by Bella Klaus
“Isn’t that what happened?” He peered down at me from the corner of his eye.
A huge breath gusted out of my lungs. “I could never hurt you.”
Valentine turned to stare at me as though I was a pair of jigsaw puzzles someone had thrown together into the same box. “You rushed to my defense earlier, threatened my uncle with fire, and swore to burn the heart of the warrior who decapitated me.”
Nodding, I met his curious gaze. “I’d do all those things without hesitation.”
“You could have defended yourself with those flames as I brought you to this enclave.”
I shook my head. “How could I use my magic against someone I love?”
He ran a hand down my arm, filling my heart with tingles of pleasure. “You love power and revenge.”
“Who told you that?” I snapped. “Your brothers?”
His brows rose. “Are they wrong?”
“They only know what they learned from the Supernatural Council’s corrupt trial and from our fake breakup outside your palace. Of course they’d think I was a fire-breathing harpy desperate for revenge.”
“It’s late.” Valentine stepped back, the edges of his body shimmering away. “We’ll continue this conversation tomorrow.”
“Don’t go.”
The magic engulfed Valentine until all that was left of him was a pair of cupid ’s bow lips. “Good night, Miss Griffin.”
I rushed at the space he’d occupied and grabbed at thin air, but even his mouth had disappeared. All that remained was the basket I must have dropped in the receiving room.
“Bloody bastard,” I muttered under my breath.
This place had to be based on similar magic to the realm Father Jude had created for the Flame. Even though the idyllic surroundings seemed as endless as the dreamscape of Valentine’s soul, it had to have boundaries. Boundaries I could break or burn or burrow through for freedom.
I sprinted across the meadow only for the air to thicken after a hundred or so feet. No matter how much I tried to power through, the atmosphere eventually became as solid as stone.
With my arms outstretched, I followed the barrier around, looking for a way out, but after about half an hour of groping across the magic, I returned to the same point where I’d first hit the ward.
“Bugger this.” I pushed my power down my arms and into my palms, forming tight circles of fire that burned hot enough to make me break into a sweat. My breath quickened, and I leaned my entire body weight against the wards, trying to create a hole.
Whatever those healers had done to me had fixed any limitations on my magic, which continued to burn as hot and as steadfast as the sun. It burned until sweat dripped down my brow and stung my eyes, until my arms trembled and ached with strain.
My breath came in shallow pants. Nothing should be able to hold the might of a phoenix. They hadn’t existed for millennia and only a few of the people who were around back then were still alive.
The ache in my biceps and triceps and shoulder muscles deepened until they began to cramp. I let my arms flop to the side, resting my head against the ward.
What if the Supernatural Council deemed me too dangerous to be free? Hades, the Angel King, and possibly the Fae King were old enough to remember phoenixes and each of them belonged to realms where they could access the knowledge of long-dead ancients.
“Shit.” I picked up the basket, letting the dildo-shaped thermos roll onto its side.
He couldn’t leave me here forever. Eventually, Kresnik would track me down to this place. If he could abduct Theodore to interrogate him about the location of his immortal body, he could certainly abduct someone in Valentine’s household to find me.
Dragging my feet, I trudged across the wildflower meadow, not bothering to pause and smell the flowers. I didn’t know whether I should throttle Valentine or thank him for imprisoning me in such beautiful surroundings.
I placed my hands on the door, letting it open with a yawn, and stepped into an interior of white walls illuminated by a wall of windows that started from four feet off the ground and stretched to a ceiling of bleached wood panels.
My hand flew to my chest as I took in my surroundings. On the left and in front of the windows was a living area of ivory sofas and armchairs arranged around an oak table. Knitted blankets and cushions of oatmeal brown and pale beige added the barest touch of color, matching the oak cabinets that stood at the wall.
I turned to the left, enjoying how the wood floors creaked underfoot. It made the cottage’s interior feel like it hadn’t just been magicked into existence by an architectural wizard.
