True to form, Sy already had an Irish pub in mind, barely a block and a half away. The automatic explosion of noise that greeted us when Sy and I walked through the door gave me a good idea where a lot of the crowd had come from. If that wasn't enough, the sea of dark laurel-branded t-shirts told me the rest. In addition, there was a layer of magical aftermath clinging to almost everyone in the bar like golden dust. Sy and my distinct magic: like nothing else.Sy's bad mood seemed to have evaporated. Dave and his security detail seemed like their blood pressure was rising by the second, as Sy waded cheerfully into the crowd. "Next round's on me!" he bellowed, rising another generous burst of shouting from all around. Phones were out and snapping pictures. The volume on the music was cranked higher, and pockets of enthusiastic patrons started wriggling drunkenly in something approximating a dance. I took the shot Sy handed to me and raised it in a salute opposite him, grinning foolis
The sky was turning gray by the time the police were done talking to me. But for all that time, all I could see, over and over, was the moment when they'd handcuffed Sy and ducked him into a police cruiser. There was an ambulance for the drunk, who had finally registered the pain in his jaw even through the alcohol haze. In their absence, there was a circus: statements taken, more cruisers, sirens and lights…And then the photographers arrived. The cops didn't seem too concerned with letting me shield myself from the paparazzi. I tried not to think too deeply about how they pivoted and positioned themselves, as if trying to get their own faces in the photos too. They were professionally blunt, cold, impersonal, but I couldn't stop shaking. Over and over again, I related the quick sequence of events. There were other bar patrons showing video to the cops too, and I desperately wanted to ask to see the video too—to know if what I saw and remembered lined up with what would be all over t
I froze in the hot water, knowing any movement would slosh the water and give me away. The bathroom door wasn't even closed, never mind locked. Why would I lock it? I was alone. It was probably only room service, I told myself. But I was so on edge. No one had sent me any updates. I felt like a lobster in a slowly boiling pot, waiting for the numb defeat to really set in.Then a shadow blotted the doorway: long and lean and strong, with a coil of dark hair. "Sy!" I half-screamed, joy stealing my breath. I hadn't dared to hope.His face was still stained with bright blood, dry and pale under his nose and darkening his split lip. I stood up in the bath, the cold striking in after the sharp heat of the bathwater. I was frozen, staring at him in joyous disbelief. "They let you go." I felt the grin, big and silly, spread across my face. In a second he'd crossed the space between us."Gods, I need you." His arms sprang around me, gripping my soaking body against his clothed one.
I finally slept—heavy, relieved sleep, dreamless and perfect—and woke with Sy curled against me, his breath rustling my hair. I lay peacefully in the quiet, feeling the heat of the early afternoon sun sliding against my skin. All at once there was a thunderous knocking at the door. My first thought, irrationally, was of my uncle. My mind refused to believe that this silence from him was anything other than menacing, waiting for the first moment for me to screw up and do something—in his mind—truly incriminating. But my uncle would never knock. And never betray so much anger externally. Sy lurched awake beside me, bolting upright. He looked at me questioning. "I don't know," I whispered—then wondered why I'd whispered. Sy didn't say a word, just slid out of bed and pulled on a pair of black jeans and headed to the door. Belatedly, it occurred to me that I should at least reach for a robe, but there was no time, so I pulled the covers up to my chin. Sy opened the door just an i
Only a few hours later, Sy and I were literally still catching our breath as the house lights went down and the stage lights began to burn. On the other side of the lights, was a stadium full of people who, I couldn't help but think, were busy hating me. It was a persistent, ugly feeling, something like anxiety but with the teeth of facts to back it up. I'd seen my socials today: it wasn't good. My Instagram was flooded with Sy's fans telling me what a garbage waste of space and breath I was. Cass had been busily deleting and reporting all day, but the deluge was endless. They called me a thief, a pretender, a phony, and a lot of other less flattering things. And I was helpless. I—or rather Cass—didn't post anything new, not even a story. And yet the comments kept coming. In this moment, right now, I focused on breathing deeply. I wanted to feel the thrill of the show, the gathering energy waiting to boil into powerful magic. But all I felt was dread. As if I were going in front my Qu
"Um, can I just voice my opinion that this is a VERY good idea on your part," I said, for probably the fifth time, as we rolled up to the mountaintop chalet. Sy's idea was full retreat, a plan which neither he nor I liked at all on the face of it. Retreating while the tumult died down meant no performances, no stadiums of energy, no triumphs and afterparties and whirlwind tour life. But Sy had a specific retreat in mind that very much softened the blow: he showed me pictures on his phone as we waited for Cass to retrieve some clothes from the tour bus for me. It was a large, modern timber-and-glass chalet on a private mountainside property in Colorado. It looked like a dream in the pictures, and better than a dream in reality, as I stepped out of the rented SUV and stood before it, staring up at its bright facade in the golden afternoon light. The house was wide and low, shaped to fit against the rugged mountainside among pale, rocky outcrops and a wash of evergreen trees. If ther
