CHAPTER THREE

I opened my eyes to rolling hills and pink skies.

Everything I’d fallen asleep to—the ceiling of my bedroom, the image of my brother’s ruined back, the faerie’s taunting smile—was nowhere to be seen. The only sign of life was a small and solitary house nearby, and I’d been inside many times over the years. If I’d had my way, though, I wouldn’t be here right now.

After seeing Damon in the glass, I’d immediately begun packing.

It had taken several minutes to realize that I had no idea where I intended to go. There was no one to torture answers from. No one to tell me who had left the mirror, though I certainly had a theory. I’d like to give you something. Savannah, my brother’s girlfriend and the only witch I knew, lived hours away. I was in no condition to drive, anyway.

I’d had no choice but to go to bed. I would’ve thought sleep would be impossible, but it had been disturbingly easy. However much my mind roiled, my body was eager for respite. For once, it won their eternal war.

Now, the familiarity of this place eased the tightness in my chest. The sensation had lingered there since the goblins took me, and I’d grown accustomed to its presence. Now my breath came easier, and for a minute I could only stand there, inhaling and exhaling. When I felt like myself again, I looked around. My lips curved into a smile, which was a sensation I hadn’t felt in a long time.

In the distance, there was a figure. He stood with his back to me, a breeze tousling his golden hair. Still in my pajamas, I rushed toward him. My best friend.

Too bad he wasn’t real.

Oliver didn’t hear me approach. As I got closer, I moved more quietly through the long grass. He continued watching the sunset intently. The line of his shoulders was taut. I settled my hands over his eyes and felt him start. He snatched my wrists in his large hands and whirled. Instantly his warm, brown gaze examined me for wounds or marks. Sometimes I carried them with me into these dreams. “Are you all right?” Oliver asked without preamble, a muscle bulging in his jaw.

As I pondered the answer to this, I couldn’t help but admire him for what felt like the millionth time. His hair was thick and swept across his forehead in a perfect, golden wave. His cheekbones were so sculpted that, if he was turned just right, the curves of his face looked like a distant horizon. All of this was topped off with a full, sensuous mouth that was quick to smile.

But there, across the bridge of his nose, was the faintest sprinkling of freckles. That was my favorite part of his face. It was so perfect, so humanizing, so … Oliver.

Instead of responding to the question still hovering between us, I went straight into his arms. For a moment, he was tense and unyielding. As always, though, he relented and held me tight against him. “I am now,” I whispered.

For as long as I could remember, Oliver had been waiting the moment I fell asleep. At some point I named him, though I couldn’t remember how I’d chosen it now. Maybe it was from a movie or a book. He’d grown up with me, inch by inch, year by year. Eventually our friendship turned into something more. He was the only person I trusted, the only one I could be myself with. Logically, I knew I had created him, either with my power or my mind. He was a coping mechanism for a girl who’d lost her parents. Every night we spent together, a niggling voice insisted that it was time to let go and grow up. Someday, I told it.

But that day hadn’t come yet.

I made a sound of protest when Oliver pulled back to peer into my face. “You’ve gone too long without sleep. Is everything all right?” he pressed.

If it were anyone else, I would have a lie perched on the tip of my tongue. But with Oliver, I just mutely shook my head. I tucked myself back into the hollow between his arm and shoulder. He was wearing a t-shirt, and our skin brushed. Even then, it stayed blissfully silent in my head. I had never asked Oliver what he was afraid of, not in all our time together. I didn’t want to know. I liked that I couldn’t.

Too much time had passed. When I gave no answer, Oliver opened his mouth to ask more questions. Reluctantly I told him, “I was taken by slavers. They tried to sell me at one of the black markets.”

Before he could react, I also told him about the faerie and the mirror, which I suspected was the gift he’d mentioned in the alley. The timing of it was too coincidental otherwise. By the time I’d finished, rage smoldered in Oliver’s eyes. He made a visible effort to suppress it, but the sight was startling. Oliver was the calmest, most level-headed person I knew. “I assume the slavers are dead by now?” he asked evenly.

“If not, they’re wishing they were.”

“I should’ve been there,” he said through his teeth. “To protect you. To stop it from happening.”

“Do you have any new paintings?” I asked suddenly, a none-too-subtle way of changing the subject. I didn’t want to keep reliving the past three days.

“No. I couldn’t concentrate,” Oliver said pointedly.

When we were teenagers, he had asked for a picture of me. Though I couldn’t seem to bring anything into the dreams but clothes, it didn’t stop him. The next time I visited, he’d managed to conjure paintbrushes and canvases. He began with my portrait. Next he painted the hills, the clouds, the sea. His skill improved with each project. Secretly I was glad he’d discovered something to be passionate about. Oliver didn’t vanish once I was awake; he was always here, day or night. It pained me to think about what a lonely existence I’d created for him.

“Well, why don’t we go inside? You can paint, I can watch,” I suggested hopefully. It was my favorite way to pass the time. The only smattering of minutes or hours that I felt something like peace.

