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My body ached like my skin was too thin to contain me. That only happened when my magic was out of control—which was far too often lately. I needed to hold everything in check while watching for the dead. That meant that I didn’t want to speak.
We walked about a mile before Eli stopped at a building in the Garden District that looked like it could have been one of the first in the city. A fence, stone not iron, surrounded a house that had the shimmer of old magic to it, as if the city was built around it, drawn to the echoes of power that the stones whispered. The house itself had no balcony or gallery, no porch or Ionic columns. It was almost so plain as to be unnoticed—which required magic in this area.
I glanced at him. “May I?”
He nodded, and I stepped closer.
I knew the moment I touched the exterior that it had fae protections woven into the foundation so securely that living in it was beyond my paygradeandwhatever my future highest paygrade would be, too.
“What is this?”
“Be welcome in my home, Genèvieve Crowe.” Eli bowed his head. “I offer you my hearth.”
I paused. “Yourhome? I thought we were going to a safehouse.”
“There is nowhere safer in New Orleans,” Eli said. “The bones once belonged to my great-gran.”
I reached out and touched the building again, placing both hands on the stone. As I did, I let another small pulse of magic slide from my skin into the wall. I really didn’t need to have Eli’s dead grandmother step out of the walls. I felt for bones, hoping they were restful and ancient, wanting them to be deep asleep.
Nothing answered my pulse.
I had no idea how old Eli was, so his great-grandmother’s death could have been centuries ago. Or perhaps she was full fae and wouldn’t hear my call. I’d never woken the dead fae.
I pushed a little more forcefully, sending the grave magic out in waves that rippled and returned to me.
“No bones,” I said lightly, still not entering the building. “Are they ground? Treated? Dust?”
“Bones of the blackhouse where she lived, cupcake,” he said with a laugh threaded into the words. “Notherbones. What kind of monster do you take me for?”
The grave was still too close to my surface, or maybe the thought of being in Eli’s house clouded my judgment. Either way, I asked, “Do the fae leave actual bones that can wake?”
“Gran was human.” He opened the door and gestured for me to enter in front of him.
Peace beckoned as I stood in the foyer. The floor was marble so polished it could be glass. I couldn’t feel its origin, but the wood under the bannister reached back to me as I slid my hand over it. I felt new shoots start to press outward, buds curling at the tips of branches as if they were feeling spring rains.
My eyes fell shut at the energy that still rolled through my blood. Pausing here was like finding a forest in the middle of the city. In nature, I could let go, send my magic into the earth. The natural elements here tempted me to do the same. Cautiously, I relaxed more—until I felt my magic brush against Eli.
That glancing touch was enough to make my body flush. He was the very opposite of the grave. I wanted to roll around in that. I let my energy move toward him, feeling my entire being burn at the nature that was contained in Eli.
“Geneviève,” Eli said.
I opened my eyes to find him a moment from touching me. Up close, his eyes looked like tiny lights danced in them. I should have retreated, but I needed to know more. I inhaled, pulling the essence that was Eli into my body.
Hunger. Longing. Power.
“What do you long for?” I whispered, my hands on his chest, my body leaning into his, as if closeness would answer. Humans were easier to read.Draugrwere probably easier. With Eli, I could feel magic pressing on walls that seemed impenetrable.
But I glimpsedElphame.Elf Home. His world. It was vibrant and inviting, and I felt his longing.Home.
“Why not go home?” I stared at him.
After a longer than normal pause, Eli said, “Someday, I will tell you, but I would rather you know my secrets from my lips than stolen from my flesh.”
I swallowed and stared at his lips. Unconsciously, I licked my lips.
A wave of desire rose up and crashed over us both. The longing was not just for home. He wantedmein a way that was equal to his desire to go home. “Me? Why?”
“Geneviève . . . you aren’t ready to hear these answers.”
