Page 41 of Fallen Court

The pub was already half empty, only a few stragglers remaining. Lach didn’t let me go as we slipped closer to the largest group, who were making their way to the door. I pulled his coat tighter and searched the cramped space for signs of Oberon’s men. There were two near the bar, arguing with the woman who had lent me her phone.

“She looks pissed,” I muttered, turning my eyes back to Lach. And froze. “Your glamour.”

It was gone.

“Time to go,” he said grimly. He nudged me into the thick of the group. I cringed, waiting for someone to notice us, but no one seemed to, even after Lach slung an arm around one of the guys’ shoulders and strolled casually out the door.

I followed his lead, pretending to laugh with the strangers as we made our way down the block. My heart raced faster with each stolen step. The farther we got from the pub, the more frantic I felt. Lach was walking down the street with his ears out, Oberon knew by now that I had escaped, and we were in an enemy court without magic.

And I’d thought waking up in Titania’s body was stressful.

Lach untangled himself from his new friend as we rounded the street corner. Waving a quick goodbye, he took my hand and pulled me toward the other side of the street. We darted down a back alley. Tendrils of dense fog curled off the damp street and vanished like smoke, old brick walls pressing in on either side. It was too dark to see where it led, but Lach started down it.

“This screams looking for trouble,” I muttered, gripping his hand more tightly.

His feet splashed in a puddle. “Or running from it.” He drew me closer, wrapping a reassuring arm around my waist, and gazed down at me. “Ready to go home?”

“I’ll go anywhere with you,” I murmured, meaning it.

Lach inclined his head, his lips brushing over mine as he snapped his fingers. Our mouths met as the world fell away beneath my feet, my stomach plunging with it. But this time it didn’t feel like falling—it felt like flying.

My hands clutched his shirt, clinging to him like he might slip through my fingers. Light crackled around us, and I braced, wishing the journey had taken longer. I wasn’t quite ready to return to the real world.

And then something seized the back of my neck and yanked me from him.

My eyes flew open and found his wide with panic as something tore me away. We both lunged forward, even as the phantom force hauled me farther back. Lach mouthed something, the words lost in the void between worlds, as our fingers brushed.

He was slipping away.

We’d found each other, only to be torn apart again.

But he wasn’t dead. He was in reach, and I was not letting him go without a fucking fight.

Determination settled like cold steel inside me, and I threw myself forward with every ounce of strength I had. Golden strands snapped, cleaving the air like cracking whips as my body sliced forward, arm outstretched. The tips of my fingers brushed his shirt as I tumbled forward into the space between worlds, and then his hand closed over mine. We plummeted, hurtling into chaos and nothing, my fingers slipping from his grasp.

And I did the only thing I could think to do.

I snapped my fingers, only one image breaking through the buzzing terror in my brain.

Safety.

We crashed into a bookshelf, sending it, its contents, and us toppling to the floor. I shot to my knees, relief nearly choking me when Lach sat up, blinking in bewilderment at the ruined library surrounding us.

“Where are we?” But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he was on his feet, wary energy radiating from him in waves. “Don’t move.”

I did as he asked. He turned in a swift circle, assessing the change in circumstances, his body still defensive as if waiting for another attack. I held my breath while the seconds ticked by, my heart hammering, until he finally stopped and looked over at me. “Where are we?” he repeated.

“A reading room at”—I forced myself to swallow—“the library on St. Charles.”

It was deserted at this hour. The lights turned off, the tables empty. A cart of books waited to be shelved nearby. This was the place my brain had automatically associated with safety. In a childhood of bouncing between foster homes, the library was the closest place I’d had to a home most of the time, and often I’d pretend that’s what it was, that I lived in the old mansion. I’d practically grown up in these stacks, in the former estate’s reading rooms, beside the unused fireplace while studying for my nursing degree.

Lach stared at me, and then he threw back his head and laughed.

“I’m glad you find this so funny.” I did not. I rubbed my chest, a lump forming in my throat. Part of me still felt that invisible hand ripping me from his arms. The rest of me was only just processing everything that had happened. It was all too much.

His laughter faded, shadows gathering in his eyes. He dropped to one knee and then the other, until we were face-to-face. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t understand how we wound up here.” I was having a hard time comprehending pretty much everything. “Why would we go where I was thinking?”