if not the mastermind. Did she kill my siblings too?

Everything I know about her tells me she did.

My stomach churns as grief for the family I never knew washes over me with heated rage following closely on its heels. I slap my hand over my mouth, holding back a scream or a sob, I’m not entirely sure which. Maybe both.

“Time is running out, Arielle,” says the guardian, either ignoring or oblivious to the fact she just turned my entire world upside down.

I shove my emotions away to deal with later. “So, what now?”

“Now, I bestow you with the power of your birthright.”

My head is still spinning with all this new information, but the one thing I know for sure is that I don’t want to be a monarch. Not even if it’s my birthright.

I can’t be a part of everything I hate about the fae.

I take a deep breath. “And if I refuse?”

The guardian shrugs, a very human gesture. “Then, I will fade completely, further upsetting the balance of the fae realm and, since they are now connected, the human realm as well.”

“So, I take on this power or the entire world suffers the consequences? How is that fair?”

Another shrug. “I am only a tool of the fates. I do not make the rules.”

There doesn’t seem to be much of a choice here. As much as I don’t want the power of the Winter Court, I can’t just consign two entire realms to destruction.

I swallow. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

At least this way, I won’t be delivering any actual power to Corian when I’m forced to fulfill my vow and give him the crown.

She gives me a soft smile. “I do so look forward to seeing what you can do with it.”

If it’s up to me, I won’t be doing anything with it. I’m only taking on this responsibility to keep the realms stable, not to rule. All I want to do is go back to my life in the human realm and ignore everything that’s happened in the past twenty minutes.

The guardian places her hands on either side of my face, pinning me in place with her gaze. Her silver pupils start to swirl, then expand outward until her entire eye is taken up by a blizzard of glinting ice shards. Her palms warm to an almost unbearable level, scalding my skin hot enough to bring up blisters if it was any ordinary kind of heat.

That intense warmth leeches from her palms and travels through my skin and along my nerves, spreading throughout my body until I feel like I might explode. In my peripheral vision, a blazing corona forms around us growing brighter and brighter until I’m forced to close my eyes against the glare. The light on the other side of my lids flares once, then the connection between the guardian and I is broken as a blast of power radiates outward.

I crack open my eyes slowly.

I’m…back? The foggy interior world of the ríardú is gone and I’m standing in the middle of the Spring Queen’s sitting room with Winter’s crown still clutched in my hand. The magic in the jeweled band is calmer now, no longer calling out to me.

But there’s a very clear disturbance in the room around me. It almost looks like a blast radius with me at its center. If whatever happened in that in-between world had an actual physical effect out here, who knows who else might have registered that blast of power. Or what alarms it may have set off.

I need to get the hells out of here. Now. Spinning around, I take a step toward the door, then freeze in place.

The Spring Queen stands in the open doorway. She’s wearing a long, formal dress a few shades lighter than her bright yellow hair which is twisted into an updo and she’s dripping in jewels. Her pale lavender eyes narrow, and her face darkens with fury.

“What. Have. You. Done.” Each word rings out with pure power behind it, not so much a question as a demand. “Kneel.”

I’ve already started the downward movement out of habit when I realize the magical component that would force compliance with orders like that is missing. I let myself fall to my knees anyway, sliding the second crown into the apron’s pocket in the hopes she didn’t notice it. I’m not sure how I’m going to get out of this, but having her underestimate me will be a good start.

She glides forward, regal elegance and cold beauty, everything I’ve always hated about the fae. Or maybe everything she taught me to hate. She places a finger under my chin and forces my face up, her nail digging in to the tender spot under my jaw.

“Arielle, I let you leave here once with one of my possessions. I will not do so again.” She releases my face, her nail scraping across the skin. “Give me the crown.”

So much for her not noticing…

“It’s not yours,” I snap. “It belongs to the Winter Court.”

“There is no Winter Court.”

I bare my teeth at her as I slowly rise to my feet. “There is now, bitch.”

