Page 68

18 Janury 1994

T he days passed in a blur of success. Even Imogen had begun to help them sort research, fit as a fiddle. Safe.

Emmy slid yet another Fae jar onto the shelf in the cellar, pulling down a bottle of absinthe. She turned around, holding it by the neck, and grinned.

“I think we’ve all earned a little celebration.”

’s smile was weak. Everything about her was weak. She’d been forgetting things—full conversations replaced with stanzas of Fae poems she’d never read, fairytale songs she couldn’t recall a second after they left her.

“I’m sure Sonder has a delightful antique spoon and sugar cubes.” Emmy’s eyebrows lifted and lowered rapidly. This drew a genuine smile from .

“If the vote is unanimous, we drink.” She took the bottle from Emmy. It was the same bottle Sonder had placed their first faerie next to. The one had let get away.

She felt her insides squirm, her heart stutter—something unwelcome rooted there.

“I can agree to that. I’m very persuasive,” Emmy preened.

They climbed the stairs up to the kitchen and locked the cellar door. Everyone was scattered across the manor, Sonder just in from a lecture. He was worn as ragged as she was, struggling to keep up his professor duties. There’d been some backlash after they’d removed their masks, news cameras parked in front of the manor, and Trinity students seeking him out, but no one with the power to excommunicate Sonder from Trinity or Agamemnon seemed to find the will to do so.

Emmy managed to gather the fatigued crew on the back porch, claiming the full moon was a sight to behold.

Sonder brought out an entire set of beautiful antique absinthe spoons with a matching dish of sugar cubes, while Gibbs carried out behind him a tray of decorative glasses filled with ice.

It was cold and the drink was cloying, the conversation as warm as the blankets and the fire Sonder lit.

But the old, twisted hawthorn kept signing her name. Beckoning her into the mist.

And couldn’t shake the feeling that the clock was running out all too soon.