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Just like the Spring Court palace, wisteria and jasmine drape the buildings in veils of bright colors. The homes are a mishmash of mortal and Fae architecture, the contrasting styles a collision of cultures that somehow works.
But there’s something . . . off about the air. A whisper of death and decay woven into the fabric of this place.
Even worse than the stench is the unnatural quiet.
Cities are loud, thriving organisms. Even in the residential areas, the sounds of car engines revving, children playing in the streets, and birds singing hint at life.
This place hints at the opposite, and I shudder at the thought that someday, if we don’t find a way to stop it, the scourge could completely infest our world.
Mack and I jog silently down an alleyway and burst out into the final street that leads to Asher and Valerian. They’re stashed in a collection of overpriced high-rises centered around a circular park.
As we prepare to take the concrete stairs to the third floor where the map says they are, Mack points at the churning red mass in the gardens on the other side of us.
Holy. Frick.
Finger to my lips, we pad to the door and—
The door cracks, and Asher’s handsome mug grins down at us. “Ladies.” Someone managed to find a protective gray vest that fits his giant frame, and it hangs over a black long-sleeved shirt that barely contains his bulging muscles.
His too-bright dragon eyes instantly slide to Mack as he opens the door for us. “Welcome to darkling hell.”
I follow Mack inside the dim apartment, lit only by a single flickering bulb on a side table in the living room. The place is small but gorgeous, all white stone and steel fixtures and giant windows overlooking the park.
That’s where I find Valerian. Like Asher, he’s clad in dark clothes and a vest, his midnight blue hair nearly the same black shade beneath the meager light. o;Dad!” Mack screams as Nick and Sebastian shove to the front. They’re waving Seelie flags and blowing kisses at Mack. Sebastian holds a sign he had printed with her full name on it.
I go to wave at them and then freeze.
Is that . . . I take in the short plump woman with the mess of wild curls sticking out from beneath a cowboy hat in the middle of Mack’s dads.
How is that possible?
“Zinnia?” I cry. My words are lost to the cheers of the audience, but just seeing her here fills me with unexpected hope.
Her eyes shimmer with pride as she mouths, You can do this.
Mack leans into my ear. “Nick invited your aunts. Sorry, I would have told you but my dads wanted it to be a surprise. Everything has to be dramatic with them.”
Both aunts? Which means . . .
I exhale. Vi didn’t come.
Pushing aside my disappointment, I focus on Zinnia as a sudden calm descends. Win or lose, she’ll be here to comfort me. I feel like I’m nine again, kidnapped and about to be trafficked to the Fae, looking into her kind face through my cage bars as she promises me everything will work out.
Back then, I was too broken to trust what she said was true.
This time, I allow myself to believe her.
I can do this.
The cheers of the crowd grow softer as we near the fiery ring of portals. The flames stoke something inside me, not quite true fear—more like a bizarre mixture of adrenaline, dread, and excitement.
“Get ready for whatever dark, twisted games the Spring Prince concocted,” Mack warns as I approach the nearest portal, waiting for the girl in front of me to jump through. “Our Keepers will be on the other side.”
They’ve already explained the rules, which didn’t take long because there’s only three.
One, Keepers can’t use magic.
Two, protect our Keeper at all cost.