I’m not exactly sure what comes over me, but warmth gathers in my chest flaring into an inferno. I shove my hands outward and the Queen flies backward, her body hitting the wall with a loud crack. She slumps to the ground, one hand to her temple. I walk over to where she’s unsteadily pushing herself to her feet, an incandescent rage powering my movements.

“You have no idea what you’re even doing, do you?” She laughs, the harsh sound shattering my sudden confidence. “You may have gained the power of a monarch, but without training, without even a Court you are still nothing.”

She makes an almost dismissive motion, flicking two fingers in my direction, and my body flies backward, slamming into the bookshelf. Instead of going to the floor like she did, I’m held a foot above the ground by an invisible force as she moves toward me with predatory grace.

“I appreciate you opening that accursed box for me, but even if the guardian has granted you everything you’re due, you’re no match for me,” she says as a sinister smile spreads across her face. “But I do have a use for you now. The last-minute change isn’t ideal, but you can take the place of the Autumn brat as—”

Something slams into the wall from outside, shaking the entire building with its force, and the Queen stumbles. A rumbling noise crescendos into a crash as the exterior wall on one side of the room starts to collapse. There’s another hit to the building, and the Queen is thrown backward, tripping over one of the end tables.

The Queen’s hold released, I fall to the ground, the impact jarring my entire body. I use both hands to shove to my feet, then glance from side to side trying to get my bearings and figure out what the hells is going on. My gaze catches on the mostly collapsed outer wall. Beyond the jagged remnants of stone, a black dragon hovers in midair peering inside with gold-flecked gray eyes.

Finn.

He gives me a dragon-sized grin, showing off a set of scarily pointed teeth. He’s going to be so smug about this later, but for once I’m glad he didn’t listen to me. Even with a monarch’s powers, the Spring Queen is exponentially more powerful than me and I need to get out of here before she can recover her wits.

I scramble across the floor toward Finn, dodging fallen books and knocked over furniture. Once I reach the new dragon-created opening, Finn shifts to the side, revealing Declan riding on his back, his legs hooked around the spot where Finn’s wings meet his body.

“What are you guys doing here?” I ask.

“Rescuing you,” says Declan, grinning as he reaches a hand out toward me. “We did wait two hours like you asked.”

I shake my head, fighting off a smile, then grab Declan’s outstretched hand. He pulls me onto Finn’s back behind him, my legs on either side of his hips, and I wrap my arms around his waist.

“Hold on,” he says. “Dragon riding is not for the faint of heart.”

Twenty-Four

After taking a few dizzying glances at the ground, I squeeze my eyes shut and hide my face against Declan’s back. He moves one of his hands to rest against my arm at his waist, gently brushing his fingers across my skin. The scent of cedar fills my nose, familiar and comforting, and I force myself to relax my muscles.

I’m still not opening my eyes, though.

And I’m not even going to think about the fact that the teen has, at most, only two hours of actual flying experience.

I love Finn. He is my favorite person in the world. But as handy as this was for an escape route, I don’t think riding a dragon is an experience I'd like to repeat. Declan discovered his claustrophobia today and I discovered my fear of flying. Or at least flying with absolutely nothing holding me on to the thing that is flying.

Without any visual input to distract me, my brain gets stuck cycling through the same three-word thought over and over, trying to decide where the emphasis should be to make the situation seem less awful.

I’m Winter’s monarch.

I’m Winter’s monarch.

I’m Winter’s monarch.

Nope. They all sound just as bad.

I shove the thought away and press closer to Declan, my cheek resting against his back. It’s only been three days, but I’ve kind of gotten used to having the Autumn fae around. Sure, he started out a pain in my ass, but today he volunteered to help me when he didn’t have to and refused to leave me behind even if that would have made things easier for him. Then there’s the tenderness and admiration in his eyes sometimes when he looks at me.

And the kiss…As brief as it was, there was possibility there. Hope.

But there can’t be either of those things now.

That whole mess with Corian aside, the Spring Queen had a point. Without any guidance and without a Court to support me as monarch, I’m vulnerable. No one can know that, least of all a member of a rival Court no matter how close I might think we are. And especially if he’s anywhere in Autumn’s line of succession which I highly suspect he is.