“Fortuna, you can’t pretend this isn’t happening,” Oliver insisted, his tone at odds with the serenity of the pink sky. “You should leave town. Don’t confront the faerie. The mirror was nothing but a trick, and he’s counting on your desperation to find Damon.”

My patience snapped. “So you do remember his name. He’s the reason I can’t just leave, okay? Trick or not, it’s the first clue of my brother’s whereabouts in two years. This faerie must know where he is.”

“Exactly, Fortuna. Damon has been gone for two years. I’m sorry, but he isn’t coming back. You’re the one that told me what faeries are like—this one probably learned about your missing brother and is using that to get what he wants. Whatever the hell that may be.”

A sharp retort rose to my lips, but I swallowed it. Oliver was a dream. There was no point arguing with a dream. Besides that, he was all I had left, and I didn’t want to fight anymore.

Catching Oliver by surprise, I cupped the back of his neck and kissed him. I channeled all my pain and fear into it, almost rough in my need. He responded instantly. The tension around us dissipated and became something else entirely. He gripped my waist and urged me even closer. I jumped up, wrapping my legs around him, grinding instinctively.

Just like that, the kiss changed. Oliver lowered us to the ground and put me on my back. His mouth became more demanding, more intense. I couldn’t get enough of his tongue— he tasted like honey and ambrosia. I buried both my hands in his hair, but he laced his fingers through mine and pinned them to the ground. The length of his body settled on top of me. He gripped my wrists in one hand, while the other hand went under my shirt. It skimmed up my torso, to my breast, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Our kiss never broke.

Already I could feel Oliver between my thighs, hard and ready. My first instinct was to yank his pants off, beg him to push inside me, where I was hot and throbbing. But, right on cue, another instinct whispered past. A faint sense this wasn’t right. Whether it was the place or the person, I didn’t know. Shouldn’t I be ready by now? Should it matter this much? I wasn’t entirely sure having sex in a dream counted, anyway.

Despite these thoughts, the feeling wouldn’t go away. I knew it would stay there, hovering like a poisonous fog. Oliver finally pulled back, breathing heavily. His eyes asked the question. I bit my lip, guilt pushing out the pleasure. “I’m sorry,” I said in a small voice. “Not yet.”

Every time I rejected him, I expected hurt or anger. Instead, Oliver grinned, revealing his dimples. A breeze stirred his hair. He had never looked more beautiful. “At least let me satisfy you.”

I hesitated. “That wouldn’t exactly be fair to—”

“I get my satisfaction from watching you,” he said firmly. With deft fingers, he slid my underwear down. My feeble protests quieted. First, he rubbed slow circles with the ball of his thumb, until I was squirming and whimpering. Then, without warning, Oliver dipped his head and licked me. I gasped. A low growl rumbled through him. His mouth claimed me completely, sucking and teasing. Moaning, I opened my legs wider and arched my back. The world narrowed down to him and the sensation building within. Higher and higher, hotter and hotter.

The orgasm left me weak and shaking. Afterward I could only lay there, breathing hard. Oliver returned to my side and stretched out on the grass. Once I could move, I curled against him. My eyelids fluttered. Oliver cupped my head, as gently as if it were breakable. “Go ahead,” he urged tenderly. “Rest. I’ll be right here. You’re safe.”

I was reluctant to close my eyes, though. I gazed up at him, thinking that he was the most beautiful creature I knew. Perhaps I had drawn inspiration from my mom’s Greek artwork when I’d dreamed him up.

The object of my adoration glanced down and caught me staring. His eyebrow arched. “Sleep,” he repeated, more sternly this time. The world was coming in and out of focus. I nodded against him. Oliver looked upward again and I followed his gaze. The sky glittered with scattered stars. My mother’s stories echoed in my head, Greek legends that ended in constellations and silenced gods.

For the first time in days, I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Birdsong eventually drew me out of the darkness. For a minute or two, I struggled to stay there. But sunlight streamed through the window, making the insides of my eyelids bright red. Reluctantly I opened them, half-hoping to see Oliver and rolling hills. The four walls of my room stared back. Sighing, I focused drowsily on the alarm clock. It was six o’clock in the afternoon; my shift started in an hour. I resisted the urge to bury my head under the covers and return to Oliver.

Forty-five minutes later, Bea smiled as I walked through the front door. She and Gretchen stood behind the counter, their arms lightly touching. “Look at you, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Bea said by way of greeting. The drawer to the register was open, and she held a wad of cash in her hand. “It’s a nice change from yesterday. You had us worried.”

Beside her, Gretchen was cutting a lime into small, precise pieces. Without looking up, she inclined her head and told me, “There’s someone here to see you. New boyfriend?”

Angela snorted as she walked past with a tray full of salt and pepper shakers. Everyone ignored her. I turned to see who Gretchen was talking about, but part of me already knew from the prickling sensation over my skin.

The faerie stood by the bar.

At the sight of him, my first instinct was to do something violent—the image of my brother’s ruined back was still fresh and vivid. But there were too many witnesses here, too many who would intervene if I tried to beat the answers out of him. I smiled at Gretchen in reassurance, who was watching us closely. Satisfied, she turned away to give us a semblance of privacy. She spoke to Bea in a low voice.

