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She looks vulnerable, even fearful, and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her that way. So I hold out my pinkie, which prompts her to laugh, but still she’s quick to hook hers around it.

“Tell me,” she says. “Is this actually binding? It’s the first time I’ve ever done something like this.” And the moment she reveals that, my heart breaks on her behalf.

Elodie was raised in an elevated space of great privilege, high culture, and art. She’s traveled through history, ridden in gilded horse-drawn carriages, attended fancy balls where she’s danced with princes, and, according to her, she even slept with the infamous King Henry VIII back when he was young and handsome and not yet prone to beheading his wives.

Elodie was raised in a world most would consider a marvel, and yet, she’s never had a real friend, and so she has no idea how to be one.

Does that mean it’s up to me to set the example and show her the way?

When my eyes meet hers, I break into a grin. “The pinkie swear is as good as a blood oath,” I tell her. “Only a lot more hygienic.”

“Next thing you know we’ll be making each other friendship bracelets,” she says, causing us both to laugh. Then, her mood turns serious again when she says, “So, if I do decide to help you with this—can we finally let go of our past?”

Her gaze holds steady on mine as I study her face. Her beautiful, angelic, deceptive face. And for a moment, I think of Killian’s beautiful, deceptive face.

If I agree to this, does it mean I’m playing the frog to yet another scorpion?

Maybe.

Possibly.

I mean, this is the same girl who once framed me for a crime I didn’t commit.

And yet, trusting her with this is a chance I’m willing to take.

“Of course,” I say. “From this moment on, it’s a clean slate.”

Seemingly satisfied, she reaches for the book and says, “Okay, here’s how it works.”

80

Elodie was right.

When it comes to magick, intention really is everything.

Just like blending in is everything when you Trip.

Which is how we find ourselves down in wardrobe, combing through racks of clothing from the late 1990s.

“Did they really wear their jeans this low?” I frown at my image in the trifold mirror, trying to pull my T-shirt down to meet the waistband of my jeans, but it keeps rising up, displaying a sizeable slice of glaringly white belly.

“The trend didn’t really hit the mainstream until a couple years later. But you, my friend, are an early adaptor.” Elodie laughs.

“And what about my hair?” I ask. “How should I wear it?”

“A couple passes with the flat iron, and you’re good to go.” She speaks like she’s some kind of expert, and it makes me wonder if she ever traveled to that timeline.

“How do you know all this?” I ask. “Did you Trip to the nineties?”

“Course not,” she says. “Anything Arthur might’ve wanted back then was his for the taking, or at least for the purchasing. But I have seenFriendsand a few episodes ofSex and the City.” Looking at me, she adds, “I needed references. How do you think I was so quick to catch on to yourPretty Womanjokes back when I gave you that makeover?”

My mind flashes back to that time when Elodie gave me a whole new look just before she took me to Arcana and my entire life was altered forever.

“Is it wrong that this is fun?” she asks, and I watch as she chooses an outfit for herself. A black slip dress with a white baby tee worn underneath and chunky-soled boots.

“Since when do you equate having fun with doing something wrong?” I ask, marveling at how effortlessly she fits into every decade. “You’re pretty much the biggest hedonist I know.”

“While I’m flattered you think so, considering how hard I’ve worked for that honor, the truth is, I’m not used to going behind Arthur’s back. And now this makes for twice in one day.”