The closer to the crown he is, the more dangerous he is to me.

There’s no better example of that then what happened to my own father. The Spring Queen’s machinations ripped apart the Winter Court and took its King down with it.

Our trajectory shifts downward, the muscles in Finn’s back bunching up as he changes direction, and a couple minutes later he glides to a gentle landing. Once his feet hit the actual ground, I crack my eyes open to look around.

We’ve landed on the grass at the edge of a forest. The trees are all gilded with various shades of red, orange, and yellow and the air has enough chill in it to raise goosebumps on my arms.

Autumn’s region. Of course. Where else would Declan think to go? This wouldn’t be my first choice of regrouping spots, but with Declan here to smooth over any trespassing issues, I doubt we’re in danger here.

For now.

I release my death grip on Declan’s waist and lean back, stretching out the sore muscles in my shoulders. Declan hops off Finn’s back as gracefully as if he does things like this every day. I, however, kind of slide sideways and fall to the ground, my legs not willing to hold me up at the moment.

“Ow,” I say, using Finn’s scaled side to pull myself up to standing. “Remind me to never do that again.”

“What? Ride on a dragon?” asks Declan, the corners of his lips tilted upward.

“Yeah,” I reply, avoiding his gaze.

Finn’s form shimmers as the shift washes over him. Human again, he’s grinning from ear to ear. “That was awesome.”

I can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. The whole situation is screwed up, but I’m glad he got to experience flying for himself and that there was some brightness to his involuntary trip to the fae realm. It’ll be a good memory for him to have now that we probably have to run again.

I move away, walking a few steps toward the edge of the trees and rubbing at my forehead. There’s a sharp pain behind my eyes that I can’t shake and the volume of Finn’s enthusiasm isn’t going to make it any better.

“Are you okay?” asks Declan, softly as he steps up beside me.

“Fine,” I say stiffly. “Just have a headache.” I feel around in the pocket of the apron for Autumn’s ríardú, my fingers ghosting over Winter’s in the process. I grab the gold circlet and hold it out to Declan. “Here.”

The brusqueness of the gesture and the word has his brows drawing together with confusion as he takes the crudely assembled crown. He looks over the band, eyes lingering on the jewels.

“The ríardú,” he whispers.

“Yup. As promised.”

“Thank you,” he says, the phrase coated in earnest sincerity. “The Autumn Court is in your debt. I am in your debt.”

“No debt. Not as long as you pay me what’s owed,” I say, trying—and failing—to meet his eyes. “Just send the balance to the same account you sent the deposit.”

“Of course I’ll pay, but—”

“Finn and I need to get home,” I interrupt. “Do you know where the nearest Merge point is from here?”

There’s a flash of hurt in his eyes, but he points off to the right. “There’s one just through those trees. It—”

“Great.” I turn to Finn. “You ready?”

Finn cocks his head to the side. “What’s the rush?”

“I’m exhausted and I could use a nap.”

Both things are definitely true, but don’t really answer Finn’s question. And he knows it. His eyes narrow, studying me.

“We could rest here.” He gestures at Declan. “I’m sure the Autumn Court would be willing to put us up after everything—”

“We need to go,” I say, holding Finn’s gaze and putting as much firmness into the words as possible. I widen my eyes at him in a ‘just go with it’ expression.

He glances between me and Declan, still unsure, but finally shrugs. “Okay. We’ll go.”

Declan takes hold of my arm. “What’s going on, Ari? Are you—”

I shake off his hand. “Look, I’m grateful for your help, just like you’re grateful for mine. But all I need from you now is the remainder of the money you owe me. It’s done. I need to go.”

“What’s done?” he asks, his voice rising. “Just wait for me and we can go back together. All I need to do is—”

“No. I’ve told you before how much I hate being in the fae realm and I don’t particularly want to run the risk of running into your monarch despite the number of times you told me how great she is.” I soften my voice. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Always.”