We set our guitars carefully on their stands. My mind was racing. The studio was soundproof: no human could have heard us, even if they were prowling around the house. But whatever I'd felt at the edges of our magic had absolutely not felt human. I didn't want to admit it to myself: I recognized that dark, sour rot. It was Unseelie magic.I'd stopped being bothered by Sy's Unseelie magics. I don't know when. His magic, his nature, it couldn't be unpleasant to me because it was Sy. Sy, who was heading for the studio door."What are you doing?" I asked sharply, hearing the fear in my own voice."Going to greet our uninvited guests." Sy's voice sounded grave and cold. "They know we're here. They'd have to be dead not to have noticed all that magic."So, he didn't think they were human either. Did he know…?I stepped out of the studio after him, into the cool of the basement. "And what do you think YOU'RE doing?" Sy twisted around as he heard me shuffling behind him. "Coming wit
Sy had gone nearly as pale as they were. There was something broken in his expression, as if his rage had hit a short circuit of helplessness and fury. "I do not believe you, Jarrah," hissed Sy harshly under the rush of wind and the thin, cold press of rain. "This is idiotic ultimatum is all your plotting. If my father wanted me back, this mortal form would already be dead. We would not be having this discussion.""Believe what you like," Jarrah seemed truly unbothered, even amused by Sy's insolence. "But choose. Time is short. I hate feeling the flow of mortal time. I cannot understand how you bear it, my prince."Jarrah's smile was full of sharp teeth. I saw Sy making his decision, automatically, instinctively, and I had no doubt at all what he would pick."I'll go!" I shouted, before he could speak and doom himself. "I'll go back to my people. There is no need for all of this."I tried to draw myself up in the Unseelies' hold, aiming for some kind of dignity fitting for my s
The morning light struck in through the wide picture windows of the chalet bedroom. We were still firmly in bed, sticky with sweat and Sy's slow whiskey kisses from the night before. I couldn't stop touching him, even lazily half asleep. I kissed his jaw, the subtle rise of the dark laurel tattoo, his shoulder. I felt him nuzzle his nose into my hair. "We have to get up," he whispered, and I shivered with pleasure as I felt his hot breath against my ear transform into a teasing nibble. "People are going to start getting here soon.""Hmmmph…Just a little while longer."His palm slid up my rips, kneading distractingly at my breast."And you're not helping," I scolded, pressing against him. I felt his c*ck stirring against my leg, and we lay there together in the tender potential of what might come next. A gentle repetition of last night: my lips coaxing him to attention, his hips firm and strong against mine as he pushed deep, igniting all my most secret senses. He was careful aroun
My heart sank like a stone, hard into my gut. I took a half step, trying to put myself between that mighty silver sword and Sy, protected by nothing but his dignity and a ripped t-shirt. But Sy tugged at my hand, holding me back. His voice was firm and clear as he continued. "But Lord Raelen made a mistake in trying to frame me in this instance. I remember the execution of the killer from my youth. I remember his fruitless instance on his innocence. And I remember the one piece of evidence offered: the murder weapon itself. There was no doubt his essence was linked to it. A forensic certainty. But there was no consideration that this might be a trick of new magic, a magic developed and kept secret for the very purpose of pulling off the ruse. If I may…"And he leaned down, picking up the dagger from the stones. It dripped incriminating red at his feet. The Seelie Court stiffened around their Queen, watching the Unseelie wielding the bloody knife mere feet away from her. But Sy e
The magic caught at once: I felt it ignite like a dynamite fuse, searing towards unstoppable explosion. The Queen's attention was on us. It was like looking up at an impossibly tall ocean wave about to crash down on your head.But Realen moved fast. The next thing I knew, I had toppled out of his arms to the hard ground. The air around me was an explosion of silvery Seelie magic and the golden burst of Sy's invocation. I scrambled blindly forward over the broken stones, toward that sense of safe, familiar gold. Toward Sy. I had to get to him before…Song echoed to my ears, a song so delicate and lovely it shimmered against my skin like pleasure. The might of the Seelie court in its glory crashed like waves of thunder. The gray light of this place exploded into brilliant silver. Horse hooves, charging, shook the ground. The horses were spectral, cloud-like, too lovely to be physically real, as was the armored woman astride the lead mare's back. Queen Titania sat tall, impossibly, on
