23

Cathy couldn’t stop grinning as she penned the note to Bennet. She’d waited as long as she could bear for Will to return but was so afraid she’d lose her nerve she decided to press on with her plan regardless. What did she want from him anyway? Permission to save people? She knew she probably shouldn’t have done anything without considering it all more carefully over a cup of tea, but since the magic had zipped through her she couldn’t bear the thought of keeping still. There would never be a good time and the consequences of her actions would never be anything but frightening.

 

Mr Bennet, 

 

It’s imperative we meet urgently to discuss a matter regarding the Agency. My carriage will be waiting for you in the reflection of Bathurst Stables to convey you to Somerset House where we will be able to talk without my husband’s knowledge. Please come as soon as you are able. 

 

Catherine Reticulata-Iris 

 

She folded the paper, sealed it with wax and pulled the bell cord beside the fire. When Morgan arrived she handed him the letter. “This needs to be sent by Letterboxer. Please inform the footman that Mr Bennet from the Agency will require transport in our carriage from the stables to Somerset House and that he should be conveyed via the longest route possible. I need to be told as soon as the carriage leaves the stables.”

Morgan nodded and bowed. “At once, your Grace.”

“Is everything in hand?”

“Yes, the bedrooms are being prepared for guests, and extra food and fuel is being fetched from Mundanus.”

“Any word from Will?”

“No, your Grace. I’ll inform you as soon as he arrives.”

“Thank you, Morgan.”

She paced as she tried to think of ways to tell Will what she’d done. “Darling,” she said as if he was there. “While you were visiting Margritte, I secretly convinced the staff to break away from the Agency and form an independent household. The Agency doesn’t know yet.”

Cathy shook her head. “Darling,” she started again, imagining Will standing in front of her, frowning like he had when he asked her why she’d animated Nelson’s statue. “The Agency – no – Mr Bennet, from the Agency, has been blackmailing me and I thought it best to take away his control over our household by employing the staff myself, including the bodyguard you’ve been using to spy on me.” No! Too confrontational.

She tried a few more permutations but none of them sounded any good. She just wanted to get moving. The waiting was the worst thing about it all.

A knock on the door made her jump and Morgan entered. “Mr Bennet has arrived at the stables.”

“God, that was quick.” She took a deep breath and smiled at him. “This is it then, Morgan. Are you sure you want to stay and be involved in all this?”

“I am, your Grace.” He returned the smile. “In fact, may I say how pleased I am to have the opportunity to do so.”

“You rock, Morgan. Could you bring my hat, gloves and cape? I’m going dressed as I am.” She’d changed back into an outfit appropriate for the Nether, knowing that the people at the asylum wouldn’t believe she was the Duchess if she was wearing mundane clothing like she had been before.

Whilst she waited for him to return she realised how nervous she was. She’d set things in motion and there was no turning back; the staff were depending on her now in a way they didn’t need to before. She had to see it through, no matter what Bennet did. She had no doubt he was going to reveal her secrets to Dame Iris, but the consequences of that seemed less important now than doing her best to free those people. She wondered how far Poppy’s magic would protect her.

The slam of the front door made her heart race for a different reason; Will would have to be told and she didn’t have time to explain it all to him.

“Get out of my way, fool!” The voice that penetrated the wood was not her husband’s – thankfully not Bennet’s either. She heard Carter’s low rumble and then “I’m the Duke’s brother, idiot, stand aside!”

The door banged open and Nathaniel barged in like a man about to leap into a brawl rather than enter his sister-in-law’s company.

“Would you like me to remain in the room with you, your Grace?” Carter asked at the door, his cheeks a deep red.

“This is private!” Nathaniel slammed the door in Carter’s face.

Cathy backed away from him until her skirts brushed one of the armchairs by the fire. She sat in it and tried to look as composed as possible. “Would you like to sit down and tell me what has upset you so?”

Nathaniel looked horrified. “Don’t pretend you’re ignorant of this!”

She sat. “Of what? Please, sit down and–”

He crossed the room and leaned over her chair, planting his hands on the arms and effectively caging her in. “Where is he?”

“Who?”

“William!” He glanced at her left hand and frowned at the wedding ring. “You really don’t know?”

“He went to meet Margritte.” Nathaniel didn’t move. “Margritte Semper-Augustus Tulipa. I don’t know where.”

“Why?”

“Because she wanted to speak to him. Will you please sit down?”

“William has disappeared and we think he’s been kidnapped.”

“What?”

“The Patroon has tasked me with finding him and bringing the kidnappers to justice.”