Declan doesn’t like this, his expression flipping back and forth between hurt, anger, and suspicion. He knows something is up, but he can’t figure out what. He doesn’t know me half as well as Finn does, but I need to get out of here before the Autumn fae starts putting things together.

“Come on, Finn.” I jerk my chin in the direction of the trees.

Finn waves at Declan, shooting him an apologetic look, then trots over to me where I’m already walking toward the Merge Point.

Declan runs over to catch up to us before we hit the trees. “Your bag is still in my car.”

Would this guy just give up already?

“You can return it to me the next time you see me,” I say.

“Of course.” He pauses as if debating, then a determined look comes over his face. “I vow that I will return your bag to you within a month.”

The fatesdamned idiot. Now, I’ll be forced to see him again to get my bag. That is, unless I plan to let him die for breaking such a stupid vow. Which is exactly why he gave it.

“Fine,” I say in a flat voice. I have to acknowledge what he said, otherwise he’ll know something is going on and he’ll probably try to follow me and Finn. “I accept your vow.”

Declan gives me a wan smile, then dips his chin. “Until I see you again then.”

“Yeah,” I say. “See you later.” I grab Finn’s arm and tug him toward the Merge Point.

“What was that all about?” asks the teen.

“Not. Now.”

Finn holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. But you’re going to tell me everything when we get home.”

I don’t bother responding.

The pulsing magic of the Merge Point scrapes across my skin and I wince. The colors around it are like a photo negative, the trees with red-gold trunks and brown leaves. I force myself to ignore the raw feeling of the rip between the realms and continue forward.

Finn takes my hand and we enter the Merge point together. The magic pulls at me in a way it never has before, as if trying to keep me, but I shove through the grasping tendrils and into the human realm. I stumble a few steps when I pop out on the other side, but quickly pull myself together and take in my surroundings.

And curse my stubborn stupidity.

I’m back in Riverwoods, only a few lots over from Eoin Hawthorne’s property. How both me and Finn missed this Merge Point only a couple parcels down from the target I have no clue.

The Autumn Court probably uses this spot as their main access point to the human realm and Declan is likely under some sort of vow that forbids him from telling anyone about it. If I’d listened and let Declan take me to the nearest Merge Point, he probably would have brought me here.

Avoiding Corian altogether.

But it’s useless to try to rewrite the past and too late to change things now. The deal with Corian has already been made. What matters is getting back to the apartment, packing up as much as we can, and finding a place to go. ASAP.

I step far enough away from the Merge Point so the feeling of it isn’t bringing up goosebumps on my skin, then, after weighing my options, head toward Eoin’s house. At least I know how to get in and a dead guy can’t begrudge me the use of his phone.

Finn falls into step beside me. “What’s really going on, Ari? What weren’t you saying back there?”

Fates, what I wouldn’t have given for just a little more time before I had to face this.

“I might have accidentally become Winter’s monarch,” I say quickly.

The teen stops in his tracks, grabbing my arm so I do the same. “Repeat that, please?”

“I’m Winter’s monarch.” I sigh, letting my shoulders slump. “She had Winter’s ríardú as well as Autumn’s. I touched it and the thing sucked me in. The guardian inside told me I was the Winter King’s daughter and then she bestowed the monarch’s powers on me.”

Finn stares at me, his eyes round and wide. “I’m…not sure where to start with that.”

“How about nowhere?”

“Um, no.” He scoffs. “You’re not getting away with glossing over the fact that you’re the mad Winter King’s—”

“He wasn’t mad,” I snap.

Finn raises his brows. “Okay…”

Blowing out a breath, I close my eyes, then explain to him what the guardian told me about the real cause of the Merge and how the Spring Queen probably offed my siblings and then kidnapped me, likely in an attempt to start a Court war.

“So, what does this mean?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “I’m going to pretend it didn’t happen. You’re the only one who knows. Well, she knows, but I don’t think she’s going to tell anyone. This is why I had to get away from him.”

“By ‘him’ I assume you mean Declan?” Finn cocks his head to the side. “I still don’t understand why, though.”

“Because I don’t want to find out what would happen if his monarch ordered him to take me down.”

“And she would do that because…?”

