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Lace tossed the bucket into the depths of the fountain, and together they stepped up onto the edge.

The field darkened as the sun slipped below Angelthene’s skyline.

Another day had passed, and Darien had not woken up, had not fully recovered from the effects of the brimstone. Joyce was making regular visits to the house to tend to him, using herdoctor’s knowledge and Healer’s potions to help him recover while in the safety of his own home. Every hour since that horrible night at Blackwater Penitentiary, Loren spent in bed with him, murmuring words of comfort. She hoped he could hear her through the fevered haze of his mind and would soon come back to her.

Darien had not left her—abandoned her—while she was in a coma, not even for one night. She would not abandon him, either. No matter how long it took, she would be there for him when he opened his eyes.

A soft, damp cloud of fog that smelled of sugar and must folded over them. Swiftly, the magic of the Crossroads carried them away. To the In-Between.

To the bottom of the Wishing Fountain—a dark, liminal space between realms, where the walls had no windows, and the flickering cobalt light had no source.

It took a moment for Loren’s eyes to adjust to the thick darkness, and when they finally did she saw the Widow watching her, the spider’s eyes shining like black eggs.

“How lovely it is to see you again, Liliana Sophronia,” said the spider. She turned toward the platinum-blonde Devil and said, “You as well, Miss Lace Rivera. Charmed.” She bowed in greeting, her sticky hammock of webs flexing beneath her weight.

Loren dipped her chin in response, Lace doing the same.

They stepped off the fountain, oily water splashing under their shoes.

Loren was about to speak, but the spider beat her to it.

“It has all come true,” she whispered, her focus fastened upon Loren. “It should not surprise me, and yet you and that Devil shock me to my core.”

Loren lifted her chin. “What, exactly, are you referring to?”

“Everything,” the Widow answered.

She could not help but shiver. “The Devil you speak of came to you not long ago for a trade.”

“The one involving your pet.”

Loren swallowed. “Yes. When he came that day to speak with you, you…told him something. Something about…about me. You told him that I’m not going to live past the age of twenty-one.” Her eyes burned, and her throat threatened to shut, but she managed to squeeze out, “Is it true?”

A beat of silence. And then: “Yes. It is true.”

The floor tilted beneath her feet. “It isn’t fair.” The statement came out on a shallow, pained breath.

“It’s life.” The Widow’s tone was gentle. Compassionate. “Nothing is ever fair.”

“I love him so much.” Tears slid down her face.

“I know, my dear,” said the Widow. “I know.”

It was true: It wasn’t fair. It was bad enough that she was mortal, and Darien immortal, doomed to go their separate ways eventually, but now…now, she would have even less time with the man she loved. Now, she would have to say goodbye to him sooner.

Once upon a time, she’d told Darien that she would love him forever. But she had not expected her forever to end so soon.

Loren wiped her face dry with the back of her hand, gauze scraping her cheeks. “Is there a way around it?”

The Widow hesitated. And then: “The future is never set in stone.”

That was good enough for her.

She stamped out the fear and sadness that threatened to envelop her and said, “You took more years from him than necessary when he came to you to bargain for the life of my dog.”

“More than necessary, yes, but only because he was willing to give them.”

“Why did he do it?” she choked out.