“Margritte wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I spoke to her and–”

Nathaniel moved so swiftly she didn’t realise he had until his hand was gripping her jaw. The last of the bruising from the attack twinged as he made her look up at him. “Did you lead him into a trap?”

“Of course I didn’t, you prat, let go of me!”

He squeezed tighter, until tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “I know you didn’t want to marry him. Did you and your friend come up with a plan to–”

“Let me go!”

The door opened and Carter’s hand was on his shoulder in seconds. Nathaniel released her so he could bat the huge man away. Carter put himself between her chair and Nathaniel as she composed herself, rubbing her face. With a horrified jolt she realised it was the first time another man had touched her since the wedding day, but Nathaniel didn’t seem to be burned.

She stood up and Carter looked down at her, frowning at her face. There were probably marks. “Thank you,” she said to him and then stepped to one side to look past his bulk at Nathaniel. “I know Margritte has a son in Oxenford. She said she was staying with him. But I really can’t imagine she would do anything like this and I’m deeply insulted by your suspicion. I’ve been away for the day and had no idea anything has happened to Will.”

She expected an apology but there was nothing of the sort on Nathaniel’s face. “I’ll go and look for him there then.”

“How can I help? Perhaps I could write to her and see if–”

“I think you’ve done enough, useless woman.” He gave her a look of absolute contempt. “If I find that you’re responsible for his being harmed I’ll personally–”

“May I suggest you leave, sir?” Carter shifted until he blocked the way between them again and Cathy heard Nathaniel leave the room, slamming the door behind him. Carter turned to face her again. “I’m so sorry, your Grace. Mr Reticulata-Iris is one of the individuals permitted to see you. Had I any idea he would be so… despicable I never would have let him enter.”

“It’s all right, you weren’t to know. Would you be so kind as to find out if Will came home after he met Margritte?”

“I’ll come straight back, your Grace.”

Trembling, Cathy opened and closed her mouth carefully, feeling the bruising again. She fumbled with the opening of her reticule and pulled out the small mirror compact inside and looked at her face, expecting to see marks, but there was only the usual red. Had they lied to her about the curse or had the third wish broken that one too? The ring still looked the same though, and the curse was bound into it.

Only an Iris man may touch you now… 

The memory of Will’s mother breaking the news to her returned with a sharp clarity. An Iris man – she had made out that it meant only Will, but what if it didn’t? Her hand flew to her mouth as she realised why Vincent had been so keen to stay and take care of Sophia. He was her father. Will’s mother had had an affair with her brother-in-law.

After a single knock the door opened and Carter returned. “Your Grace, the Duke hasn’t yet returned and neither have his footmen. The Steward is going to the meeting place as I speak, a mundane hotel halfway between here and Oxford, to see if there is any evidence of foul play.”

“Perhaps they just got talking and lost track of the time.” She didn’t believe it even as she said it. Something had happened to him; Nathaniel wouldn’t have been sent by the Patroon unless they were sure. She could write to Margritte but what would it achieve? If she had done something terrible she was hardly likely to confess it to her victim’s wife.

“I’m sure everything will be fine, your Grace.”

It felt wrong to do anything but wait for word of Will’s safety but Bennet wouldn’t be distracted for much longer. Morgan arrived with her hat and gloves. “We have to go to the asylum,” she said to Carter. “We’ve only got an hour or two at the most. We’ll go through to the edge of Aquae Sulis, then you’ll pick up a hire car for us in Bath, it’s much closer to the asylum than London. You can drive, can’t you Carter?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“What will happen afterwards?” Morgan asked as she put on her hat.

“Hopefully, I’ll turn up with a bunch of people who’ll need lots of tea,” she replied.

“And what about Mr Bennet?” Carter asked.

She sighed. “I’ll face that problem when I come to it.”

 

Max waited at the edge of the park, watching the gates as the gargoyle hunkered down in the bushes. The Master of the London Camden Ward Chapter had a habit of taking a stroll and eating a chocolate bar there every day at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. It was overcast but not raining and the man’s favourite bench was free.

Not wanting to look like an Arbiter waiting for someone to arrive, Max sat down on another bench with his back to the gates. The gargoyle had a clear view of them so it would know when the Chapter Master arrived, and meanwhile Max’s face would be hidden. He checked his watch. Three o’clock.

