Page 30

EZRA

F itzie stumbles into the kitchen as I’m making coffee, dropping onto the barstool with a sigh. His red curls stick up in all directions and he’s wearing a pair of oversized glasses I didn’t see yesterday.

“I’m buying you curtains. I can’t sleep in these conditions,” he groans.

“We can hang a sheet up,” I protest. “Since when do you wear glasses?”

“A sheet? You live like a frat boy, yet you’re twenty four. Learn to love purpose-made objects.” He stabs a finger at me through the air. “And I got glasses last year, don’t freak out.”

“Learn to love telling your bestie every detail of your life,” I retort, setting two mugs on the counter.

“Maybe you’ve been usurped in the position of bestie by someone who doesn’t mother-hen me.”

“As if. You need someone clucking over you, admit it.”

“And you need curtains.” Fitzie sips his coffee and I visibly see him swallow a snarky comment about how cheap and shitty it is, which is the height of kindness for a single-origin, grind-your-own-beans guy.

I take pity on him. “There’s better coffee at the club. Syril — the owner — is super into all that perfect roast stuff. They installed a fancy machine in the staff room.”

He puts the mug down. “When can we go?”

“I thought you wanted to get curtains.” I smirk.

I’ll bring Fitzie to the club — I will. It’s just that I don’t have a clue what to tell him about Lysander, and that’s kind of a problem.

We might be friends, but we’re friends who cuddle at night so one of them doesn’t have insomnia-inducing nightmares. Friends who have mind-blowing sex. Fitzie knows me too well. There’s no way I can hide it from him, and I need a proper defense against the inevitable questions.

Yeah, I care about him. No, it’s not serious and probably can’t ever be, because he’s a prince and I’m just a random guy. No, I’m not going to get my heart broken. Promise.

Pretty sure that won’t fly.

Fitzie drinks the rest of his coffee with the world’s worst poker face. “You working today? I’ll take your spare key.”

“I lost the spare.” Nothing like hanging out with another human to make me realize how much of a mess I still am, actually.

Fitzie leans over the counter and opens the drawer next to me. “Nope. It was in here the whole time.”

My drawer is neatly arranged, and the spare key sits in a tray I didn’t even know I had. I lift my eyes. “How long are you here again?”

He sits back down, grinning. “Thirty days of sleeping on your lumpy couch.”

“You can take the bed!” I point out.

“I will not take your bed, but I will buy a blackout curtain and a humidifier so I can get my beauty sleep. One of those cute ones shaped like an animal’s butt.” He huffs. “I might even buy new cushion covers. Yours are scratchy.”

“Fitzie, seriously —”

“Uh uh.” He waves a finger in my face. “I took out your recycling this morning.”

Fuck. I haven’t emptied that in months — everything was in there. Collection letters, bank statements, past due notices. “It’s not that bad.”

“You live off canned soup and comped food and your accounts are in overdraft. It is that bad.” Fitzie’s perfectly groomed brows pull tight. “Seriously, fuck Jasper for this. Suck up your ego, babe. I’m your friend and I want to help you.”

“Fine.” I have to breathe past the sudden lump in my throat. “Okay. Get curtains.”

“And a cute rug,” he says.

“Don’t push it.”

He whips out his phone. “I already have three stores bookmarked. I’m buying you something nice and you’re going to like it.”

I slump onto the counter. Seriously, I shouldn’t need Fitzie to buy me things or clean up after me. I fuss over him, but he’s just as bad.

“Is that your phone?” Fitzie asks.

The buzz of an incoming message goes off somewhere on the counter and I fumble for my phone among the piles of papers and junk. It’s a text from Orion, which isn’t weird, but the preview makes my heart drop.

Syril and His Highness are arguing.

I text back right away. About what?

Orion replies a second later. Something about H.H’s sister. I couldn’t hear it, but there’s shadow leaking out of the office. You ever seen a shadow dryad get pissed?

My immediate instinct is to rush over. Just like Fitzie said, mother hen. Should I come?

The three dots bounce. Might be a good idea. But this is monster business. Dunno if you want to get involved.

The hell I don’t. I shoot Fitzie a guilty look. “I have to go in early.”

“Get out of here! I can take care of myself.” Fitzie shoos me.

“Don’t overdo it,” I order. “I can wash my own dishes, in spite of what it looks like.”

“Doubtful. I don’t want to risk my life every time I want a bowl of cereal, asshole.” He picks up a dry Cheerio off the counter and throws it at me. It bounces off my chest.

