The leaves keep falling. The forest keeps shining.
And something deep inside me goes very, very quiet.
Chapter 23
The Edge of Destiny
MAX
ThePat’s Pottery, Pots, and Potionssign swings above my head as my key twists into Devi’s lock with the same rehearsed ease as usual.
I step inside, the metal of E’s lantern thrumming softly beneath my palm. The artifact gives me goosebumps the way it always does—comforting and unsettling all at once. Heat sinks into my skin, sewing an intimate thread through my chest.
“Devi?” I call, even though I already know she isn’t home. “Percy?”
Three small round tables sit untouched in the corner, the stools neatly tucked in. There are no half-drunk cups on the counter, no crumbs on the floor, no signs of her regulars lingering longer than they should.
Without Devi in it, the tea parlor feels hollow. The familiar smells of lemongrass, smoke, and old magic sit heavy in my lungs, stripped of the life she usually breathes into them.
This place is the safe haven I used to visit after a hard, grueling day at the hospital. A reprieve from unfair deaths and unwritten rules and the constant pressure to be careful.
But today, there’s no movement behind the counter. No gossip. No Percy buzzing in with questions I pretend not to want to answer.
The weight of their absence forms a lump in my throat as I move past the glass-bead curtain toward the back. The soft chime of the undulating glass echoes in the stillness, a handful of beads cluttering the floor, despite there being no holes in the curtain. Weird. Nick heads straight for the washroom while E lingers in the kitchenette.
I deposit his lantern next to the crystal ball on the table and shiver from the sudden cold.
“Found something!” Nick shouts, and I hurry over to the small restroom between the front and back of the store.
The trash bin by the sink is overflowing with bloody bandages—carelessly discarded and stained with dried blood. My stomach cramps.
“She was hurt?” I grind out. “Mabel didn’t mention anything about an attack. She just said Devi left for Faerie.”
“She didn’t burn these,” Nick adds, holding up the dark bandages. “Which means she was in a hurry.”
Damn. I shouldn’t have left so quickly when I went to deliver the groceries. I should have unlocked the door and investigated, but I was too wrapped up in my own shite to see what was right in front of me. Too busy dealing with a sham wedding and a difficult fiancé.
“Devi wouldn’t vanish without telling me, not if she could help it. Whatever took her from this house wasn’t planned—or friendly.”
All the small lies I told myself to keep life simple, safe, and ordinary thud in my ears. While I was arguing about cakes and wedding dances, Devi was bleeding somewhere. She needed my help, and I didn’t look closely enough to notice.
My stomach twists as we search the rest of the downstairs in gloomy silence.
The kitchenette is stripped bare. The backroom is empty except for the usual candles and crystal balls. No Percy. No notes. No trace of the life that usually hums through these rooms.
Then we climb the narrow stairs to the loft.
Devi’s bed is made. The swift morning breeze creeps in through the cracked, open window, a puddle of water darkening the floor beneath the frame. Nick rummages through the upstairs kitchen and cupboards while I check the dresser and wardrobe. A few items are missing—small things, easy to overlook. But not for me. I’ve raided her closet too many times not to notice what’s gone.
At the back of the wardrobe sits a crate, square and solid, and a surge of excitement eclipses the worry in my blood. “I think I found it,” I call out.
Age darkens the wood, and the latch is worn smooth from use. Nick’s hurried footsteps boom behind me as I crouch and work it open. The hinges protest when I lift the lid in a dry, rusty whine that scrapes up my spine.
The growing flutter in my stomach coils into a knot.
The crate is empty.
Fuck.