I felt pressure around my stomach, a powerful arm hooked across my ribs. Then I felt the swell of sweet Seelie magic all around me, the brilliance halo of silver and softness. My uncle was holding me against him, my back to his chest. And he was holding a knife at my throat. THE knife. Why was I still alive?Then my eyes focused, and I saw Sy.He was standing free of his chains—and the chains themselves lay in broken pieces behind him, splinters of black metal embedded in the wall. Sy was irredentist with golden magic, wrapped in it, as if he were standing at the center of a hollow golden sun. Magic sparked from his fingertips and his wrathful dark eyes. "Let her go," he snarled. There was granite in his voice. I waited for Jarrah to make a mocking retort, but there was nothing. I strained my eyes sideways, toward where I thought Jarrah would be standing. All I saw was a dark, sooty smear on the flagstones. One of his dark boots lay half melted at one end. I didn't have to as
There was only a second to act. Luckily, Jarrah hadn't seen me pull my phone from my pocket when he flipped me over. And he didn't see my thumb hovering over the 'play' icon until it was too late.A burst of golden magic ignited on the air as mine and Sy's recorded voices burned together in the stillness. I felt the rush of magic through my veins, against my skin, and I took hold of the energy at once, pushing all of it I could gather in that second against Jarrah.The Unseelie lord flew backward off me, the knife flying from his hand as he crashed into the broken flagstones behind him. He was on his feet in the next moment, but so was I. The music was still playing. I balled my hands into fists, pulling more and more of that magic to myself. I pushed the magic around me in another rush, just in time. I felt Lord Raelen's attack smash against my magic barrier from behind me. I shuffled quickly to get out from between the two powerful fae lords, pulling golden magic around me agai
"Uncle!" I screamed, vision blurring with relieved tears. Lord Raelen turned his elegant, serene face toward me, wreathed in silvery Seelie magic, and I saw nothing at all in his expression. That's when I knew I'd made a terrible, terrible mistake."Lord Jarrah, I believe I was perfectly clear," said my uncle calmly. "I instructed that she be dead by the time of my arrival. I have no wish to see this."Maybe there was the smallest tremor in his voice. Maybe."Uncle?" I wheezed, straining to make sense of this—though of course it made perfect sense. I just couldn't admit it to myself. "Silence, child." Lord Raelen did not look at me, his face turned deliberately away to look instead at Jarrah's face. "This is necessary. It pains me, but it is quite necessary. Jarrah—""Why?!" I shouted, choking, hands scrambling against the stones. "Uncle, what is happening?!""War is a necessity, my dear child," whispered my uncle, and his composure did not slip an inch. "The Queen is weak. Th
Darkness and cold buffeted my skin, tangible malicious magics nipping at me like tiny insects. But all of a sudden, we burst out again into air and light—that same, no-man's-land gray light of the sky. I twisted, trying to grip Jarrah's wrist to relieve some of the terrible tension on my scalp as I dangled by the hair in his grip. My eyes swam with tears, but I blinked them away, trying to focus. We were in the overgrown, stony ruins of what might have once been the great hall of some ancient palace. The floor was broken by huge tree roots and the shifting of earth. This place had been empty for a long, long time—forgotten, in fact. I'd never heard of a palace in the borderlands between the Seelie and Unseelie realms. I heard a cry of distress and despair—in a voice I knew as well as my own. "Sy!" I screamed. "Sy, where are you?!"Suddenly Jarrah's hand let go of my hair, and I crashed, sprawled, onto the broken stones. I raised my head, mind swimming with pain and confusion a
I knew before I opened my eyes that it had worked. The sense of the air was entirely different here, the magical energy in every atom of the breeze against my face. But there was something strange and sour about the overwhelming tide of Seelie magic prickling against my skin. Something cold at its heart, where there should be summer warmth and vibrance.I opened my eyes. I was sitting on a vast, rocky plain. It was somewhere I'd never seen before. It wasn't Seelie land; neither was it Unseelie. This must be the barren no-man's land between the two realms, in the space where the Seelie's eternal summertime sank into Unseelie shadow. I stood carefully, gripping the iron poker, and slung the guitar over my back. I didn't like the raw sense of this place, its tangled sense of chaos and unbalance. But Sy was around here somewhere. I was sure. I'd spent so much of my energy getting here focusing on him, on my longing for him, that I knew the magic wouldn't have dropped me far off the
There were preparations to make first. I had the energy—the comments just kept coming—but now I needed direction. Wandering into Faerie with nothing but a lovelorn heart and bald desperation didn't seem like it would take me very far at all, and it certainly wouldn't do Sy any good. I gathered up the various mismatched scented candles from around the chalet's various over-designed bathrooms and arranged them in a careful circle on the living room floor. There was a convenient grill lighter stocked beside the wood stove. Then I descended down into the studio and retrieved the nearly empty whiskey bottle from last night and Sy's beater guitar, the less-than-tour-ready model he played around on for fun. Into the candle circle they went. I had the iron poker, but in a world of magic and fae forms, the iron wouldn't be doing any convenient banishing. It would certainly hurt any faerie flesh it touched, but in all likelihood that would just make the fae party pissed and pained rather t