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His hold tightens. “My palace.”

The place where Des reigns. Despite my reservations being here, I’m excited to see it. I can’t even count how many times I wondered what it looked like.

We rise higher and higher into the night air, passing through one billowing cloud after the next.

A group of tiny glittering fairies—pixies?—fly past us, then circle around Des, chittering excitedly.

“Of course I’m back,” he says by way of greeting, “no, I didn’t bring any candy, and yes, she is pretty.”

I feel a gentle tug on my hair and hear the sound of high-pitched laughter. When I glance over my shoulder, I see several of the little fairies diving through my hair, playing what appears to be hide-and-go-seek. One of them has latched onto a lock of it that billows in the breeze, squealing with excitement.

Um … alright.

“This is Callypso,” Des continues. “Callypso, these are the pixies of the west wind.”

“Hi,” I say over my shoulder, trying not to freak out at the fact that little people are using my hair like a jungle gym.

“Fairies believe it’s a blessing to be touched by pixies,” Des says, quietly.

“Oh.” And now I smile.

One of them flutters over and pets my cheek, speaking softly.

“She says you have kind eyes.”

I can hear the pixie’s voice squeaking near my ear as the rest of them climb up my hair and perch on the crown of my head.

Whatever she says next wipes Des’s expression clean.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Nothing of importance.”

Angry chittering.

“End of discussion,” he says to the tiny pixie, his tone no longer indulgent. “Go ahead and tell the palace we’re coming.”

With a huff, the pixies scatter into the sky, ruffling my hair as they go. I watch them fly off until the evening clouds swallow them up.

“They were sweet,” I say.

“Mmm,” he says, looking distracted.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask.

“Nothing, cherub.”

That’s obviously a lie, but I don’t push.

We rise above another layer of clouds, and then the sky clears. An ocean of stars fill the night sky, brighter than any I’ve seen on earth. They’re so prominent, I feel I could almost reach out and touch them.

And then I catch sight of Desmond Flynn’s palace, and all thoughts of stars vanish.

Rising above the clouds is a castle made of the palest white stone. In the moonlight, it shimmers brightly, drawing attention to the tall spires and the maze of bridges and ramparts that connect them. Descending down on all sides of it is a walled city, every building made of the same milky white stone.

With the way the clouds spread out around the base of the city, it appears to float on the fluffy plumes. But as we get closer and the cloud cover dissipates, I can see thebottomof the slate grey mountain the city is built on.

An island in the sky. Impossible, and yet here in the Otherworld it exists.