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“Hunting?” I echo, horrified as Sybil and I begin walking again. I keep scanning the woods where I last saw him. “We’re not deer to be caught.”

The older witch gives her head a shake. “To some of them, you are.”

Maiden, Mother, and Crone.

“What will happen to the witch who goes with him?” I ask.

“The same thing that happens to all brides the fae steal away,” the witch says. “They are taken back to the Otherworld, and the union is made official.”

Sexis what she means. Sex followed by…whatever fae do with mortals.

“Sounds hot,” Sybil says.

I give her a traitorous look.

“In theory,” she adds, smoothing out her costume. “Anyway, you should’ve seen that fae’s face when his ass hit the ground. Pure disbelief and outrage. You knockedyearsoff his life. Where did you learn to hit like that?”

Memnon.

It felt like muscle memory—being on the horse, throwing the hit. It didn’t seem to matter that millennia separated those memories from this evening.

“It’s just one of those things that came back with my memories,” I say evasively.

I give the darkened woods one last glance before turning my attention ahead of us. I can make out the end of the pathway and the gravestones and crypts beyond it, the stone markers lit up by yet more lanterns.

Once we enter the cemetery proper, it’s clear this is where the party is at. There are more pumpkins stacked around gravestones, along with candles and marigold flowers. A fiddler on the far side of the cemetery has struck up a tune, and large tables rest between grave markers, all of them set with candelabras and laden with food spelled to be accessible to both spirits and mortals. On one side of the cemetery, a large cauldron bubbles away. I veer right for it, dragging Sybil along after me.

“Someone is super eager,” she mutters.

“You would be too if you just barely escaped getting kidnapped seconds ago.” We weave our way through the graveyard, passing headstones covered in moss.

“Yes, it sounds so awful to be chosen as an immortal’s bride. Real tough life you have there.”

I stop at the cauldron, knocking some of the marigold flowers at its base askew as I turn to gape at her. “He picked me because I wore white and was easy to grab! That’s all! That’s, like, the most unromantic way to get a girl.”

Sybil looks unconvinced as I grab a glass and reach for the cauldron’s ladle, pressing my lips together at the steady throb still coming from my hand.

“If the dude is so in need of a female companion that he has to travel to a whole different realm to snatch one away without even getting to know her,” I say, filling up the glass and handing it to my friend, “he probably sucks.”

Sybil tilts her head as she takes the cup from me. “Youmayhave a point.”

“Thank you,” I say, feeling vindicated. I fill up my own glass of witch’s brew, down the cup in a few long gulps, then refill it once more.

In the distance I hear the baying cries of wolves.

Sybil looks positively thrilled. “Looks like your kidnapper might’ve made it to shifter territory.”

That thought pleases me for two-point-five seconds before I remember that if the lycanthropes manage to scare the fairy off, he’ll just return.

I chug my second drink, only vaguely noting that this version of witch’s brew tastes strongly of star anise and clove.

“You’re going to want to chill on how fast you drink that,” Sybil cautions as I refill my glass again.

“Or you can just make bad decisions with me,” I say, looking pointedly at her own glass.

She cackles, then knocks her drink back.

“Fine,” she says, handing over her cup. “I’ll join the bad decision train with you, you freak. Now, refill our glasses, and let’s grab some food!”