He had a brief vision of the Chapter Master walking into the park behind him from the perspective of the bushes. He was a tall and rather gaunt man who didn’t look in the best of health. There was a newspaper tucked under one arm, a take-away coffee cup in his left hand. He was dressed in a suit and wearing a heavy woollen coat with a thick woolly hat that had a large red bobble on the top. Max had a sense of the gargoyle finding it funny, but had no idea why.

Free of the pressure of fieldwork, Chapter Masters were able to live a relatively normal life, their souls intact and lifespan extended by living in the Nether. Many avoided entering Mundanus unless absolutely necessary, hoping to prolong their lives as much as possible, just like the puppets. Unlike them, Chapter Masters wanted longevity to protect the innocents. It seemed this one wasn’t so keen on staying alive as long as possible.

The Chapter Master sat on his usual bench, rested the coffee on the wooden slat next to him and opened the newspaper. Max got up and approached slowly, expecting the man to look up, alert and ready to flee as soon as he detected him. But when the man’s brown eyes peeped over the top of the paper he simply lowered it and smiled.

“You must be Max,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“You’re the Chapter Master of the Camden Ward?” Max wanted to be certain before they spoke about anything sensitive.

“I am. My name is John. Come and sit down. And I feel I should say now, in case you had any concern, you’re not in any danger.”

Max sat next to him. “So you’ve decided I’m not a threat any more?”

“You misunderstand me. We haven’t tried to kill you. Whoever put you in hospital wasn’t one of mine.”

“Let’s go back to the beginning,” Max said. “Montgomery contacted me because he suspected your Chapter was corrupt. He was right.”

“Going right back to the beginning,” John echoed, “I instructed Monty to contact you.”

“You wanted me to find out.” Max nodded. “Yes, that makes sense. I wondered what could have motivated him to reveal it, when he didn’t feel any guilt. But if you sent Montgomery, why did Faulkner give me the brush-off?”

“Faulkner didn’t know what I’d done. I couldn’t risk anyone finding out, and that’s why I’m still alive today. Monty is dead.”

“Who killed him?”

“The same people who tried to kill you, I imagine. You’d left the hospital before my people had a chance to reach you, and then you were back in Wessex. There was nothing I could do without seriously rocking the boat.”

“Someone followed me and tried to finish the job.”

“Again, not one of mine.”

“But it was an Arbiter. Both times. And my Chapter was destroyed.”

John fiddled with the edge of the newspaper. “This is troubling news. I was depending on you to inform your Chapter Master, in the hope the Sorcerer of Wessex would intervene. My orders to turn a blind eye to the activities of various families became unbearable when it was the turn of the Rosas. They took it too far.”

“Is it the Irises now?” When John nodded, Max asked, “And there have been other families?”

“In the past I’ve been instructed to ignore the Wisterias, Peonias, Ranuculi, Digitalis and a few other very minor families. The Irises are the last ones – all of the puppets have had their turn over the years.”

“But how could you sanction that?”

John was staring at one of the trees. “I haven’t been happy about it. But I couldn’t disobey a direct order from the Sorcerer. Surely you understand that?”

Max nodded. “Did you question it?”

“The first time, yes, I did. He told me there was a bigger picture and that whilst it seemed contrary to my remit, it was for the greater good. You said your Chapter was destroyed… is that why the Sorcerer of Wessex hasn’t intervened? Because you haven’t been able to get a message to him?”

“Mr Ekstrand knows,” Max said. “But he’s been distracted by the war with Mercia.”

“War?” John appeared to know nothing about it.

“Ekstrand believes Rupert of Mercia killed all of the other Sorcerers. Have you been in contact with the Chapters in Sussex or East Anglia? How are you functioning without your Sorcerers?”

“I don’t understand.” John was even more pale now. “I received a message from Dante only this morning.”

“But Dante died several weeks ago. I saw the body myself.”

There was a long pause.

“Someone has been using a combination of Fae and sorcerous magic,” Max said. “My theory is that an apprentice of Dante’s is behind all of this. I don’t know how and I don’t know why. With your help I may be able to find some answers.” John was still staring at the tree. “I need you to open a Way to the Sorcerer’s house. I know you must have access for emergencies.”

John stood up. “I can’t help you.”

“But you know something is wrong. Innocents are being taken, Arbiters and Chapter staff are being murdered – the Master of my Chapter was murdered along with everyone else. The last two Sorcerers in Albion are trying to kill each other whilst the true perpetrator goes free. If you don’t help me, you’re only going to put more people at risk.”

John shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“You wanted this to be discovered. Now I’m here and willing to do something, are you really going to turn me away and let this continue?”

“Yes. I am.”

