by May Dawson
“I thought you were so excited to go home for Christmas.”
We’ve been talking about how I’ll go home with her, teasing the guys as we make elaborate plans, but now her face clouds.
“Stelly,” I say. “Come on. Tell me what’s going on. We’ll figure it out together.”
“It’s no big deal,” she promises me, and I can tell she’s lying through her teeth.
I’m going to get her secret out of her, and then I’ll help her just like she always helps me.
Somehow. I don’t have magic, or her money, but I’ll do anything for my friends.
“Okay,” I say, for now. “Well, will you help me pack?”
Her face brightens slightly, just like I thought it would.
I pull out my suitcase, with one wheel that doesn’t roll and a broken handle and toss it onto the bed. I can’t look at this battered piece of luggage without being reminded of how I packed in that boarding house dirtside. With every worn t-shirt I folded into the bag, my hope had risen a little higher, no matter how hard I tried to fight it.
I’d been so desperate to come home, I hadn’t even thought about what it would be like once I got here.
“Oh no,” Stelly says. She sounds back to normal at least, as she sashays across the room and digs through her closet. Something crashes in there, and I wince. She returns with one hand clamped over a new bump on her temple, but she’s smiling anyway. She carries a cognac-colored leather bag slung over one shoulder.
“You can’t embarrass the boys,” she tells me as she drops it onto my bed. She picks my old suitcase up gingerly and carries it toward the door, setting it outside like trash.
“Why not?” I shoot back. “They embarrass me all the time.”
She grins at that. “So, I’ve heard a rumor before that Prince Rian might be the Fox.”
“Oh?” It’s hard for me to hide my edge of curiosity whenever the Fox comes up. I met the Fox just briefly when True foot soldiers raided the last ball I attended. It’s hard to conjure up much excitement for dancing in a ball gown given my history with them so far. But the Fox had certainly intrigued me, and so have his letters since.
“I doubt it though,” she says. “Rian’s got a reputation as kind of an idiot playboy. And the times and places the Fox’s been sighted don’t really match up.”
“Really?” And yet, she brought that up for a reason.
Stelly flicks through the hangers in my closet rapid-fire. Despite the fact that she and her brother Cax have single-handedly filled those hangers, she still sighs like she can’t find anything she likes. “I just thought you’d like to know. We all know you like the Fox.”
“I don’t know him.”
She sticks her head out of the closet to flash me a mischievous grin. “Sometimes that’s the most appealing kind of man. You don’t yet know about all his annoying habits.”
“Like grunting when you try to talk about your feelings?” Mycroft.
“Or being freakishly protective?” she suggests. Airren.
I hesitate. “I don’t want to insult your brother.”
“You don’t think I do?” She comes out of my closet with a pile of clothes draped over one arm. It’s as precarious as the messy bun of soft golden-blond hair that wobbles on top of her head.
“That’s different.”
“You love him, I know you do.” She dumps the arm full of clothes into the bag. “Even though he’s an idiot. So insult away.”
I eye the suitcase. “That’s not even going to buckle, Stelly.”
“You’ll see,” she says. “How are you and Cax, anyway?”
Her tone is casual, but I don’t buy it for a second.
If Cax and I get married one day, Stelly and I will really be sisters. The image flashes through my mind of Cax and I raising our hands in the air as we walk down the stone steps of the church while people fling handfuls of red rose petals that flutter around us.
Ridiculous thought.
I shrug my shoulders. I’m not really much better than my men at discussing my feelings.
“I know he’s a fool sometimes,” she says softly, “but he would do anything for you, Tera. You’ll see that one day.”
“He’s a good guy,” I agree.
She looks away suddenly, as if she’s swallowing something she wants to say.
“What is it, Stelly?” I ask. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”
“I know.” She rummages through her jewelry box. “Here, you should wear something pretty with that dress Airren made you. I’ve got a bracelet that would be perfect.”
“You don’t need to give me anything else. You and Cax have always been too generous.”
