Nick carries our newfound treasure out, and we return from Devi’s in stilted silence, but none of us is calm. Whatever that spindle is, I’d wager it’ll bring us far more trouble than it’s worth.
Gloomy midday light filters through the double French doors, reflecting off the puddles gathered on the limestone. Beyond them, natural mist drifts through the garden, weaving between the soaked hedges and the leafless trees as rain taps softly against the windows.
Nick sits at the dining table, freshly done packing his grimoires, survival gear, and whatever supplies he thinks will keep them alive in Faerie. He studies the space where I stand the way generals do when they’ve found something dangerous but potentially useful.
“All right,” he says at last, squinting at me like the intensity of his gaze alone might force me to materialize. “You can come with us.”
“You’re too kind.”
He presses his lips together at my flippant answer, but I couldn’t resist antagonizing him a little more. Ever since we found the artifact the Mist King is after, he’s been strung tight as a live wire. I can tell he’s used to being the smartest person in the room—the one who makes the plans and sees them through.
I scored a few points by disclosing the location of Devi’s secret stash and bought myself a sliver of goodwill.
I don’t expect it to last.
Nick and I are far too alike, I think, and that’ll only make it harder for us to get along.
“I’m only allowing you to come because a ghost might come in handy in Faerie.” His gaze flicks toward the staircase, then back to the empty space where I stand. “But don’t get any ideas. Max isn’t something you get to drag down whatever rabbit hole you crawled out of, nor a toy to dull the sting of nothingness.”
I grimace. “We agree on that, at least.”
“Do we?”
“Absolutely,” I reply without missing a beat.
His mouth quirks. “Funny. From where I’m standing, you look awfully comfortable…hovering.”
I step closer, just enough for him to feel it. “And you look far too eager to charge headfirst into a potential trap. Faerie is not a playground, yet you’re approaching our departure with the breezy optimism of a weekend hunter skimming an outdoor life magazine.”
That gives him pause. “You think I’m reckless?”
“I think you’re desperate,” I reply. “And desperate men mistake momentum for advantage. Monsters don’t always bare their teeth before they feed, you know. Some smile. Some even crown themselves kings.”
I know it the same way I know I despise shellfish and would die for Max. Instinct. The same instinct screaming at me thatthis half-assed plan could get her killed and that, whatever happens, she shouldn’t touch that damn spindle again.
“You don’t get to lecture me about danger,” Nick snaps. “I grew up in it.”
“So did I.”
His eyes narrow. “I thought you didn’t remember anything about your life.”
“I don’t. But I have instinct,” I deadpan.
“Convenient,” he mutters. “To have just enoughinstinctto form opinions, yet not enough knowledge to be useful.”
The legs of his chair screech along the hardwood as he stands, squinting at me with that strange intensity again.
He lays his palms on the table. “I warn you. One wrong move, and I’ll throw your lantern into the deepest, darkest hole I can find.”
I bite my tongue not to ask if that’s supposed to scare me.
Nick is an impressive man by any mortal measure. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and built like a boxer who favors power over grace. There’s a physicality to him—the kind that comes from years of solving problems by hitting first. He probably gauges people by the way they shrink or square up when he enters a room, judging their trustworthiness through their posture and flinches.
He’s clearly accustomed to being the alpha through sheer force alone, but none of his tricks work on me.
His punches would pass straight through, and I suspect that, for perhaps the first time in his adult life, he’s facing someone he can’t size up, can’t intimidate, can’t lay hands on if things go wrong.
He paces the kitchen back and forth without a clear angle of attack, wearing a wary expression that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with unfamiliarity.