The kitchen area consisted of oak worktops, white cabinets, and a sturdy dining table that doubled as a workspace. Some kind soul had furnished me with half a dozen iced cupcakes on a silver stand and a lemon drizzle cake that would have made my mouth water if I wasn’t so annoyed at being the world’s most pampered prisoner.
High-pitched whistling broke me out of my musings, and I turned to the cast-iron stove to remove the copper kettle and place it on a trivet. A white teapot appeared on the counter out of nowhere, making me stagger back, holding my hand over my chest.
“What is this?” I raised my head, addressing the invisible force. “Beauty and the Beast?”
The refrigerator door clicked open, letting out a gust of cold. I folded my arms across my chest and snarled. “Who’s there? Show yourself.”
Instead of shimmering into existence, my phantom companion floated a bottle of milk from the fridge and set it on the table.
“Hey,” I snapped.
“Will you pipe down,” said a sharp voice. “All that hollering is murder on the ears.”
I whirled around to find a tiny old woman glowering up at me. She couldn’t be more than four feet high, with thick brows, and a hooked nose that took up nearly the entirety of her wrinkled face. Only her chin was larger, mostly because it ended with a set of whiskers that would impress even Macavity.
She clapped her hands over ears that took up nearly the entire height of her head, ending in sharp points.
“Thank you.” The wooden pipe dangling from her lips bobbed up and down as she spoke.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Hairy Meg, at your service. His Majesty says I’m not to let you talk me into letting you escape.”
My gaze sharpened at the suggestion that she might be able to control the ward. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice. “Should I call you Mrs. Meg?”
Her scowl melted away, and she rocked forward on her heels, tucking her thumbs behind the lapels of her ankle-length brown coat. “Mrs. Meg sounds about right. I like that very much.”
From the rest of her outfit—an Ebenezer Scrooge nightcap in the same shade as her coat—I was guessing that Mrs. Meg was a brownie. They were benevolent faeries who mostly worked as domestic staff in Logris. Most of the companies that delivered food via the Hatch employed at least one or two of the creatures, as they were renowned for their ability to work hard.
A witch or wizard of average means could hire a freelance brownie for a birthday or an important occasion, but it was important to discuss payment with them first.
The original faeries were made from the mating of an angel and a demon, and over millennia, the species intermixed with humans, animals, plants, and anything else they fancied. Now, there were more species of fae than there were types of trees.
“Cuppa tea?” She gestured with her long fingers toward the steaming kettle.
“There’s no money to pay for your services,” I blurted. “And I don’t have anything else to offer instead of cash.”
Her eyes narrowed, and I stepped back, bumping into one of the armchairs.
“His Majesty already paid me in gold to take care of you.”
I exhaled a long breath. Anyone dumb enough to accept services from a faerie without discussing payment opened themselves up to the faerie demanding absolutely anything from the person, incl
uding their soul.
“Alright then.” I placed the basket on the table. “Tea would be lovely.”
Mrs. Meg remained visible for the entire time she made the tea, which was a fragrant blend that she insisted would send me into a peaceful slumber.
I perched on one of the table’s tall stools, watching the faerie float herbs and wildflowers from an open window, dry them with her magic and place them in the teapot.
She explained the properties of every plant, which I already knew from studying herbs with Istabelle, but it was interesting to hear about them from a faerie’s perspective. Once the brew was ready, she poured it into a cup and floated it over. “There you go, one cup of sleepy tea.”
The scent of passionflowers filled my nostrils, making me yawn. “Thank you.”
“Mind yourself,” she said in a soft voice. “It’s a potent brew.”
My eyelids grew heavy, and I blinked over and over to fight off sleep. I even tried pushing away the tea, but my arms felt like they were attached to lead weights.
“Why did you make it so strong?” I slurred.
“You’re still convalescing, aren’t you?” Mrs. Meg flicked her head, and I rose off the stool feeling like I was being cradled in a pair of strong arms.
