Page 142 of Fallen Court

The question sounded different the second time she asked. Like she might be angry if she ever got over the shock. Like she didn’t really want to know. Like she knew the answer was going to hurt.

Regret flooded through me. I’d been too scared to face what part of me had suspected when Oberon demanded the ring in his garden.

I’d felt it every time he had called me “princess.” More memories fell into place—ones that didn’t make sense. Ones that swam to mind like watching videos of someone else’s life. A pair of deep-brown eyes watching over me. Someone spinning me in a circle while I laughed. A fleeting memory of safety and belonging and home still tinged with innocence I’d lost long ago. My knees felt weak, and I lunged to grab the sink before I collapsed.

“Cate.” Ciara moved a single step but stopped short of reaching out for me.

I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t trust myself, either.

I didn’t know myself.

Someone knocked, the door opening a crack, and Ciara flew over to stop it.

“Everything okay in here?” the saleswoman asked in a chipper voice. “You’ve been in there for a while…”

“She got her period,” Ciara murmured, firmly gripping the door to keep her from entering. “I think we need to reschedule.”

“Poor thing,” the woman said, instantly sympathetic. “I’ll get something on the books right away.”

“Sounds good. We’ll be out in a second,” Ciara told her before shutting the door in her face. Ciara turned, pressed her back to it, and then, she snickered. “I bet that woman thinks she is having a bad day.”

And despite everything that had changed, despite everything that would never be the same again, I realized one important thing had not. My best friend. My sister. The woman who had my back when I’d just pulled the rug out from under her feet. Sure, she had trained a gun on me, but nobody was perfect.

“There’s a lot I don’t know,” I told her, “but I’ll tell you everything that I do.” I glanced around the bathroom. “Just somewhere else. I could use a real drink.”

Ciara drew in a deep breath as she considered my offer. Finally, she nodded.

“I guess first we have to find a way to get me out of here before someone sees.” I glanced around the room like a solution might present itself on a silver platter. “Maybe a hat? Or you could distract her while I sneak out the door?”

I prayed it wouldn’t come to walking out of here in a veil.

Another giggle erupted from her. “Okay, you definitely had no clue, because you don’t think like a fae. Someday you’ll learn not to make things harder than they have to be.” She grabbed the effigy from me and began looping the string until I felt a comforting tingle of magic. “There.” She tucked it safely in her pocket. “You look human again. Now let’s get out of here so you can tell me everything.”

Why did that sound like a threat?

Chapter Thirty-Four

Lach

As was often the case, the choice to tie Willow up wasn’t personal. It was purely transactional. I had questions. The witch had answers.

I’d long ago learned that it was better to have the upper hand during a negotiation when the stakes were life or death.

Roark had left to pick up Ciara and Cate in the car rather than send a driver, a strategic decision to not draw too much attention from anyone who might be watching us from the outside. And there was no reason to worry either of them…yet. Not until Willow explained more about the spell she’d confessed to placing on Cate. Their day would be ruined soon enough. Someone might as well have some fun until then, because I wasn’t.

Unless you counted being locked into a staring contest with an infuriated witch among your favorite pastimes.

For many reasons, I did not.

Willow had already wasted twenty minutes while she tried to free herself, called me every curse word she knew—it turned out that her vocabulary was quite extensive—and learned that if she attempted an incantation, I could add another fun accessory called a gag.

When she finally sagged in defeat, I picked up the Scotch I’d poured for her and lowered the handkerchief.

“Have a drink.” I brought the cup to her lips.

She turned her head away from the rim. “So you can poison me?”

“You know why,” I told her quietly, keeping the glass in place. “If I wanted you dead, Miss Broussard, you would be dead. This is an insurance policy to keep you from doing something reckless when I release you. The effects will only last a few hours.”