“No such thing,” she says. There’s an edge in her voice when she adds, “Once I get my hands on the family fortune, I’m going to give almost all of it away anyhow. Money makes people stupid.”
“Lots of things make people stupid.” What is going on with Stelly?
“Give me your wrist,” she says. “At least my bracelet can travel on your adventure even if I’m trapped with my ridiculous family.”
I hold my wrist out for her, and she slips a yellow- and white-gold bracelet, covered in elaborate runes, over my hand.
She tilts her head to one side, admiring it. “It looks perfect on you. And it’s supposed to offer some protection with the runes.”
“What kind of protection?”
A mischievous smile touches her lips, as if Stelly’s returning to her normal charming, easy joviality. “Does it matter? Don’t you need every kind?”
She isn’t wrong.
Chapter 8
“I don’t like bringing Tera to the seedy part of town,” Cax says quietly to Airren as their horses ahead of us drift close together.
“I bring the seedy part of town with me wherever I go,” I call. “Remember?”
We’ve rented horses from a place in Corum for a ride to a nearby town. The guys have closed around me as we’ve left country trails behind for worn cobblestone roads through a decrepit town.
“You’re our princess,” Cax answers without looking behind him. “Like it or not.”
I roll my eyes. My horse steps carefully over a massive pile of poop in the center of the road. Avalon might have wild unicorns—endangered though they are—prancing freely in the deep forest, but day-to-day life here isn’t always magical. Horses, even the shimmering winged ones, shit everywhere.
We tie up our horses in a hard-packed dirt alleyway behind two low-slung stone buildings. There’s a faint scent of garbage in the air, rotten food and wet cardboard, that mingles with the ozone smell. It’s been raining off and on all morning.
As I climb down off my horse, I tell them, “You know, you can say I’m a princess all you want. I see a lot more alleyways now that you guys are in my life.”
Cax rubs his horse’s muzzle as he murmurs the words of a spell to keep anyone from stealing our horses. This morning is cold, and the alleyway around us is muddy and bare; it was summer when I came home to Avalon, but now it’s tipping into winter. A cat chitters, a small, strange sound, and Penny’s head snaps up. I follow her gaze to the rooftop, where a gray cat crouches low, watching a small red bird. The cat is beautiful, like every cat is—sleek with a mischievous face and intent green eyes—and its hind legs wiggle restlessly, preparing to jump. The bird is focused on its stick nest.
I shouldn’t interfere with nature. But something in me aches for that bird that might not escape the cat’s claws.
I take a step forward, though I’m still not sure what I intend to do—if anything—and a fallen twig snaps under my foot. The bird throws itself from the rooftop, its red wings snapping open to catch the wind, and soars above my head. The cat springs, too late. With her paws outstretched in motion, the ribs that show through the downy white fur on her underside are revealed.
A sudden rise of guilt fills my chest. Kittens are usually born in the spring, right? She’s only feeding herself for now, and she’ll f
ind another food source. Cats are smart.
Penny chitters, as if she’s imitating the cat, and I pet her neck. As I stroke her soft fur, I press her to my shoulder, just in case she makes a jump. So far, we’ve fed Penny mostly eggs, crunchy veggies, and meat. Cooked meat.
If my dragon would be willing to eat a cat, I don’t want to know about it.
“For someone who criticizes the alleyways, you sure seem to be relishing this one,” Mycroft says impatiently from the edge of the building. The three of them stand at the corner, looking back at me. Airren’s arms are crossed over his dark jacket, his short black hair rifled by the wind, and Cax has his hands in his pockets, his trousers fitted under his tailored vest. He looks like a clothing commercial everywhere he goes, even if the street behind him is dirty and windswept.
“Reminds me of home,” I say lightly, hurrying to join them.
There’s a pause. Then Airren touches the small of my back, guiding me in front of him. “You are home, T.”
I shouldn’t have said that. It was awkward of me, yet again making them feel like they need to reassure me. “Of course I am.”
