The stage spotlights shone their eyes on me as I trailed off on the final warbling note of the finale song. I knew the magic was working. Cheers and applause erupted with earthquake force all around the tiny London bar; patrons banged on the bartop with the flats of their hands. This pub was an offbeat little venue that booked tiny local acts, like me. It was dusty, dark, and the spotlight was a spare, overworked bulb that would probably burst into flame any day now. I stood there with my second-hand guitar, my thrifted, flowy yellow skirt, and let myself enjoy the moment, no matter how pathetic.A few of my more loyal fans—I had a small but dedicated Instagram and TikTok following—cheered my name from their spot just in front of the little makeshift stage: "Hester! Hester!" I stepped back from the microphone, lowered my guitar. and put my hand over my heart. The magic of the music, of the small but attentive crowd, of the joyous outpouring of voices all snapped into their place. Th
Together, Cass and I dismantled the gear—guitar, mic, amps, pedalboards, and endless wires, and packed them up into the trunk of her brother's car where it was parked out front.Waiting there, like one of her court sentinels back in Faerie, was dear Toby: a bulky Midwestern American beefcake of a man, pale from years of night work and as yellow-haired as a cornfield. He was about twenty-four or twenty-five—and he was just about my best mortal friend in this fragile world. He and Cass were close, and he played the protective big brother to both of us. For instance, never letting us get on the train with all our gear, which we'd never be able to replace if it were stolen. He was the third and final member of our little crew: my rag tag roadies. As always, he could see the tension written on my face."How'd we do?" he asked, aiming his question at Cass. "Brilliant. One of the fans actually wanted the set list, you believe that?""Don't overdo it on the confidence," laughed Toby, cl
Three hours later, Toby and I were sitting on the roof of Cass and my apartment building, looking over out the London skyline as it blazed with Saturday night life under a pink sky. This was an after-show tradition we always made time for, when we could. At first, Toby had started coming with me to the rooftop during the evening because of pretty fair concerns for my safety; it must be infuriating to have protective instincts for someone who didn't seem to take her safety very seriously. Sometimes I did genuinely forget about the fragility of my mortal form. And sometimes I just wanted to drink whiskey on the roof and listen to London roil by below me. So here we were, basking in the warmth of the summer night, with the bottle and a comfortable silence between us. The post-show glow was still thrumming in my veins, all the accumulated energy and magic purring as if with electricity through my body. I'd found that it had a staggering effect on mortals, like a haze of adrenaline or e
I knew the danger of wishing too often and too hard. Wishes were not simple things: there always had to be a magical balance in the world, and this fallout from my last wish—catching the eye of Sy Dage's entourage—should have been enough to warn me. I had a sinking feeling that if I wished myself out of my Stellar Lounge obligation, I might end in a plane crash or some other terrible accident. I wanted to continue my mortal life. I just didn't want to do it anywhere near Sy Dage. I didn't set an alarm for the next morning, so I woke up comfortably at noon, cocooned in the nest of overstuffed pillows and fluffy blankets that made up my bed. I'd taken a lavender salt bath the night before, but as soon as I levered myself out of bed, I wandered back to the bathroom, stripped off my overlong t shirt, and sank into a fresh bath. I knew I spent too much of our precious spare cash on creature comforts, but the creature comforts of mortality were too valuable to me. The smooth, ticklish lick
I knew I was distracted during my set that night at the pub, but my usual fans only showed in half the numbers and the bar felt sleepy on a Sunday night. Everyone busy drinking alone and dreading Monday. Cass's face told me as we were packing up that she was still sour over the four hundred I'd let go to Birdie the night before, and I carefully didn't ask her about tips for this gig. There was a prickly silence between her, Toby, and me in the car on the way home. This was a new kind of silence for us—not weary, post-show silence of late-night exhaustion, but tense and anticipatory. I didn't break it until I was back on the roof with Toby and we were halfway through the bottle of cheap red wine he'd brought up from the kitchen. "Cass is mad at me," I said dully, staring out at the muggy midnight city."I mean, she thinks you're trying to sabotage your own career." Toby shrugged, passing the bottle back to me. Toby was never one to mince words. "Just because I don't want to do on
Unseelie magic tided over the stadium with the force of tsunami coming into shore. I flinched bodily, partly from visceral disgust and partly from astonished admiration. The lyrics rolled, just that one lonely voice, flowing into the dark. It was gorgeous—darkly, silkily, deeply gorgeous. And the magic inside of it was scathing, seething, like ripe rot and h*llish heat wrapped in chocolate. I felt myself wavering on the spot, and I grabbed Toby's arm for support. I'm sure he mistook it for excitement, because he grinned at me, electrified, as Sy Dage's lonely voice roiled through the air, binding the audience into an invocation of emotive power. Suddenly, the darkness behind Sy was broken by fresh spotlights, revealing a full band—drummer, bassist, vocalists, backup guitar, strings. The rich sound of the band swelled into life. A stagehand scurried out onto stage and handed Sy his guitar, which Sy slid on with smooth, practiced ease. The jumotron cameras zoomed in on his fingers
It became immediately clear as soon as I climbed into the car—which would, more appropriately, called a limo—that Sy's good guy welcoming act up in the box had been just that—an act. He didn't say one word to me as we got into the car or until we stepped out of it again and waded into the warm brown-wood interior of the pub. The pub was literally a two minute drive away, but the crush of fans outside the stage door—so dense that we had to be surrounded by security to make it the ten feet to the car—demonstrated that Sy Dage did not just 'go' anywhere. His every movement was a production, coordinated by a team of security and managers and professional organizers. The pub was crowded, and a quick flicker of familiar magic against my senses told me where most of the crowd had come from: Sy's concert. They were humming with his darkly gorgeous Unseelie magic. It made my skin crawl.There was a massive cheer from all around as they spotted Sy. Cell phones were raised for photos. Women
I knew who to expect before I opened the door, but still I only had a moment to brace myself for the devastating stare from my uncle, the High Fae Lord Raelen, before I was face-to-face with him.There's a reason mortals have always been awed by fae-folk in their full, true forms. Lord Raelen was nearly seven feet tall to mortal eyes—which mine, at the moment, were. His whole being shimmered with an opalescent brilliance, from the elegant folds of his long white cloak to the silver sheen of his long, slick hair. His face was a portrait of otherwordly dignity and nobility, with sharp, slanting cheekbones and cool silver-blue eyes. Lord Raelen was one of my few true family members, my father's brother. He'd raised me, after my parents' deaths in my youth. He was my only real connection back to Faerie during my stint as a mortal away from home, as well as a High Lord of the Seelie Council. And he looked very, very angry. I dipped a courtesy. "I greet you warmly, Uncle. Well met."B
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