 

Sam felt like he’d been walking for days. The mists of the Nether made it hard to mark his progress. There were no landmarks and no points of reference against which he could measure the distance travelled. He looked back at one point, seeing the iron path twisting in a huge corkscrew shape that made his heart flap like a dying fish. He only looked forwards from that point on.

He thought about the pillar he saw in Exilium on the day he tried to rescue the blondes. Poppy had been unable to look at it. Mazzi had told him that the anchors that hold the Worlds apart were made from iron and copper, as this path was. He was certain it had something to do with marking its edges – that’s what he’d been looking for when he stumbled upon the pillar the first time. He was walking the chains between the Worlds. He smiled. That sounded pretty cool.

He wanted to understand more but Amir hadn’t left anything for him to read about the esoteric aspects of his new position. It was all business. Mazzi said that each Lord and Lady of the Elemental Court was different, bringing something new to the role each time. He was probably the first one who’d had a previous run-in with one of the Fae Lords. Hopefully, he was about to become the first to bitch-slap one too.

Sam tried to focus on reaching the end of the path, just as he had focused on finding the edge of Exilium, but it seemed to have no effect. Then he realised the same rules wouldn’t apply in the Nether. There was nothing to do but walk and not think about the fact that he was probably walking upside down at points on the corkscrew path without even realising it.

Just as he was wondering whether it actually led anywhere, Sam looked up from his feet to see that the path ran into a thick bank of fog. Hoping it was the boundary between the Nether and the edge of Exilium, Sam quickened his pace until he reached the point where the iron disappeared into the mists. He remembered the pillar stretching out of the ground in Exilium, so he got down on his hands and knees, expecting another stomach-churning sensation as he crossed the boundary.

His instinct was correct and, as he passed from the misty void into the Fae prison, his weight tipped back and he grasped the pillar, wrapping his legs around it like a child trying to shimmy up a tree trunk. He squeezed his eyes shut as he inched forwards until his body readjusted.

When he opened them again he wasn’t in the Nether any more, but he wasn’t convinced he was in Exilium yet either. There were trees and meadows, a blue sky and fluffy clouds but it could have been a spot in the English countryside. It wasn’t as breathtaking; the colours were just normal – pleasant – but not supernaturally beautiful.

He was about a metre off the ground and beginning to slide towards it, so he let go of the pillar and stood on the grass. It looked like it was the same pillar he’d seen before and was incredibly cold to the touch. Scanning the horizon, Sam couldn’t see any clusters of trees to suggest Lord Poppy’s or anyone else’s domain, nor any of the tell-tale flowers. He did see lots of tiny things in the air, seeming to be fleeing from where he was. Or were they fleeing from him?

Sam started to walk, holding at the centre of his thoughts the desire to see the enslaved blondes he couldn’t save before. He would find them, he would free them, that was all he wanted to do. After a while he wondered why the ground was still flat. All the other times he’d looked for people the meadow would rise into a gentle hill, then the person he was hoping to find would be on the other side. Nothing like that seemed to be happening. Maybe he was just in the middle of the Sussex Downs and not in Exilium at all.

Then he saw someone walking towards him, someone tall enough to be Fae, wearing a long cloak. Sam stopped and waited until he got closer. He looked behind him to make sure no one was creeping up on him whilst he was distracted and saw a couple of tiny flowers he’d brushed as he went past, now brown and shrivelled. He faced front again. He was in Exilium, he was certain now, but he wasn’t the same man he was before.

The Fae had green eyes in contrast to the solid black Sam was used to in Poppy. He was covered in thousands of oak leaves, woven into a cloak and wrapped around him from neck to floor, trailing after him and spilling around his feet as he walked. There was a circlet of oak leaves too and Sam wondered if he was some sort of royalty.

The Fae stopped a few metres away, further than one would normally when speaking to another person. He bowed, very deeply. “Lord Iron, Master of the blood and star metal, protector of the innocent, brother to the binding metal and friend to the Sorcerers, as Prince of the realm it is my honour to welcome you to Exilium.”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like an impostor. “Right. Thanks.” After a beat he returned the bow, as embarrassed and hesitant as the Prince’s was elegant.

“May I ask why you have chosen to grace us with your visit?”

“I want to speak to Poppy.”

“I will see that he is brought to you immediately.” The Prince pulled one of the leaves from his cloak and blew it off the palm of his hand. It fluttered away and was swiftly out of sight. “Has he caused offence?”

“Oh, yes,” said Sam, nodding. “I’m going to give him the chance to put it right.”