Wearing a guise of calm, I walked toward the faerie. Though he must’ve felt the storm of power around me, his stance didn’t change. He leaned his forearms on the back of a chair and watched me approach. “Did you like my gift?” he asked once I was within earshot.

The words confirmed my suspicions and my control snapped. I leapt at the faerie so quickly, he had no time to defend himself. In a flash, I had him against the counter and the edge of a steak knife at his throat, which I’d snatched from the silverware tray behind him. “What have you done to my brother, you son of a bitch?” I hissed, forgetting about witnesses or appearances.

The faerie didn’t look afraid, and the absence of such a familiar reaction made me pause. My palm pressed down on his collarbone, where the skin was smooth and unexpectedly cold. But there was no flavor on my tongue, no images in my head. I was so shocked at the realization, I nearly dropped the knife.

No one seemed to notice or care about the commotion—the faerie must’ve cast a glamour over us. Gretchen was still talking quietly and Angela had finished putting the shakers back. She was now preoccupied with adjusting her breasts, trying to fit them in a bra two sizes too small. Frowning, I faced the faerie again. He hadn’t taken his eyes off me. A burst of fury whirled through me like a hurricane, and I buried my nails into his flesh. Small bloodstains spread through the material of his shirt. Still no flavor or visions.

Noting my bewilderment, the faerie murmured, “I’m not so transparent, Fortuna Sworn. You must dig a little deeper to discover my fears.”

“What are you?” I whispered, standing so close, his breath tickled my cheek. It was an odd but pleasant smell, like spices and freshly-churned soil. Something stirred inside me, low and hot.

The faerie sensed it, too. When he spoke again, his voice was thicker, his eyes darker. “I’m exactly what you think I am.”

“Angela, one of your kids is on the phone!” Gretchen called, startling me.

The redhead hurried over. She didn’t even glance our way as she took the landline out of its cradle. “Yeah?” Angela sighed. She raked her greasy hair back. “No, Noah, I’ve told you this a million times. I put the parental control on there for a reason. Please trust me, okay? It’s for your own good.”

I returned my attention to the faerie. The sudden rush of lust faded as, once again, the image of Damon’s destroyed back came to me. Now guilt and disgust shot through my veins, more powerful than attraction, and I jerked away. The knife stayed at the faerie’s throat, though. “Where is Damon?” I asked through my teeth.

Seemingly unperturbed, he continued examining every facet and curve of my face. “Your brother is alive, but you will find him much altered.”

“I asked you where he is, you piece of shit, not how—” “Powerful you may be, but I’m not a goblin.” In the space of a blink, the faerie vanished. He reappeared a few feet away, and the blood on his shirt was gone. It was obvious now he’d been toying with me, allowing me to hold him against the bar. Still, he was careful not to reveal the full extent of his abilities. Unease rippled through my mind, a faint whisper that I couldn’t win against this creature. He wasn’t an ordinary faerie, that was obvious. I took a step toward him. My grip was even tighter on the knife.

“Before you make any rash decisions, I should mention that I’m not the one who took him,” the faerie added casually. His gaze didn’t move from mine.

At this, I paused. Faeries couldn’t lie, after all. I searched his eyes, but they didn’t give anything away. “Fine, I’ll bite,” I snapped. My heart felt like a frantic animal trying to break free of its cage; for the first time in two years, I was close to finding out where Damon was. “If you didn’t take him, who did?”

“All in good time.”

My nostrils flared at the dismissal, and I fought the urge to dive at him again. “Do you get punched a lot? You seem like the kind of faerie who gets punched a lot.”

The corners of his mouths twitched. “Not necessarily. That would require actually catching me.”

“Noted. Now what do you want?” I asked again, somehow knowing that this time, I would get an answer.

“You.”

Of course I had been expecting it, but his response was so unabashed that, at first, I could only blink. Just as I started to speak—still uncertain what would come out—the front door squeaked open and Regina Hart lumbered in. The glamour must’ve been still intact, because she didn’t gasp at the sight of me brandishing a knife. She did, however, give the faerie a long, appreciative look.

I rolled my eyes. When I faced forward again, the faerie plucked the knife away and put it on the counter behind us. It brought him in such close proximity that his neck was inches from my mouth. Wintry air rolled off him. He stepped back again, smiling slightly. The asshole knew exactly what kind of effect he’d had on me. “I wish to make a bargain, Fortuna Sworn,” he declared.

Suddenly every instinct I had screamed to run. That alone should’ve been enough to have me packing a bag and driving far, far away from Granby. But then I remembered the mirror, the scars, the emptiness in my brother’s eyes. Tightly I asked, “What kind of bargain?”

“I will bring you to Damon Sworn. In return, I ask for one thing.”

“Enough with the dramatics,” I hissed. “In return for what?” Once again, the faerie looked me in the eye. In this light, they looked more black than gray or hazel. Still beautiful, whatever the color. Feeling like a coward, I focused on his eyelids instead. But his next words made me forget all that, and my shocked gaze snapped back to his.

“Marry me,” he said.