by Allison Pang
Uh-oh.
“So. What was that all about?”
The unicorn snorted. “Who knows? They came in looking for cheese.”
I blinked. “We sell cheese, Phin. The little cubes there. Goes with the wine?”
“Bah. Mr. Sword-Up-the-Ass wanted aged dragon cheese or something. We don’t have that.”
“Do dragons even produce a dairy product?” I frowned at the thought, trying to remember if I’d ever seen it on the inventory.
“Hell if I know.” His face became sly. “I told the little lady if she rubbed my belly I’d make her a unicorn milk shake, though.”
“But you aren’t . . . oh.” I shoved the vision his words produced into a box in the back of my mind and set it on fire. “Jesus, Phin. That’s disgusting. You’re lucky they didn’t smite you on the spot.”
“Bah. He was a virgin. I can’t stand virgins. Whatever. We really should hire a bouncer, though. The standards here are slipping big-time.”
“How could they fall any lower? Look who I’ve got working the register.” I tweaked his beard.
“You could always put me in charge of the bar,” he said hopefully.
“Because that would make things better.” I leaned against the counter. “I think Tonia’s doing just fine.”
My latest foray into finding employees had resulted in hiring Katy’s cousin. Both bartender and waitress, she’d taken to the work with an unbridled enthusiasm I could only envy.
“Mmmph. She likes pointy ears, I can tell you that much.” He snorted in her direction, watching while she crouched by a golden-skinned elf, scratching his order on her notepad.
“Nothing wrong with that,” I murmured, turning away as the elf captured her hand to kiss the palm.
“You didn’t see the one she was chatting up earlier. I mean, come on. I can be as crude as the rest of them, but this?”
“Do tell.”
“Eh. Glowy fellow. Had a shirt that said ‘Fisting means I love you,’ or some such. What else am I supposed to think?”
“I’d prefer not to know.” I yawned. “Magical fisting elves or not, I’m heading upstairs. Try not to burn the place down, okay?”
“Sure thing, babe. I’ll have Talivar close up.”
I gave him a last pat before waving good night to my friends and slipping out the door. It felt weird not being fully in control of the place, but everyone agreed I needed rest more than I needed to be running a business, and I was more than happy to let the others take over for a bit.
Talivar had continued to spend his nights on my couch. I could only assume he’d left Kitsune in charge, but he waved me off every time I mentioned that he might want to go and check on his kingdom.
Not that I minded a little extra fussing, but after all we’d gone through, he should be able to reap some of the benefits. By all accounts, the Unseelie Court was beginning to flourish again. The lines of communication between it and the Seelie Court were still strained . . . but open—and the Tree continued to grow, strengthening the magic of the CrossRoads, to everyone’s great relief.
The stairs creaked beneath me in their old familiar way, but I hardly heard them, finding my way upstairs and into my living room with a heavy sigh.
Night seemed to be shorter and shorter these days, or maybe I was more tired than normal. I drifted from room to room, the fresh paint smell following in my wake. I steadfastly ignored the enchanted fridge and hurried into my bedroom, pulling off my jeans and slipping into a comfy pair of shorts that still fit well enough.
I tumbled into bed and flicked off the light, rubbing the small curve of my belly in an odd little ritual I’d started once the fact I was pregnant had really sunk in. I couldn’t have said if I was saying hello or something else, but it was comforting.
I dozed off in the darkness, woken a few hours later by a shrill cry of anguish coming from the kitchen.
“Dammit, Anders!”
I started awake and then relaxed. “Phin . . .” I muttered.
Little shit had taken to playing computer games into the wee hours again, though not Warcraft this time. I’d let my monthly fee slip, so he had to resort to playing whatever else I had lying around.
I debated getting up, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Particularly when I heard the soft snuffling whimper. Fucker was in his cups and I didn’t want a hungover unicorn in my bed right now.
“Why’d you have to blow it up?” he mumbled sadly. “I would have bitten your ass. I would have bitten it so hard.”
I rolled my eyes. If he needed to lose himself in a pixel romance for the moment, who was I to deny him that?
Assuming he shut up in the next ten seconds.
All was quiet after that and I slipped away again, curling beneath the blankets.
The Dreaming held an edge of quiet expectancy, the hum of Eildon Tree’s EarthSong sifting beneath it. I wasn’t sure why that was occurring either, but maybe it was a reward for my assistance. Or maybe my Dreams were restructuring themselves based on my experiences.
I would probably never really know.
My house at the Heart of my Dreaming stood tall now, the walls thick and sturdy and gleaming with fresh paint. The fireflies danced over an ocean of silver grass, golden lights winking in the distance.
A rattle at my gate sent me into a startled panic. Until I turned and saw Ion at the entrance.
My knees buckled as I raced toward him, flinging the doors to my Heart wide open and throwing myself into his arms.
He clung to me, whispering words I couldn’t quite hear. But I didn’t need to. I understood him just fine. His mouth found mine and a flurry of passion beat hard in my chest, but it was short-lived as he pulled away.
One hand pressed hard against my belly and he breathed in sharply. “It’s true, then.”
“You can tell?”
“There’s the presence of another Dreamer here. She’s sleeping too.”
“She?”
“A daughter. Yes.”
I bit down hard on my lower lip, this small fact slamming hard into my gut because now everything became more real than before. I tugged on his braid, the bells chiming out as I lifted his chin to me, inspecting his face.
“Are you okay? Did . . . he hurt you?”
His golden eyes became weary and amused all at once. “Let’s leave that story for another night, shall we? There’s something I need to show you.”
Without another word, he took my hand and led me outside the gate to the rocky path. At his quiet gesture, the bubble of my Heart disappeared so that we were confronted with the infinite darkness of the Dreaming, the tiny Hearts winking in and out of existence with the rise and fall of the other Dreamers.
“There.” He pointed to a light a short distance away. “Do you see it?”
“Yes . . . but . . .”
“It’s mine,” he said fiercely. “I don’t know how . . . but I still have it. It’s still there.” He shook his head. “There’s something else.” He pointed again to the lights, aiming at a closer one, halfway between mine and his, although the pathway to it seemed much brighter as it connected to mine. “That’s her, Abby.”
“My . . . daughter’s Dreaming Heart?” My head rocked with the knowledge. But more important was the thin strand of silver connecting it to Ion’s Heart.
He nodded. “She belongs to you. For now. Eventually her Heart will break off on its own. Probably when she’s born. You’ll always have that connection with her, though.”
He found my hand with his, pressing something cold into it. “I believe this also belongs to you,” he said.
I glanced down to see the Key to the CrossRoads winking in my palm and my throat tightened.
“Someone should have it. Even if you don’t wear it . . . it should belong to someone like you, Abby.” There was a hollowness to his voice, as though he wasn’t quite sure what he was admitting, but it didn’t matter.
“No,” I murmured, kissing him softly. “It belongs to us.”
A marine biologist in a former life, ALLISON PANG spends her days in northern Virginia working as a cube grunt and her nights waiting on her kids and cats, punctuated by an occasional husbandly serenade. Sometimes she even manages to write. Mostly she just makes it up as she goes. She loves Hello Kitty, sparkly shoes, and gorgeous violinists.
Follow her on Twitter @Allison_Pang, and visit her website at www.heartofthedreaming.com.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Allison Pang
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First Pocket Books paperback edition November 2012
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ISBN 978-1-4391-9836-0
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