“Ugh. Message received.” I empty my mug and put it in the sink. “I’ll be back tonight. If your hip is bothering you, take the bed tonight. I’m serious. I can sleep on the couch.”

“Yes, mom.”

I drag him into another hug. “I’m glad you’re here, Fitzie. I really am.”

“Okay, okay. Get off me.” He pushes at me ineffectively until I finally let go.

I grab my amulet from the bedroom and get dressed.

There’ll be time to figure out how to introduce Fitzie to the idea that I’m seeing someone — as maybe possibly slightly more than friends — later.

Ideally, I’ll ease him into it. Lysander isn’t like Jasper at all, so I just need to drop a few hints.

Highlight his best qualities. Then let them meet somewhere neutral, like a movie night at The Sanctum.

Right now, though, Lysander needs me.

The lights are on in the front of the club when I get there, and Orion and Lilian are pushing tables around to prep for a show. Orion waves me over.

“He’s in the back room. He’s all worked up — never seen him so upset.”

“I’m going.” I brush past him, but Orion hurries after me.

“I’ll come.”

I kind of want to see Lysander alone, but I don’t push it. I still don’t know much about his past. Orion does.

Lysander is pacing the staff room when I open the door. His back is to me, his wings pointed stiffly out behind him, and his fists are clenched at his side. I go straight to him. He’s so distracted he runs right into my chest.

“Oh!” He flails.

“Easy. It’s just me.” I steady him.

He practically collapses into my arms. “Ezra! How —?”

“Orion texted me. He said you and Syril were arguing.” I squeeze his shoulders. “Is everything okay?”

Orion leans around me. “I swear I wasn’t listening in.”

Lysander rubs his face. “It’s my sister. Someone called in a report about a fight on the riverbank last night. They said it was a fairy… and there were azeroths. It’s got to be Elsabeth.”

A fight? “Is she okay?”

“No one knows.” Tension radiates from him. “Whoever reported it didn’t say anything, and Aster said there’s been no other information. I want to find her, but Syril says it’s too dangerous.”

“Maybe they have a point,” Orion says.

“I — I know they do!” Lysander pulls out of my grip.

Distress makes his eyes glimmer. All I want to do is pull him back and hold him until he calms down, but that won’t help.

“I’m not like her. I hate fighting. I like frilly clothes and books.

Plus I hardly ever leave The Sanctum — I don’t even know how to get around the city. ”

“I can drive you,” I say automatically, and Orion groans.

“Don’t enable him!”

“He’s not an invalid,” I growl. “What’s an azeroth?”

“I can speak for myself, both of you,” Lysander interjects, and my mouth snaps shut. “The azeroths are dangerous creatures. I don’t want to put you in harm’s way.”

“Are they dangerous to me, though? I’m human. I’m immune to whatever makes you dangerous,” I point out. “So what are they?”

“They’re a cult of magic-eaters.” Lysander’s wings shudder.

Hunted by a creepy undead cult, Orion’s voice says in my head.

“I don’t have any magic. Doesn’t that mean I’ll be fine?” I point out.

Orion snorts, flames flickering out of his mouth. “Ez, being human makes you more breakable, not less.”

I suddenly wonder if this is one of those defining opportunities where I should be smart, but instead I’m gonna do the dumbest thing possible. My jaw clenches with familiar stubbornness. “I can hold my own in a fight.”

“Not against the azeroths,” Lysander interjects.

He takes a deep breath. “They’re not monsters like us.

They’re something else. They used to be human nomads who traveled through the wildling valley in summer, but witchcraft turned them into something else neither human nor monster.

To stay alive, they need to feed on the magic of monsters. But especially fairies.”

It sounds grim. “The azeroths used to be human? How long ago was this? Hang on, how old are you?”

“It happened thousands of years before I was born,” Lysander says reassuringly. “I’m only three hundred years old.”

I choke. “You’re what? ”

Orion chuckles. “He’s practically a child.”

“Fairies mature slowly! I’m fully adult by our standards.” Lysander crosses his arms.

“Oh my god ,” I groan, covering my face. “You’re robbing the cradle. But I’m the one in the cradle! You were alive on Independence Day!”

“Think of them like dog years,” Orion says, patting my shoulder. “Where you’re the dog.”

“That’s worse,” I mutter. “Lysander is gonna live for eight hundred more years or something, and I’ll be dead by eighty.”

“Well, technically my magic will seep into you and equalize our lifespans if we spend the rest of our lives —”

Lysander stops abruptly, his eyes widening. Orion goes silent, his flaming gaze darting between us. Shocking heat blooms in my chest. Was he going to say if we spend the rest of our lives together ?