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“So confident. So strong,” a soldier says. “My, haven’t you grown into your role. I wonder if that will always be the case.”

“Leave,” I command, “before the good citizens of this place decide you are all better dead than alive.”

The soldier’s eyes flash as he dips his head. “Until next time, enchantress.”

The lot of soldiers turns, their movements robotic.

“Oh, one last thing—” I say to their backs, “you will not harm another fae. Ever.”

You know whatthe most annoying thing about these drop-ins is? There always has to be some long discussion following them. Everyone has to regroup and decide on a plan of action when there is really no way to plan for a man like the Thief of Souls. He doesn’t play by the book, it’s not clear what he wants, and there seems to be no orderly way for us to stop him.

But I sit through the meeting anyway, and listen to everyone rehash the last several hours all over again. Once the meeting is over, it’s clear that Des and Malaki have more to talk about, the two of them moving to a corner of the room, where they continue speaking in low voices.

I turn to Temper. “Down to raid the kitchen?”

Need a drink after that meeting.

“Do you really have to ask?”

Fifteen minutes later the two of us are sitting in some random hallway, munching on a tray of pastries and drinking fae spirits straight from the bottle.

“It’s been too long since we’ve done this,” I say,

It used to be a weekly thing. We’d go out, or we’d stay in, but it would always be together. Sleepovers, brunches, late night movie-nights, bar-hopping, clubbing—we were attached at the hip.

“You can say that again.” Temper sighs. “That alone is reason enough to kill the Thief of Souls. He’s messing with our routine.”

I take a big bite of a cheese-filled pastry, washing it down with a swig of fae wine.

I pull the bottle away and stare at it. “Ever notice that fairies make their liquor way too sweet?”

“Right?” Temper says. “Never thought I’d crave cheap Scotch so much in my life, but here we are.”

I turn to her. “Thanks for earlier—you know, with Malaki.”

“Anytime. You know how we roll.”

We’ve been each other’s wingwoman for as long as we can remember.

I set the bottle down and reach out, taking Temper’s hand. “God, I love you.”

“Are you drunk? You aresucha lightweight.”

“Seriously, Temper?” That’s her response to me pledging my love to her? “You ingrate. I’m notdrunk.”

She squeezes my hand. “Love you too, boo, even if you go to Earth and do body shots without me.”

“Hey, I invited you to the wedding.”

“Only ’cause you needed an ordained minister.”

She and I both know that’s not the only reason.

“How did you evenmanageto get ordained?” If anyone should’ve been rejected, it probably should have been Temper. I mean, I love my friend, but she’s not exactly a saint.

“Fuck if I know—the Internet is a magical thing.”

The two of us look at each other and burst into laughter.