Page 85 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

“Witch superstition,” Cai muttered.

“Let her work, you old goat,” Archimedes said.

Pippa ignored them. One did not work for years inside a library without becoming accustomed to people arguing over whether you were doing something correctly or to their liking. “Are we on this map?” she asked Lachlan.

When he showed her the spot, she placed a white candle on top of it. She tied a red ribbon from the candle to the teacup handle. The air crackled, as if a storm were gathering. The hairs on her arms prickled. The teacup shook, salt scattering, as the paper tried to lift itself out. Pippa pointed to it. “I said no.”

The teacup settled.

“That’s better.”

The mists clawed at the window.

The curtains caught fire.

Pippa winced, but Lachlan froze them with a flick of his hand. The ice trapped the flames until water dripped onto the floor.

Pippa used her Librarian iron scissors, and the pressure in the study changed instantly. The smell of fennel seeds and pepper was strong. The windowpane rattled once, the mists retreating. Not entirely, but enough. “That curse is nasty business,” she said. “Whoever sent it is not looking to distract or to protect, but to destroy. Utterly. I cannot see them, only mist.”

Lachlan did not look surprised.

In fact, no one did.

“This is why you stole all of those books,” she said. She had been right about one thing: all of the books Lachlan had stolen had one thing in common—the Red Grimoire. They all referenced it in some way. It was his own card catalogue, his own red ribbon through the mist.

“Yes,” Lachlan replied.

“A cursed book.”

“Evidently.”

Pippa huffed a sigh of bone-deep frustration. “You were searching for a cursed book,” she said, her tone scathing, like coals tossed in his direction. “And you did not think to ask a Librarian for help?”

The ends of her hair lifted, as though they were made of flames. What remained of the curtains began to smoke.

“In our defense, we did not know it was cursed at first,” Archimedes pointed out. He whistled. “But that was brilliant. Come and sit on my knee, little morsel.”

Lachlan sighed. “Archimedes, I’m fond of you, and my wife does not like it when I murder people.”

“Don’t fret, you can sit on my other knee, Handsome.”

As Lachlan pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation, Archimedes winked at Pippa.

She seriously considered sitting on his knee.

Lachlan lifted his head, eyes narrowing. “Don’t do it,” he warned softly.

She folded her arms mutinously. “You are going to tell me everything, Lachlan Thorn.”

He inclined his head. “Very well.”

And then he stepped them sideways in that manner that the Fae used, no fairy rings required, no reckless wishes. Pippa closed her eyes this time, and it helped. They landed on the edge of a mountain pass. It was perfect, untamed Fae beauty, both wild and delicate. The mountains rose majestically into a low, pale sky swirling with aurora borealis in every shade of pink, like spun carnival sugar.

Below them was a castle, shining like glass.

Lachlan steadied her when she teetered, expression reverting to undecipherable. He may as well have been the mountain.

“Welcome to the Thorn Court.”