I half-stumbled out of the cab outside my apartment building, feeling all the fresh soreness blooming through my body. My breasts, my thighs, and most of all between my legs. But it was a sweet, clear soreness that felt precious even as my body twinged on its way up the stairs. The pain was mixed up in memories of such tremendous pleasure…Just the memory made me catch my breath. But I almost screamed when I opened the door, and Tony and Cass charged me with looks that might have been joy and might have been fury on their faces. They both hugged me, hard, blabbering into my ears to either side as I tried to protect the most bruised parts of me. "Oh jeez, thank g*d," Cass's voice rushed hot against my ear. "When you vanished from the show, we were so scared, we thought something happened—!""We've been on the phone with people all night, we didn't sleep," sputtered Tony. "But you're here and you're okay and—Hester. What happened to your face?""My face?" I reached up to touch my ow
Lord Raelen stood cold and austere, glaring down at me with silver fey-fire eyes from his almost superhuman height. The noble lines of his face were taut with rage. Among my scattered laundry and dehydrated air plants, he looked like a high fantasy actor who'd wandered onto the wrong movie set. But there was nothing phony about this, about the rich magical fury crackling like static electricity on the bedroom air. I closed the door quietly beside me, bowed my head, and curtsied low. I felt my uncle's rage stinging against my skin. I could not defend myself from that kind of power, even if I were bold enough to try. "Explain," boomed my uncle, thunder in his voice. I did not look up at him. "I cannot, uncle.""I do not have the words to tell you what folly, what utter foolishness and treachery—" He couldn't even finish his tirade, drawing in a sharp breath. The air flickered with fury. "If you cannot be trusted with a mortal body, a mortal and independent life, then we shall just
I crumpled, hugging my knees to my chest, turning off my phone, and tossing it onto my bed. I sat there, mind whirling with the aftermath. What the hell did I think I was doing? I knew how I felt. I could admit it to myself, even if I couldn't to anyone else. And what about my career? I should be creating music, devoting myself to art—what did it matter if I made it big or not? There was a soft knock on my bedroom door. "Hey, Hester?" It was Cass, tentative but obviously excited. "You good? I thought I heard you talking to somebody.""Just the phone," I said, gulping down the lump in my throat. "Thanks for checking.""Are you, ah, up to look at something right now?""Sure. Come on in."Cass peeked around the door, a laptop balanced open on her forearm and her face radiant with enthusiasm. "So now that we know you're like alive and everything, I finally went back and checked my business email to catch up on stuff from last night and…"She turned the computer, angling it so I co
For two weeks, I thought I was safe from myself. There were those fancy lunches and fancy dinners, the open amusement and fascination by the record execs that I brought my roommate and her brother to those fancy meals, and even greater fascination when I turned down their proffered managers and told them in no uncertain terms that I was sticking with the excellent manager I already had. When I signed, it was with a label that didn't raise their eyebrows at that. Suddenly we were scheduling studio time, and Cass was in meetings and on the phone what seemed like 24/7 to set up a European and American tour. These wouldn't be stadium set-ups, but smaller venues: rock clubs and more boutique performance spaces, where the beer on tap was local and the sound guy was a local college kid. In a few months, I would be on the move. And there was plenty of buzz; I surrendered my social media to Cass as suggested by the label and watched my calendar fill up with interview dates and podcast appeara
I seriously considered just not going up there. It would have been so easy—or at least, far simpler and safer—to keep sitting here in my mess of a room, reviewing interview notes, pretending that I hadn't heard what Toby said. But now Sy's presence was a pressure on my thoughts; I couldn't read my notes without the flash of dark eyes catching at my imagination. I smiled involuntarily, biting my lip. I couldn't ignore this. Or at least, I wouldn't find any kind of peace of mind. Who was I kidding? Sy and I were bound together, somehow. Was that what love was, here in the mortal world? Something you clung to, rather than drifted away from in a long eternity? I had no idea. I'd never been in love in Faerie either. The trouble was…what if this was all just some strange fluke of magic? Seelie and Unseelie mingling on the mortal plane. Who knew what havoc that could cause? Was this the reason Seelie stayed away from Unseelie instinctively stayed away from each other? This…madness?I pic
Sy uncanceled his American tour, with a proviso: it was going to be OUR tour now. Side by side, he said as we lay in the sun-drenched haze of a suite in the nearest luxury hotel. I was coiled under deliciously smooth blankets, tucked against the firm heat of his ribs, reading over his shoulder as he typed out typical, curt, Sy-ish texts to his manager, his agent, his producer. He didn't ask; he stated. Tour is back on. Hester is headlining with me. Make it happen. As he typed, I focused on the pleasant thrill of the magic lingering on our skin: that golden feeling was like the slick of sweat, but if sweat felt how candy tasted. It's hard to put magic into human terms; that's part of the reason fae make such excellent poets and singers and storytellers. We have senses that reach to truths humans don't even know they're dreaming of.Sy put down his phone, screen down, on the sheets. His arm snuggled around me, fingers winding into my silvery hair. "It's done," he whispered beside my
Cass and Toby and I parked the fast-food-smelling little Honda in long-term parking at Heathrow and fumbled our bags into the terminal through the muggy summer evening. We didn't even make it to the self check-in kiosk: Sy's security guy, Dave, stood there in his solid, expressionless professional stance, waiting for us. "Mr. Dage is in the private lounge," said Dave, without introduction. "He's asked that you join him. I will take care of your tickets and check your luggage.""Oh, ah, thanks," Cass tried to put on her best manager-in-charge voice, but she looked even shorter and tinier in front of Dave's massive bulk. "But it's all carry on. We, ah, didn't want to shell out for checked luggage."Dave's steely expression gave no hint of scorn, but I read between the lines when he said, "There's nothing to trouble yourself about. Mr. Dage owns the plane. There is no charge."I blinked. A private plane. Of course he hadn't bothered to mention that. One more small prank—mischief was
Barely twenty-four hours later, we were standing on stage at Madison Square Garden. The view was a blur of brilliant stagelights, sliding and twisting around each other, their intense heat crisping my face like strong sunshine. I could sense the massive crowd invisible beyond those lights, the pressure of their cheers intensifying as the spotlight found me. For a moment I couldn't breathe. Then I felt the shift of air as Sy stepped up beside me. I felt myself relax. I suddenly felt balanced, as if some cosmic scale had come into alignment. It felt deeply absurd to be afraid of this moment, this dreamed-of goal suddenly materializing in real life. And it felt absurd to be afraid when I knew what we could do together.Sy looked at me, and the smile on his face was full of sweet secrets, remembered delights. The hotel countertop. The airplane shower. This morning in the sweet quiet of the early morning, tenderly waking each other up. When he was near, I felt like I could do anything. My