“That is most generous of you. I’m sorry we have to wait. I’m sure you understand it isn’t possible to bring him so close to your presence in the usual way.”

Sam nodded, even though he didn’t understand, being ignorant of how the usual way worked.

The Prince stared at him but remained silent. Sam was about to ask how long it would take when he saw Poppy hurrying towards them.

“Your Royal Highness,” he said when he reached them, bowing so low his black hair brushed the blades of grass. He looked at Sam, his expression mutating into one of absolute horror. “…Lord… Iron?”

“Lord Iron wishes to speak with you,” the Prince said and then turned to Sam. “I will be close by, should you need anything else.”

Sam thanked him and then looked at Poppy. The Fae was leaning back, as if trying to stay as far away from him as possible without looking like he was trying to do so. “I’ve come to put things right.”

“Oh, of course.” Poppy smiled and clicked his fingers. The faerie appeared behind him, peeping from behind his shoulder. It managed one look in Sam’s direction before squealing and diving out of sight. “The hourglass!” Poppy hissed at it as the Prince backed off, still watching.

The faerie fluttered to a spot on the grass further behind Poppy and gave Sam another nervous look before waving its tiny hands to make the dreaded hourglass appear. The pile of sand in the bottom half of the glass was so small it was noticeable by its sparkling rather than its size.

Poppy hurried over and tapped the top three times. The sand poured into the bottom half so fast it had all run through by the time Poppy straightened up again. He grinned and held it out towards Sam. “Ah, it seems there was a little blockage at the neck. Oh, look! Now I’ve cleared it, it seems the debt has been paid already. How quickly those minutes seemed to pass!”

“That’s a start. Where are they?”

“Who?”

“The slaves, the ones I tried to save. I want you to bring them here.”

“Oh, those slaves!” He tittered. “I’ve grown so tired of them. I don’t suppose you’d like to take them off my hands? I’d be so delighted if you could.”

“Stop stalling.”

Poppy twisted to look for the faerie. It had gathered a clump of grass together to hide behind. “See to it!” He smiled at Sam again. “It seems you’ve… risen in the Worlds. Of course, I always suspected there was something special about you. My favourite wouldn’t care about just any mundane.”

“Bullshit,” Sam said. “You had no idea and don’t try to say otherwise.”

Poppy’s laugh was weak and unconvincing. He flung the hourglass up into the air and it turned into a cluster of poppy petals that settled at his feet. He twisted his cane and attempted another smile. “Not long now.”

The slaves soon came into sight and Sam went towards them, closing the distance as fast as he could. They were dressed in poppy petals clinging to their bodies, leaving no curve undescribed. They looked healthier than the last time he saw them, but far from happy.

“I really am going to rescue you this time,” he said to them, but none of them looked convinced.

He knelt in front of Clare and pulled at a poppy petal clinging to her ankle, covering the sparkling band he knew was there. As soon as his fingers touched the petal’s softness all of the others fell. It revealed the band marking her slavery, but also every other inch of her body. Sam kept his eyes fixed on her ankle, muttering an apology, but she seemed unconcerned. None of the others seemed to react either. Perhaps they were too beautiful to be bashful.

He worked the fingers of both hands under the band and it lost its diamond sheen. When he pulled outwards it snapped like it was made of baked clay. Clare shuddered, took a deep breath and looked around her as if she’d just woken up. Then she blushed and accepted the blacksmith’s apron Sam offered, giving him a grateful smile. Sam didn’t have enough items of clothing for all of them, so he called to the Prince and asked for something to protect their modesty before he broke the spell on them too. He didn’t want anything belonging to Poppy to touch them again.

Soon they were all free and wrapped in green blankets made of the softest moss imaginable. Sam faced Poppy again. “Why couldn’t they eat or drink in Mundanus before?”

Poppy twisted the cane as if he were trying to screw it into wood. “Well… I suppose there could have been a teeny tiny curse put on them – I hear it happens to mortals when they visit here. But now you’ve touched them they’ll be free to eat and drink whatever horrors are in Mundanus.”

Sam grinned at Clare as they all thanked him. She went to embrace him but he stepped back. “Let’s wait until you’re not wearing a magic blanket, eh?” He called the Prince over again. “Could you get them all back home in Mundanus and guarantee that no one does anything to them on the way?”

“It would be my pleasure,” the Prince said. “They will be given into the care of one of the most trustworthy mortals I know, and conveyed to wherever they wish in Mundanus without any Charms cast upon them.”

“Because I’ll hear of it, if anything does happen to them.”