I really hoped there wasn’t an invisible ogre lurking about the cottage to provide backup in case I managed to persuade the brownie to let me out of this jail. Whoever or whatever had seized my body carried me up a set of wooden stairs into a white bedroom and settled me onto the pillow-soft mattress of a wrought iron bed.
It took all my effort to keep my eyes open, but the sweet floral scent of that tea continued to waft into my nostrils and fill my head with clouds.
As I tumbled into slumber, I swore to myself that if Valentine intended to keep me unconscious for the duration of the war, I’d burn off his right testicle and scatter the ashes to the wind.
Chapter Seventeen
Light shining through my eyelids and the smell of bacon and toast pulled me out of a deep slumber. I cracked open an eye, gazing up at the cottage bedroom’s oak ceiling. Unlike the times Valentine had subdued me with thrall, I felt well-rested, refreshed, and ready to make a concentrated effort to escape.
“Sleeping beauty’s awake, then?” Mrs. Meg appeared at my bedside, floating a wooden tray.
I pushed myself up to sitting and glowered at the old woman. She’d changed her cap from dark brown to beige but still wore the same coat. The light shining through the bedroom’s net curtains fell on her skin, which resembled the outer layer of a potato.
“What kind of drug did you give me last night? That tea wasn’t just herbal.” My gaze dropped to the tray, which contained a bowl of porridge topped with sliced strawberries and blueberries, a rack of toast, two small jars of homemade jam, and a pot of tea.
The old woman shrugged. “Everything’s a narcotic if you think hard enough. They told me you like chocolate. Do you know what cacao beans do when ground and snorted?”
I clenched my teeth. “Did King Valentine order you to administer sedatives?”
“He said to do whatever’s necessary to stop you from escaping.” The tray floated across the double bed and hovered over my lap. “There’s nothing here but fruits and grains and sugar. Eat up before it gets cold.”
I shoved aside the urge to bristle at her lack of apology, noting that Valentine thought I was capable of breaking out of the pocket realm. Steam rose from the spout of the teapot. I lifted its lid, finding peach blossoms floating within pink water.
“What is it?”
“Nectarine tea, from blossoms harvested only for their delicious taste. This time with no narcotics.”
“Thanks.” Nectarine blossoms were harmless enough. According to what Istabelle taught me, they were good for the eyes and skin. In excessive quantities, they might cause diarrhea, but I couldn’t see Valentine and Mrs. Meg stooping to such depths to keep me from trying to escape.
“The bath is hot.” She bustled out of my bedroom. “I’ve laid out a change of clothes on your dresser and will start on lunch for your visitors.”
My head snapped up. “Who’s coming?”
She didn’t reply.
I narrowed my eyes, staring out into the empty hallway. Since Valentine was my jailor, he probably wouldn’t permit Hades and Namara to come and see me. Perhaps there was a follow-up appointment from one or more of the healers who had treated me in the hospital.
My stomach rumbled, and I pressed the heel of my hand into my empty belly. I’d been so preoccupied yesterday with Namara’s hot chocolate and shortbread that I’d only picked at my meal.
Brown sugar melted around the hot porridge, forming a caramel-colored syrup that mingled with the red juice from the strawberries. I leaned into the bowl and took a deep sniff, recognizing its moist toffee scent as Muscavado, and licked my lips.
“It would be rude not to at least give it a try.” I picked up my spoon, scooped up some porridge, and took a taste.
It was rich and creamy with a nutty taste that mingled the light sweetness of the fruit with the depth of the brown sugar. With a groan, I took another bite and unscrewed one of the jam jars to find it crammed with mixed berries. I exhaled a happy sigh. This was going to be a wonderful breakfast.
After eating, I swung my legs out of bed and padded across the bedroom to a bathroom of ivory wood panels and a white sink, toilet and bidet that overlooked a vegetable garden at the cottage’s rear.
In the middle of the space was an oak wine barrel large enough for a dozen women to stand in and stomp grapes. Although it was recessed into the floor so it was only three feet high, the tub was larger than the one in Healer Calla’s bathroom, where I’d stolen Hades’ ashes.