He shoots me a worried look, but I shrug. Maybe, if you leave home for long enough, no place feels like home when you finally come back. Earthside isn’t home. But I don’t feel like I quite know the rules here in Avalon, either. Avalon is beautiful—for the most part—and magical, and I love it here. But it’s not quite home.
Maybe someplace only feels like home when you take it for granted.
We’re in a long narrow street with little one-story shops to either side. Traveling Pawn, says the storefront in front of us. Maybe once upon a time, the shop owner moved from place to place. I cock my head to one side. “Traveling?”
Cax shakes his head. “Shifting location magic is notoriously unruly magic. Dangerous for everyone else on the street, too.”
Well, that raises more questions than it answered.
But Mycroft is pushing the door open, about to go in. Bells jangle on top of the door, low and musical.
Airren catches Mycroft’s arm. “Let me do the talking.”
Mycroft raises an eyebrow as he turns back to Airren, crossing his arms over his chest. The cool look he flashes Airren’s way makes me want to shiver.
“Do your silent, terrifying thing,” Airren tells him. “That’s always effective in an interrogation.”
Mycroft’s lips purse dourly. “You’re patronizing me.”
“Just hang back.” There’s a genuine note of worry in Airren’s voice, for some reason. “Keep an eye on Tera.”
“Tera is fine,” I say to no one in particular. And no one in particular seems to notice me, anyway.
Mycroft grunts. Airren goes in ahead of him, with Cax following behind. Mycroft gives me the tiniest, mocking bow, ushering me in ahead of him.
But I don’t go. I step intimately close to him, touching his waist. His rock-hard abs contract slightly under my touch, even through his t-shirt. The way Mycroft reacts to my touch gives him away, no matter how cool he is.
“What’s going on?” I ask softly. I know he won’t want Cax or Airren to overhear if there’s even a chance he’ll tell me.
“Nothing.” His voice is a rumble.
I eye him warily, but he stares back at me.
“You don’t usually let Airren take the lead,” I said. “Like he’s the boss.”
My words are meant to jar him, but he doesn’t take the bait. His eyebrows rise over those gold-flecked brown eyes. “I’m not the kind of person to worry about who’s the boss, Tera. I just worry about making things happen.”
He touches the small of my back, but it’s less of a gentlemanly gesture than when Airren touches my back, which always sends a thrill of warmth through my body. When Croft touches my back, it’s more like a gentle push.
“And you wouldn’t know how we operate in the field, anyway.” His voice is soft in my ear as he bends so close to me that his cheek brushes my hair. “You don’t know us that well yet.”
It’s an eerie thing for him to say, when I feel like I know them so well, and prickles run up my spine. I move hastily into the pawn shop. Behind me, Mycroft follows, his big body as silent as if he were a cat.
In a way, the pawn shop reminds me of the archive outside our hideaway in the library. The room is crowded with shelves that hold books and relics, and there are two lines of glass tables that house a dazzling array of jewelry, bottles, and gilt boxes.
“This is why we need someone to keep an eye on you.” Cax brushes his palm over the top of a case filled with glass message jars. It looks just like the ones I broke when I found my dragon’s egg.
I pull a face. The shattered glass and the marked egg in that library were hardly my fault. Mycroft’s wand went mad that day.
I still wonder what happened. Was a ghost controlling my wand that day, or magic? And was it a friend or an enemy, or my own mother, or someone else altogether? Someone who wants me to be useful to their mission, but doesn’t care if I live or die in the end?
A wizened little man is turned toward the back of the store; all I can see is the shiny dome of his head behind wisps of gray hair and his bent shoulders. “Stay in my office,” he chides whoever it is. Then he turns to us, his face brightening; his smile crinkles the deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. “What can I help you with?”
“We’re looking for someone,” Airren says.
“Oh, I can’t help you with Someones. I do offer all kinds of potions, basic historic spell-items, and pretty jewelry with sweet-curses or otherwise. Something for your girl, perhaps?”
Airren glances over his shoulder at me as if he’s forgotten that I’m there.
