Page 92 of The Hopeless Romantic’s Guide to Enchantment

The Conductor inclined his head at Emma. “I am aware of everything that happens on my train,” he told her. “I have enjoyed your presence so very much, you see, that I left briefly to retrieve your hair – both of you – in order that you might stay longer. After all, you can only return home if there is some thing left of you there.”

Emma frowned at the Conductor. “I doubt very much that you have stolen my hair,” she informed him. “My brother is far less forgetful than Professor Carew. In fact, I dare say that he is overly sensible, at times.” She narrowed her eyes at the faerie. “But I notice that you have hidden your hands behind your back. I wonder if there is a reason for that.”

The Conductor’s eerie green eyes stared her down for several seconds… but eventually, he offered her an empty smile. “Ah, well,” he admitted. “I have outwitted one of you, regardless.”

He let his arms drop to his sides – whereupon Emma saw that one of his chalk-white hands had a livid red burn upon it, in the shape of a small key.

Simon closed his eyes. “Thank goodness,” he said softly. “I might be trapped here, Em – but you, at least, are free to go.”

Emma pressed her lips together. “I read through Simon’s notes before coming here,” she told the Conductor. “A lady and her betrothed are inseparable, as far as the laws of Faerie are concerned. Therefore – since Simon is to marry me – a part of him remains in Wales. He will be leaving this train beside me, after all.”

Simon made an odd, strangled noise, deep in his throat. Emma shot him a sympathetic glance. “If you are thinking of crying off,” she advised him, “I would wait at least until we have left the train.”

Simon opened his mouth – then shut it again. He processed the words a bit longer, before sighing heavily to himself. “That is… terribly clever,” he admitted. “I did say that I would marry you if you were five years older. Is that why you waited precisely five years in order to come after me?”

“It is,” Emma told him fondly. “And I do feel very clever, thank you.”

The train had now begun to slow, as the next stop drew closer. The Conductor’s empty smile fell away as he stared at Emma. “And which door will you use to leave?” he asked her coldly.

The little wax man was still blocking the exit.

“Pardon me,” Miss Catastrophe interrupted in a flat tone, “but I will be getting off at Oakley station.” The violet-skinned woman now stood up from her seat, swaying slightly with the move ment of the train. She took a few unsteady steps towards the wax man, squinting at him dangerously. “I am collecting a soul in Scotland. That appoint ment will not wait.”

Silence settled into the car, as everyone involved turned their attention to Miss Catastrophe.

The Conductor did not immediately reply.

Miss Catastrophe raised one finger, pointing it warningly towards the wax man’s chest. “One way or another,” she said calmly, “I am leaving this train. I am only bound to take one soul… but if you continue to stand in my way, then I shall have another.”

When next Emma dared to blink, the wax man had abruptly disappeared.

The train came to a final stop. Miss Catastrophe stumbled forward, scowling as she fumbled with the door.

Simon cleared his throat. “Er – please, allow me,” he offered politely.

Miss Catastrophe stepped aside with a soft hiccup, allowing him to open the door for her. An impenetrable, pitch-black darkness beckoned outside.

Emma grabbed Simon firmly by the arm as the violet-skinned faerie hopped down from the train. She did not dare look back, as the two of them exited after her.

Emma’s boots hit solid ground. The fresh, earthy scent of trees filtered in; faint moonlight illuminated the platform at Oakley station, breaking through the surrounding midnight. Simon swiftly searched out her hand, as though to reassure himself that she was real. His skin was warm against the chill.

Miss Catastrophe was now nowhere to be seen. But presently, a great raven launched into the air, disappearing into the night beyond them.

The silver locomotive closed its passenger doors, and began to move along in silence.

Simon folded Emma into a tight, abrupt embrace that forced the air entirely from her lungs. Somehow, she managed a tiny sound of protest against his shirt.

“My God,” he whispered, in a shaky voice. “I have been terrified ever since I saw you on that train, Em. If some thing had happened to you on my account…”

Emma sucked in a fresh breath, full of the scent of old ink that he always carried with him. “I assure you,” she rasped, “I was terrified as well.”

Simon let her go in order to wipe surreptitiously at his eyes. “I am home now, because of you. Or… in Scotland, I suppose.”

Emma offered him a misty smile. “That is all I really wanted,” she told him softly. “You need not really marry me, Simon – in case it was in question.”

“I should be so fortunate,” Simon said with a laugh, shaking his head. “Where else would I find a woman clever enough to outsmart an entire train of faeries?”

Emma’s chest tightened. “Oh, please don’t be kind this time,” she begged him hoarsely. “Just tell me that you have no interest, Simon. I will move on – I promise it.”