Steam rose from the water’s surface, bringing with it the scent of white roses. After undressing, I threw a leg over the side and stepped into the hot water. My feet sank and sank into its depths until I was completely submerged and plummeting like I’d jumped into the deep end of a pool.
I hadn’t taken a deep breath before stepping in, and my lungs now burned with the urge to inhale. I raised my arms and swam up, not stopping until my head broke the water’s surface, and I inhaled a noisy gasp.
Mrs. Meg stepped inside, holding a stack of towels, which she floated over to an oak table.
“You could have told me it was deep,” I said with a splutter. “I nearly drowned.”
She walked to the edge of the barrel and placed her hands on its rim, her bushy brows furrowing into the shape of a caterpillar. “Did you not stay on the standing ledge?”
Heat rose to my cheeks. “No?”
“I thought you toffs knew how to operate barrel baths. Stay around its rim to stand, swim toward the middle if you want a plunge.” Mrs. Meg tutted and walked away.
“Right,” I muttered. Just because I was the prisoner of a Vampire King, it didn’t mean I was in any way posh.
Soapberries lined the tub’s inner ledge, lychee-sized fruits the color of tomatoes filled with a juice that could double as shampoo and shower gel. I popped one between my fingertips, massaged it into my hair, and spotted a loofah.
After washing my hair and scrubbing all traces of the hospital from my skin until it turned pink, I rinsed off underwater, stepped out of the tub, and slipped into a fluffy dressing gown Mrs. Meg had left for me.
I returned to the bedroom, finding a pair of loose fitting pants, a tank top, and sneakers. It was more exercise gear than loungewear, making me wonder if Valentine had meant for me to train.
By the time I finished dressing and reached the stairs, Kain and Beatrice were sitting on the white sofa, helping themselves to lemon drizzle cake and tea. My steps faltered, and I clutched the oaken handrail. It didn’t matter how long I got accustomed to the theft of my best friend’s youth, seeing her gray hair made my heart clench.
Beatrice’s head snapped up, and she gave me a wrinkled smile. “Mera, you look amazing. Have you done something different to your hair?”
>
My throat thickened, and my stomach tightened with a crushing dread that Christian might find a way to steal what was left of Beatrice’s life-force. I swallowed, wishing I could return the compliment.
“You’re looking less tired,” I rasped.
She rose to her feet, rushed across the room, and threw her arms around my neck. “Magical medicine is fantastic. They cured my flu and I feel a hundred times better. Lazarus said you reunited with your father. Why on earth would he attack you?”
“He’s more like a sperm donor,” I muttered under my breath. “By proxy.”
“Hey, Mera.” Kain rose from the sofa and gave me a wave.
I walked Beatrice back to the sofa and guided her to sit. As I lowered myself into the armchair, I glanced around the living area for signs of a Bengal cat. “No Macavity?”
Kain flicked his head toward the other side of the cottage, where Mrs. Meg fussed over a heaping plate of chopped and sliced meats. “There’ll be no climbing on my counters, Mr. Hellcat.” She peered down at the floor, wagging her fingers at an unseen feline beneath the table. “When you’ve finished this lot, there will be no more, you hear me?”
Macavity yowled a complaint.
Knowing better than to get between the cat and his snack, I turned back to my friends. “How’s Lazarus?”
Beatrice wrapped her arms around her front and sighed. “The healer said he suffered the worst kind of burns and that he’s lucky that the attackers left a few living heart cells.”
I clamped a hand over my mouth. “He looked terrible when I saw him but I didn’t know they’d damaged him that much.”
Her eyes watered. “All that time Lazarus spent with me, he wasn’t taking any blood.”
“Not even from you?”
She shook her head.
Kain leaned forward. “They said Lazarus wasn’t even ordering blood from the Hatch. It’s the reason he’s not bouncing back.”
“His attackers left him in a worse condition than your friend did.” Beatrice ran a hand through her gray strands. “They’ll release him in a day or two, but it still hurts to see him suffer.”