The man’s eyes wander over me and then widen. “A dragon!”
“And here most people just see a spoiled cat,” Cax mutters.
“Watch yourself,” I say. “I like her better than I like most people.”
“Including me?” he asks, hands in his pockets, a winsome smile on his face.
“I can offer you quite the trade, girl.” The man only has eyes for me now. He crosses the distance between us, sticking out his hand. The skin on his hand feels loose, moving over his skeletal bones, when we shake. “Dax Fairras.”
But his eyes are bright and lively, and I find myself growing amused by his chatter as he offers me anything in his shop for the dragon.
“She’s not for sale,” I interrupt his pitch. “She’s my pet.”
“She’s worth quite a bit.”
Penny chitters angrily into my ear. Apparently, she thinks I’m her pet.
I scratch her neck as I talk to her. “Do you want me to sell you? It is nice to know it’s an option. No more baby dragon waking me up at night or stealing the chocolate out of my desk.”
“Tera, why don’t you go look around?” Airren asks pointedly. His eyes cut toward Dax since I’ve apparently disrupted his entire negotiation with my distracting dragon.
“I’ll see if there’s anything I might want to trade for an obnoxious dragon,” I promise, and this time, Penny definitely hisses into my ear. I grin at her as the two of us wander between the shelves. The low rumble of Airren’s voice, spinning whatever story he’s telling Dax, fades behind me.
When I glance back down the aisle, Mycroft has taken a few steps back so that he stands at the end of the aisle; he appears intent on Dax and Airren, with his arms crossed and his gaze fixed ahead, but he’s watching over me.
I wander between the shelves, reassuring Penny that I’m not looking for anything and that even if I was, I’d never give her up. She seems to understand plenty of what I say, but she doesn’t understand jokes, that’s for sure. As she stretches across my shoulders and begins to purr, I rub the marks left by her claws as they dug into my shoulder during my exchange with Dax. The dragon was not amused.
There’s a door in the far end of the wall. It stands open, and I glimpse colorful scarves and hear music coming out of the room. Curious, I push the door open
a little bit wider.
The room is an office, crowded with boxes and ledgers and scribbled-upon papers and old coffee cups. A small tent’s been raised in the middle from colorful scarves and ropes that hover in the air, and a little girl bursts out of the tent, a grin across her face.
The smile fades as soon as she sees me. Her dark hair hangs uncombed around a pert, freckled face. She stares at me for a few long seconds, and then her eyes widen. “Tera Donovan.”
She turns and streaks back into the tent.
Half of Avalon is terrified of that little cutie. What had seemed like a sweet thing to say suddenly feels true. I back out of the office, feeling guilty. I need to get away from the poor little kid I’ve just scared half to death.
She charges back out of the tent, swinging a wand.
I take such a startled quick step back that I fall on my ass. Penny’s claws sink into my shoulder and rake down my back before she jumps free. I glance back, worried that Mycroft’s just seen that. He is indeed watching, his face as stoic and disinterested as ever.
I scramble to my feet, brushing dust off my jeans.
“I’m warning you,” the girl says, pointing the wand at me. “You need to turn around and walk out of here before we have trouble.”
“You’re warning me, are you?” I’m not great with judging kids’ ages—actually, I’m not great with kids, full stop—but this girl can’t be more than eight or nine. “I promise, I’m not any threat to you. But you shouldn’t have even learned spoon magic yet.”
“Is that great-grand-daughter of mine bugging you?” Dax calls from the front of the building. “She’s harmless.”
She frowns, a tiny line standing out between her eyes.
“I’m not dangerous,” I promise her. “I’m not going to hurt anyone.”
I feel like I should explain what I’m doing here, but I can’t tell her that. She regards me suspiciously.
I lean against the bookshelves behind me. “So, you know spoon magic?”
She gives me a bit of a look, then holds her wand out on her palm. She’s still holding eye contact with me—as if she thinks she looks scary—as the wand levitates an inch or so above her palm.