“Because I let him get close and now I’m the monarch of a rival Court. Not only that, but I’m weak and vulnerable, monarch-wise anyway. If the other Courts get wind of this, that would mean they’d all try to take me down. Not to mention what the humans might do if they figured out who I really am. They killed him because he caused the Merge.” I swallow. “But he caused the Merge because of me.”

“That’s not your fault.” protests Finn.

I shake my head. “I doubt that would matter.”

“Let’s say you’re right.” He holds his hand up to stop me from speaking. “All the Courts will want to bring you down and the humans will want to kill you. There’s no way this won’t eventually get out, so what do we do about it?”

I cast a glance toward the horizon, then start walking without responding. It takes Finn a second to realize I’m not going to answer, before he jogs up to me and grabs my arm again.

“What are we going to do about it, Ari?” he asks again.

I shake my head. “I have no idea…There’s more you need to know, but let’s get somewhere safe before I tell you the rest of it.”

Finn doesn’t like that, but he knows me well enough to know that’s the best he’s going to get for now. He nods. “But no matter what, we’ll figure this out together,” he says. “You and me against the world.”

I shoot him a pained smile. He probably won’t be saying that when he finds out I agreed to deliver a ríardú to a blood mage—even if the ríardú itself no longer holds the power Corian is after.

But I made the vow and have no choice but to fulfill it.

After that…I don’t know.

My first instinct is to take Finn and run, start over with new identities and new lives, but Finn’s right. The truth behind the unwanted legacy the Winter Court guardian foisted on me will eventually come out.

There’s no way to outrun that.

And even if the other Courts are oblivious and they never figure out that a new monarch has risen, the Spring Queen won’t let me get away so easily this time. I’m not sure what ‘use’ she thinks she has for me, but she won’t rest until I’m back under her thumb. Or dead.

Between those two choices, I’d much prefer the latter.

Ari's story continues in FORGOTTEN HEIR, coming in 2023.

While you wait, check out Ravencrest Academy, an exciting paranormal academy series with a slow burn enemies-to-lovers romance.

Looking for a completed series to binge? Check out the Broken Skies series. Filled with action, adventure, aliens, and romance, it's perfect for fans of the Lux series or The Fifth Wave.

If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. Every single one helps even if it's just a sentence or two.

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Also By Theresa Kay

Ravencrest Academy Series

Book One: Magic Bound

Starting a new school is never easy, but this time not fitting in could cost lives.

Despite being raised by shifters, my life was fairly ordinary . . . until I tried to break up a fight and got zapped with magic.

Then, all hell broke loose.

The binding spell placed on me as an infant broke and I found out in a painful and rather unpleasant manner that I’m actually a witch. Sounds great, right?

Yeah . . . not so much.

Now, the very people my birth mother tried to hide me from want to use my concealment as an excuse to push an anti-shifter agenda. The only way to keep my adoptive family—and myself—safe is to enroll in the elite Ravencrest Academy and prove I can control my newfound abilities.

Unfortunately, raw power doesn’t translate into competency and magic alone does nothing to help me navigate the ins and outs of witch society. But even with all the things working against me, I manage to make a few new friends and there's a spark of something more with the last person I expect.

Still, I can’t let that distract me from the ugly truth that many who walk the halls of Ravencrest are eager to see me fail. To keep the peace between shifters and witches I must succeed . . . no matter the cost.

Magic Bound is the first book in an exciting new YA paranormal academy series with a slow burn enemies-to-lovers romance. Perfect for fans of Supernatural Academy, Shadowspell Academy, and Evermore Academy.

★★★★★ "The details in this binge-able book are missing from so many academy novels! Romance, conflict, and a hurtling pace; this is a cover to cover read." - Kelly St. Clare, USA Today Bestselling Author

★★★★★ "If you're a fan of enemies to lovers, academy books or paranormal stories, then definitely add this one to your list! I can't recommend it enough!"- Star-Crossed Book Blog

Broken Skies Series

Book One: Broken Skies

Jax will do anything to save her twin . . . even team up with a teenage alien left behind by the same ship that took her brother.

