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The Land of Dreams. It’s some strange love child of the Otherworld and what I imagined Wonderland might look like. Everything has that elegant, fae touch to it, but nothing is quite what it appears.

We pass a bubbling fountain that people are gathered around, vials in their hands.

“The waters here can make humble wishes come true,” Des says next to me.

I watch in fascination as a fae woman with golden hair dips her glass container into the water. I’m tempted to try the water myself, just to see what small wish might come true.

We stroll by several cafés, and my attention lingers on the low lighting and the soft conversations drifting from within.

“You have restaurants here in the Otherworld,” I say.

“You’re surprised?” Des looks amused.

I am. I assumed the Otherworld was essentially flowering fields and impossible architecture. Restaurants seem so…human.

Suddenly, Des is steering me toward one of them.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you out to eat—unless, of course, you aren’t hungry.”

My stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble. I don’t know how many calories flying burns, but the number must be staggering.

“I could eat.”

His lips twitch. “Good. So could I.”

The restaurant we walk into is done up in shades of silver and periwinkle—from the place settings to the mounted mirrors to the walls. Near the top of the high ceilings, plumes of clouds hang, and in the center of each table is a vase full of a type of delicate white flower I’ve seen all over Somnia.

As soon as Des and I are seated, I surreptitiously scan the room.

Even at first glance, the people around us don’t look quite normal. For most, it’s simply small details: eye color that’s a little too bright to be human, or hair too long to be grown by a mortal head. But then, there are a few fae who especially stand out. Like the man with lavender-gray skin and a mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth. Or the woman whose limbs are long and slender, her skin the shifting color of deep shadows.

In contrast to my gawking, the restaurant’s patrons ignore us completely.

“Do these people know who you are?”

“They do,” he says.

“Why aren’t any of them…?” I look for the right words.

“Fawning over me?” he says, filling in my sentence for me.

“Yeah.”

He lifts a shoulder. “I’ve cloaked our appearances.”

“Cloaked our…?”

“It’s a small illusion meant to subtly alter our features—to prevent recognition.” He leans forward. “I figured neither of us wanted the extra attention.”

Damn, but that was thoughtful of him.

My attention drifts around us again. It’s not just the people here who are unusual. Partway through the meal, the other half of the building suddenly morphs into a Gothic cathedral, the pews and pulpit currently empty.

“Dream logic,” Des explains.

I glance back at him only to realize someone has already served us drinks and bread.