Page 69 of The Brightest Fell

I had visualized dousing the geas with blood. I hadn’t expected the process to be quite so literal.

“No,” said Simon. “What did you bring?”

“Um, coffee. She used to really like coffee, and I put so much cream in it I think it’s technically a milkshake—do you want me to call Ardy? I can. She’ll come.”

“And won’t that be fun, given that I have yet to stand trial for my crimes against my brother.” Simon sounded utterly weary. I felt a hand touch my shoulder. “October. I know you’re awake. I can hear you breathing. Please sit up and let me feed you this horrifying concoction. There’s whipped cream on it. And chocolate shavings.”

“Chocolate makes people feel better,” said Madden defensively.

“I thought chocolate was poisonous to dogs.” Once I had spoken, opening my eyes no longer seemed like such a challenge, and so I did. The basement ceiling reappeared. I realized the light didn’t sting the way it usually would. Maybe having day-adapted eyes wasn’t such a bad thing.

And maybe I was fumbling for reasons that this wasn’t terrible. Honestly, if I was, who could blame me?

“It is,” said Madden, making no effort to conceal his relief. “I’m way allergic. But Ardy says when you’re not Cu Sidhe, chocolate is one of the best innovations of the modern world.”

“She’s not wrong.” I was stretched out on something hard. I moved my hand, feeling splintery wood beneath me. “The hell . . . ?”

“Alan does a lot of woodworking down here, when he has time, so really, Alan more talks about doing a lot of woodworking down here while the rest of us nod and pretend to believe him,” said Madden, as Simon moved to help me up. “That’s his workbench.”

“Oh,” I said. Simon’s hands were a solid weight against my back. I allowed myself to lean against them, not fighting against the drag from my own body, as I reached my hands toward the familiar shape of Madden—and more, the mug in his hands. “Gimme.”

“Manners, October,” chided Simon gently.

I began to bristle. Then I recognized the note in his voice for what it was: relief. He was making a joke, such as it was, because I wasn’t dead, and I wasn’t broken, and sure, I was currently more mortal than I’d ever been in my life, but what’s a little humanity between friends?

“Mama never taught me any manners,” I said. Madden pressed the mug into my hands. True to his word, it was topped with a heaping mound of whipped cream and studded with chocolate shavings. I raised my eyebrows. “Glad I’m not lactose intolerant.”

The coffee was hot and sweet and washed the last of the gummy, bloody taste out of my mouth, replacing it with that old, familiar earthiness. I could practically feel the caffeine reaching my bloodstream. Maybe that was half wishful thinking, but under the circumstances, I’d take it. Whatever I needed to get through the rest of this—day? Night? I swallowed and frowned, twisting around to look at Simon.

He was wearing a human disguise. I realized with a pang that it was probably at least in part to keep me from falling down in awe at the sight of him.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“It’s almost three,” he said. “I’m going to need to smuggle you out of here under an illusion. Otherwise, your friend,” he nodded toward Madden, “will be in signal danger of losing his job.”

“Oh, oak and ash,” I muttered, before taking another long drink of hot, sweet coffee. I wanted to inhale the entire mug and ask for more, maybe with a few rare roast beef sandwiches on the side. Without my preternaturally fast healing to keep me up and running, my body was starting to make complaints to the management.

My body was going to have to suck it up and deal. I finished my coffee, resisting the urge to run my finger around the inside of the mug and snag the last of the whipped cream. Then I stood. My legs wobbled but didn’t buckle. For all that I had done myself some serious damage, I hadn’t actually injured myself. I was splitting hairs. I knew it. That didn’t matter. Sometimes splitting hairs is what keeps the world from falling down.

Through it all, Simon kept his hand against my back, refusing to let me stand unassisted until he was sure that I could do it. I turned to offer him a nod and a wan smile.

“I’m okay,” I said. “Not sure how much use I’m going to be, but I’m okay.”

“I may have a solution for that.” He leaned over and picked up a to-go cup from the end of the workbench, solemnly offering it to me. “Here.”

“More coffee?” I took the cup. It was heavier than it should have been, and nothing sloshed. Cautiously, I removed the lid and peeked inside. It was full of a thick jellylike substance that glittered when the light hit it, like it was filled with the dust of a hundred stars. My eyes widened. “Fairy ointment! But how—?”

“Really, October, you underestimate me,” said Simon. “You seemed intent on napping for hours. I had to do something with my time, and brewing a batch of something that could keep you halfway useful seemed like the least annoying option.”

The words “thank you” rose to my lips. I swallowed them as hard as I could. I didn’t want to insult him when he was helping me—and this was a huge, huge help. With this, I would be able to see Faerie, even if there were great stretches of it that I could no longer touch. “This is amazing,” I said instead, and dug my fingers into the gel before wiping them across my eyes in a great, gooey streak.

The basement flickered. Suddenly, the shadows had more depth to them, and they sparkled faintly, like they were filled with pyrite. The air around Simon and Madden glittered, alive with the shadows of their human illusions.

And of course, there were the pixies.

They covered every surface above the floor, clustering on the beams and clinging to the walls, their wings moving in constant silent agitation. I couldn’t hear them chiming. My heart sank at the realization. The chiming of the pixies was one of those things I’d never considered I could miss, and now it was gone.

“The last time I needed fairy ointment, I could hear them,” I said.