My cheeks flush, and I tighten the blanket around my chest. “That there’s been some sort of mistake,” I correct, voice tight.
He opens his mouth, and I hold up my hand before he can launch into another speech about the Tower not making mistakes and the Empress blah, blah, blah.
“Look,” I begin, forcing myself to stay calm even asthe absurdity of it all threatens to push me over the edge. “You want a hero, and you seem very much suited to that role with your muscles and your—your roguishness.” I swear he flexes because biceps don’t just bulge like that on their own, do they? “But here’s the thing: I just need to get home to Wi-Fi and barely earning enough money to pay rent. Then your magickal Tower can send its tarot-card talisman back through the rotted-portal thing and find a hero who actually has her life together.”
I stand, the rough fabric scratching my skin, and confidently walk to the center of the shack. “I mean, sure, what you’re talking about sounds pretty intense—save the kingdom, stop the rot, and so on. But, honestly, it also sounds completely unbelievable.” His eyes narrow, but I plow on. “Even if it’s all real, this is your world—your problem—not mine. I just want to go home and pretend this never happened. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leaving now.”
“And where do you think you’ll go?” Kane lifts the pan and shifts the eggs, their edges crisp and golden.
I square my shoulders. “Back to the palace.”
“Back to the palace?” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. “There’s no going back to the palace. This is Towerfall, the Kingdom of Pentacles—you cannot simply do as you please.”
“It’s not doing as I please. This isn’t some whim. I left my purse inside the palace when I, understandably, thought you were kidnapping me the first time. The card was in my purse. Or I guess it spilled out of my purse, since you saw it too. It doesn’t matter. My purse and the card are both inside the palace, which means I need to get inside the palace.”
I paw through my clothes, bloodstained and damp, draped over a stool next to the table. My phone is tucked inside a pocket. The screen is black. It’s dead or waterlogged and broken. Either way, it’s completely useless here.
“If the Tower sent that tarot card—”
“The Empress,” he interjects.
“If the Empress brought me here, the Empress can send me back.”
“The Empress brought you here because you are the one who can heal this kingdom. Running away won’t change that. Furthermore, it won’t work. You have to finish your job, heal the rot, in order to go home.”
Taking a deep breath, I straighten my spine and meet his gaze with as much determination as I can muster. “Look, Kane, I’m not the only one who knows I was pulled into this world by mistake. I’m sure the Tower and the Empress have had some magickal meeting and are just waiting for me to find the card and undo this whole mess.”
“Is it always a fight with you?” Kane sets the pan next to me on the table and motions for me to sit.
I might be starving, but the way my nerves have my gut churning tells me that I’ll regret taking even one bite of eggs. “While I admit you have a lot of useful information and have helped me—”
“I saved your life.”
“You’re not exactly familiar with my current situation,” I say, continuing on as if he didn’t just interrupt me with pertinent information. “I need to get back into the palace to find the Empress card, and you just got done telling me about how you were nearly beheaded and one hundred percent banished.”
“Fawn, there’s no denying I have helped you. Let me continue to do so.”
“How?”
His brow arches.
Before that seductive smile slips onto his lips, I interject, “If you say ‘magick,’ I’m going to scream.”
“It’s more detailed than that, and it will involve the next few months—”
“No.” I shake my head, and my tangled hair sweeps over my bare shoulders. “I’ve already been here for… How long have I been here?”
“Three days.”
“Three days?” It’s felt like both a lifetime and a moment. “I’m not waiting any longer to get out of here and back to Pepto-Bismol and cell service. I’m also not waiting around for another man to decide when and where I’m useful, Chad.”
I bite my lower lip and take a step back, trying to distance myself from the roiling anger I have for my most recent ex.
“What’s a chad?” Kane asks, a line forming between his furrowed brows.
“A miserable, festering asshole,” I mutter.
“Sounds painful.” Kane frowns further and ducks into the Days Inn–style kitchenette, sans plumbing. He opens a cabinet and pulls out a corked bottle and bundle wrapped in cloth.
