“I would never fall for a highborn fae, no matter how handsome or rich they were,” I said.
“What if they were thoughtful and sweet?” Jane pressed.
For the sake of our hypothetical situation, I refused to point out that they were highborn fae and so, by definition, not sweet nor thoughtful. “I would need more thanthat. Someone with passion, who will argue with me but stand by my side. Someone to tell me when I’m wrong and admit when I’m right.” I sighed and shot a sideways glance at her. “There’s so much more to life than looks and money.”
“They’ll need plenty of passion to keep up with you, Lizzy.”
I smiled at her but let the conversation drop as we made it to the small cottage where we boarded. The sweet scent of vanilla and pumpkin filled our basement apartment.
Charlotte must’ve been making something again. She was always working on some craft or another, whether it was a new recipe for chocolates, a candle scent she wanted to try, or a holiday craft. It was one reason I often brewed my potions elsewhere. Our apartment was too small for both of us to be making concoctions.
I followed Jane across the braided rugs covering the floor and down the hall to the room we shared, not bothering to turn on the lights. We changed into our pajamas and brushed our teeth, while thoughts of Dad’s sickness, my family’s money situation, and the highborn fae chased each other around my head.
Despite myself, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
In my dream, I stood in the middle of a wide, tree-lined street that cut between large yards. Leaves fell from the branches overhead, drops of ink and ivory drifting to the ground. I sucked in a breath, but instead of a crisp autumn scent, the air was sterile. It was like someone had captured Austen Heights in a series of old photographs, colorless, soundless, and empty.
I rubbed my itching nose—a sure sign that magic was happening nearby—and sighed. This wasn’t a dream, it was a Portent brought on by my fae magic. While most fae had a host of magic at their fingertips, they usually specialized in one. But my sisters and I had each received only a single fae magic. Mine was the Portents, or the ability to see things happening in the present. Since many of the Marked in town considered our fae magic “tainted”by our witch magic, I refused to practice mine. If I did, maybe I could train it to show me thingsbeforethey happened instead of just as they happened, like other fae could with their Portents.
An owl swooped across the sky before landing on a tree branch in front of me. One always appeared to guide me to whatever my Portent wanted me to see.
The owl swiveled its head to stare at me, then it blinked its yellow eyes and ruffled its wings. It hooted—the only sound in this silent expanse—and stared me down another second before launching from the tree and flying down the street.
I walked after it, my footsteps silent on the leaf-covered sidewalk. Better to get it over with, since I couldn’t stop it.
White houses with pitched roofs and black shutters sat back from the road, lined up like books on a shelf. When I turned my head to look at them, they blurred out, a pearlescent mist blocking the details.
I continued walking, keeping an eye on the owl, which frequently circled back to make sure it hadn’t lost me.Once I focused on whatever the owl wanted to show me, details would bloom to life.
At the end of the street, I followed the owl again and turned down another, then another. I listened for a noise, a sign of life anywhere, but it was silent. I was still too far from wherever I needed to be.
It felt like I walked forever, but eventually, I reached a gate that surrounded a sprawling estate. Unlike before, I could take in all the details without the mist interfering. A three-story house with wide windows, a gabled roof, and a wrap-around porch loomed in the distance. There was something imposing about the structure, as if it watched me with disapproval.
A shiver slipped through me.
I stepped off the road onto a gravel path that cut through a manicured lawn of gray bushes, white flowers, and black hedges. In the distance, a large pond glinted silver.
The owl, gliding silently overhead, led me down the gravel path toward the house. As I got closer, color bloomed around me like someone had plopped a drop of paint onto a canvas. It slowly spread, dyeing mysurroundings with hints of night. The silvery lake turned a sparkling indigo, the lawn a deep emerald, and shadows sharpened the shapes of the hedges.
A knot in my chest eased. Soon I’d find whatever I needed to see, and I’d be able to go back to sleep—normal sleep. The low hum of voices grew louder in the background, like listening to someone talk while my head was underwater. Whatever they were saying, it wasn’t what was important.
Around the corner of the house stood a beautiful white gazebo with green vines climbing the sides. Red, pink, and yellow chrysanthemums dotted the scene, adding a splash of beauty and filling the air with their floral scent.
I tensed as more of my senses returned. Whatever the Portent wanted to tell me would be clear soon.
Two figures stood on the other side of the gazebo, talking in quiet, muffled voices. Their conversation had an edge of restrained tension but was too soft to make out. Their veins both had the slight glow that marked living creatures in a Portent.
The owl circled a few times over the men before it turned and flew off, disappearing into the dark sky.
I moved forward until the first man came into view—a stranger with shaggy blond hair and a cleft chin. I was pretty sure I’d never seen him in Austen Heights.
He narrowed his blue eyes at his companion, who was still mostly hidden. “Admit I’m right.”
“You were way out of line, Easton,” said a rich tenor. The voice had the perfect amount of huskiness to make my toes curl.
“You’re blind to what’s right in front of you.” The blue-eyed man—Easton?—stepped toward his companion.
I shifted to the right to better see Easton’s mysterious counterpart, and my breath caught at how perfectly his face matched his voice. He wore an air of elegance like a well-fitted coat as well as a pair of dark-wash jeans and a cream sweater under a dark blazer. He was tall and well-built with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and thick black curls.