She agrees to help the alien get back home, and in return, he agrees to sneak her into the alien city to find her sibling.

Too bad it's not that simple.

Jax soon finds that she's drawn to the alien boy with bright green hair and jewel-like scales on his back and he's equally affected by her, the courageous redhead with haunted eyes. But she doesn't know the alien's true motives, and he has no idea that she is much more than she seems.

Worse, the connection forming between them has unknown consequences.

The humans and the aliens are both hiding deadly secrets and the forbidden bond linking the two teens threatens to reveal everything. What started as an uneasy alliance and a seemingly straightforward rescue mission could spark an inter-species war.

The Broken Skies series is a completed series filled with action, adventure, aliens, and romance. Perfect for fans of the Lux series, Under Different Stars, and The Fifth Wave.

★★★★★ "A fast-paced and action-packed start to a series that will leave you reeling as you scramble for the sequel." - Kelly St Clare, USA Today Bestselling Author.

★★★★ "Broken Skies is a captivating read, and its appeal crosses genres. Whether you like sci-fi, dystopian, paranormal, or just anything with a hint of romance, check it out; it's got something for everyone."- FicCentral

★★★★★ "I don't want to give too much away but take an alien/human love story, set it in a post apocalyptic type society, feature a strong but damaged heroine, sprinkle in a compassionate but secretive male lead, add in suspense, drama, shake and you have the wildly entertaining Broken Skies."-Shannon from Book Crushin

Acknowledgments

Regan- You've had first billing in this section since the very first Ravencrest book because without your input and ability to make sense of my randomness, I'd still be stuck in a plot hole somewhere.

Kelly P.- You didn't have as much input with this book because you've been reading my secret pen name Vella instead, but you were always there when I had a random question about Chicago.

My beta readers:

Caylie- I hope you enjoyed the spoilers.

Sam- Welcome to the beta reading crew. I hope you'll like getting more info on the fae realm in the next book.

Jen and Lillian- You two have been beta-ing for me since Shattered Stars and your input is always invaluable.

Thanks also goes to-

My family

Jamie for holding my hand through this book

My other writer and blogger friends: Rysa, Meg, Elle, and Robin

Strengths for Writers/Quitcast coaches I've worked with: Becca, Elli, Susan

The Beccacon 2022 crew, especially my fellow introvert, Strengths sibling, and anime fan, Anna

Christian for another set of beautiful covers

Hannah for my adorable chibis

All the bloggers, Instagrammers, and TikTokers who take the time to post about my books and also everyone who takes the time to write a review.

And, last but definitely not least, my readers for their enthusiasm and support.

I'm sure I've forgotten someone, but I appreciate every bit of support I've received. I promise to remember you in the next acknowledgments section ;)

About The Author

Theresa Kay writes stories that feature flawed young adult and new adult characters in science fiction, urban fantasy, or paranormal worlds, all with a touch of romance thrown in for good measure. She's constantly lost in one fictional universe or another and is a self-proclaimed "fangirl" who loves being sucked into new books, movies, or TV shows. Living in the mountains of central Virginia with her husband and two kids, she works as a paralegal by day and spends her free time reading tons of books, binging Avengers movies, anime, and Doctor Who, or playing Tomb Raider and Assassin's Creed.

www.TheresaKay.com

Keep track of my newest releases by signing up for my Newsletter, following me on Amazon, or following me on Bookbub.

Table of Contents

- 1. One
- 2. Two
- 3. Three
- 4. Four
- 5. Five
- 6. Six
- 7. Seven
- 8. Eight
- 9. Nine
- 10. Ten
- 11. Eleven
- 12. Twelve
- 13. Thirteen
- 14. Fourteen
- 15. Fifteen
- 16. Sixteen
- 17. Seventeen
- 18. Eighteen
- 19. Nineteen
- 20. Twenty
- 21. Twenty-One
- 22. Twenty-Two
- 23. Twenty-Three
- 24. Twenty-Four
- Also By Theresa Kay
- Acknowledgments
- About The Author