“You have my word that it will be done as you wish.”

Poppy was watching the Prince’s deference with great interest, but said nothing. Sam told the group to make sure they had each other’s contact details before they parted ways and that he’d be in touch as soon as he was home. No doubt his army of staff would be able to track Clare down and from her he could find the others. “Don’t mention me to anyone,” he added.

The Prince led them away and Sam breathed in deeply, newly aware – by virtue of its absence – of the weight he’d been carrying since he’d failed to rescue them the first time. Not only were they going to be reunited with their families, he was never going to be summoned and messed about by Poppy again. He was no longer afraid.

“Well, if that’s everything…” Poppy took a step away.

“There’s just one more thing, Poppy,” Sam said, enjoying the fear that crossed the Fae’s face in response.

Poppy clasped his hands together, dropping the cane as his face twisted with anguish. “I had no idea what she would wish for, truly – how could I? And I did all I could to divert her energies. I told her to paint! It isn’t my fault the wish will come true now!”

Sam frowned. “You’re talking about Cathy?”

“Yes, my favourite! I had no idea what potential lay beneath the damage and layers of insecurities and self-doubt and misery caused by her–” he stopped. “That is what you meant by ‘one more thing’, isn’t it?”

“What will happen now the wish is going to come true?” When Poppy hesitated Sam took a step towards him.

Poppy shrank back. “She’ll destroy everything!”

“She made a wish to do that?”

“She wished to reach her true potential and that’s what it is! But don’t tell anyone, especially her husband! He’ll only tell–” he lowered his voice to a whisper “–her new patron, and he wouldn’t have to wait for their child, he’d be able to take what he needs from her. He knows what potential she has, but he doesn’t think her capable of bringing it to fruition. But I’ve made that possible.” He covered his mouth with his hands and spoke through his fingers. “It’s exquisitely terrifying. I haven’t been so excited in such a long time.”

“Is she in any danger?”

“No, she made a very clever wish. It really wasn’t my fault.”

Sam decided he would ask Cathy; he was planning to see her anyway. “The last thing I want from you is the memory you took from me the first time I came here.”

“That little thing?” Poppy pulled his cane from the ground and took another step back. The faerie, which had been hidden behind him, zinged off into the distance. “It’s not worth your trouble to–”

“Poppy, give it back to me, or I’ll take it from you.”

“I have no idea how to give it back to you, now that you break–”

Sam launched himself at Poppy’s throat, unable to stomach being messed about a moment longer. They both crashed to the ground, Poppy screeching for help and flailing ineffectually as the urge to push Sam away warred with the one to avoid any contact.

Sam could feel the skin of Poppy’s neck beneath his hands. It was cold and didn’t feel like the throat of a man, being disturbingly free of the feel of an Adam’s apple and muscles beneath the skin. Instead, it felt more like holding a pillow stuffed full of down; too soft and with too much give. He could crush it, he realised, but wasn’t convinced it would choke the Fae like it would choke a man.

“Give it back to me, or I’ll drag you to the Prince and tell him you’ve been uncooperative.”

“You’re burning me!” Poppy wailed and then coughed so hard his entire body shook.

A wisp of smoke with hints of gold and green in its tendrils escaped with the next cough and before he could move away, Sam breathed it in. Appalled by the thought of it, he released Poppy’s neck and clambered off him, leaving the Fae to moan quietly.

Then he was with Leanne, laughing so hard they were holding each other up as Pete kept asking what a douchebag was, over and over again. They were drunk but not too much, and Leanne’s hair was flowing back in the breeze.

Then Sam was on his knees in Exilium, and he drew in a harsh breath to stop the grief from flooding out of him. Poppy hadn’t just taken a memory of a perfect afternoon, he’d stolen the meaning of the photo in the hall of their house, the reminder to fight for the marriage even when Leanne was moving on.

But he couldn’t let it overwhelm him then and there. Sam forced himself onto his feet and went back to where Poppy lay with his fingers gingerly exploring the skin on his neck. “If you ever come near me again, or try to fuck up my life ever again, I’ll make a cage of the purest iron and lock you in it and then… I’ll eat the key. The same goes for Cathy. Don’t you ever do anything to her again. Understand?”

“She isn’t mine any more,” Poppy whispered. “You’re threatening the wrong Lord.” When Sam leaned towards him, he whimpered. “But I do understand your desire.”

Sam walked away, free of the Fae yet burdened by grief. He had to see Cathy safe before he could rest. He couldn’t save his wife but he could save his friend and that would have to be enough.