“Release me now,” I order, straightening myself so I tower over him. If reason won’t let him willingly say the words, maybe fear will.
“Do you really think he’ll still want you like this!?” he shouts. The tips of my wings bristle at his words. Most of my life has been spent trying to look beautiful. For my mother, for the internet, rarely ever myself. Even on days when my joints ached and I felt pasted together, a good outfit or cute hairstyle had always made me feel … something. But this is more than theconfidence you feel when wearing a new pair of heels. There is power here like I’ve never felt before, coursing through my veins.
My wings spread freely with no consideration for the valuables in the room. I’ve shifted into this body, and it feels like I’ve slipped into a new outfit—but I’m still the same person. My joints still ache.
I’m allowed to like both versions, and Moth will too.Won’t he?
I touch the shape of my face and find a beak where my mouth should be. Panic rises in my chest.
What if Ican’tchange back?
Does it matter?
Magnus can’t even look at you—what if Moth can’t either?
He’s different—Moth is different.
“Things don’t have to be beautiful to have value,” I say, echoing that early conversation. “He’s a better man than you are.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Then move,” I growl.
“I’m not letting you through that portal while you’re out for blood. You’ve made a mess of my court, and I can’t risk setting you free now. Besides, you can only travel through them with me, as if I would go anywhere with you.”
“Magnus?”
“Yes?” he says, desperately.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.” I pick up his body like a rag doll. He’s used me this whole damn time; if he’s the key to the portal, it’s my turn.
“I release you from our bargain,” he screams as we crash together into the spiraling void. The last thing I hear before diving through the portal is shattering glass—one more broken mirror to decorate the vampire king’s room. Exhaling, I hold tight to a piece of my Mothman keychain in the safety of my tattered dress and think of home.
20.
Moth
Another dead end.
The mortal hunter is lucky he did not convince us to let him join our quest. Heather’s continued absence would easily make him the subject of my ire. We walk aimlessly in a city I do not know. I can see the balcony they had dined on, and it is clear that they are long gone.
“Ughhh, guys…” Rosie says, staring wide-eyed at the phone.
“I prefer ‘companions’, ‘your majesties,’ or ‘friends,’ if you must,” Holly huffs, crossing her arms. It is strange to see her glamoured without wings as we walk through the mortal city. Pepper appears equally strange, and two passersby have already asked if we are “in a band.” Even without the frills of our faerie-born appearances, we stand out. Worse, there is no scent of honeycomb soap here—and no sign of Heather. But with the way Rosie looks at her device in horror, I believe she may have a lead.
“You’re going to want to see this.”
“More rubbish information from your brother?” Holly sighs but snags the phone away regardless. Her eyes widen as her hands clutch the device in her hands.
There are screams echoing from the speakers.
“What the fuck is that?”
“Holy shit.”
“Oh my God, oh my God!”
Screech!
