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A shadow detached itself from the darkness, sliding up next to the gnome. It was human-shaped, but wrong—made of the same stuff as the shadows from my earlier dream. It hissed and whispered to the gnome, the two voices clashing in my head, the words overlapping in a blur of pain.

They said: “Take her.”

I tried to fight, to reach for my magic, but my body was locked in a vise of pure electricity. My magic sparked, then fizzled, as if every conduit in me had been unplugged.

“Sorry,” the gnome said, its smile suddenly kind. “It is not personal. You must sleep.”

A cold hand pressed to my forehead. A thousand memories flashed behind my eyes—my sisters, my mother, Etienne’s laugh, the promise of the baby growing inside me. Then all the colors bled out, and the world went white.

The last thing I saw, as I slid into the void, was Jocko’s tiny black eyes fixed on me, wide and scared, and the word “Prenze” echoing through my head like a curse.

Then nothing.

Chapter Eight

When I came to, it was not with the gentle return of consciousness that a heroine deserves, but with the sensation of my brain being pressure-washed from the inside by a firehose of seltzer. I blinked, and the room swam around me, every edge wriggling in and out of focus.

For a brief, hopeful moment, I thought maybe I was dead, and this was a particularly trashy version of heaven. Every surface in the room was aggressively gold—golden wallpaper, golden bedspread, even the faint sunlight leaking in through heavy, brocade curtains looked jaundiced. The air was thick with the scent of something powdery and overly fragrant. I tried to move, but the best I could manage was a feeble twitch of my pinky.

I catalogued my bodily sensations. Arms and legs: attached, but uncooperative. Stomach: sour, clenched. Baby: hopefully safe and sound. I felt a shudder in my gut and, for a moment, worried I was about to throw up in a stranger’s four-poster bed, but the sensation passed. I wiggled my toes experimentally. They worked. Promising.

Memory returned in a slow, sickening drip: the brunch, the gnomes, Baba Yaga’s show stopping entrance, the abduction. The last thing I remembered was the garden gnome pressing a hand over my mouth and the words “Prenze. Brenze.” crackling in my ear like static. Now I was here, somewhere, presumably still alive but demoted to the role of unwilling damsel.

A man sat in the chair beside the bed, watching me with a smile that split the difference between used car salesman and gameshow host. At first, I thought maybe I’d been rescued, and I prayed this distorted image next to me was just Etienne in a bad light. Then my vision sharpened enough to confirm it was Linden Lowell, the guy who’d wanted to date me since fifth grade, now all grown up and uglier than ever.

He had never been attractive—unless your type was orc-homely warlock hybrid with an overbite you could dock a steamboat on. But he currently wore it with smug confidence. His hair was slicked back into a helmet of brown, and his big, slightly pointed ears stuck out like sails.

“Mally Jordain,” he said, and I shuddered at hearing my maiden name said out loud. “You’re awake. That’s excellent. I was getting worried you’d miss your own wedding.”

I attempted to roll my eyes, but they felt as if someone had lined the sockets with sandpaper. I made a sound, halfway between a groan and an accusation.

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and regarded me with the patience of a man waiting for a soufflé to rise. “You might be disoriented. Oonagh said you would be. She’s a miracle worker, that one.” He shook his head admiringly. “But it should all come back to you soon.”

I moved my mouth, trying to tell him to eat my shorts, but my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth like a stamp.

“Water,” I croaked.

He produced a bottle from the side table—sparkling, because of course—and unscrewed the cap with an exaggerated flourish. He held it to my lips. “Small sips. You don’t want to choke.”

The water tasted like actual heaven—and I didn’t even like sparkling water. I drank greedily, even as the humiliation of being bottle-fed by this jackass burned hotter than my thirst.

He wiped my chin, using his sleeve. “That’s better. Now, you’re probably wondering where you are, and why.”

He waited, clearly enjoying the moment. I gave him my best death stare, which usually was pretty good, but in this position, I wasn’t sure.”

He smiled wider. “We’re at Oonagh and Silver’s estate.”

Estate? I wanted to shout that this house was directly across the street from my parents’ house. And while a nice house, it was not an estate. But it did make me feel less frightened to realize I was so close to my family. Of course, that would do me little good if I couldn’t move.

“And most importantly, impregnable to scrying and magical detection.” He reached out and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. I recoiled, or tried to, but my head just lolled toward him like a malfunctioning marionette.

“Don’t touch me,” I slurred—sort of.

He ignored the warning, if he even understood it, and patted my shoulder, letting his hand linger a shade too long. “There’s no point in fighting it. The spell will wear off soon, but you’re safe here. No one can hurt you.”

I snorted, which made my head pound.

He gave me a look of profound disappointment, as if I’d let him down personally. “I know you are upset right now, but you’ll see I’m doing you a favor. I’m saving you from all those brutes and monsters and—” He paused. “Well, your ‘husband.’” He made air quotes with his fingers, which was impressive considering he still wore three rings per hand.