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The door was unlocked, not that a lock could have kept her in. She was glad for the change of clothes that would allow her to blend in with the rest of the charity’s inhabitants. She knew where she was going—to find the source of that magical pull.

She strode down the long hallway as if she had every right to be there. She encountered a pair—a wraith and a human laughing together—and they waved at her as she passed. Seriously, what was this place?

It was a few empty, winding turns before she felt the strength of the power increase and she stopped.

Large, wooden double doors stood between her and the dominating energy.

They weren’t guarded. There was no magical signature around them.

Besides looking like the entrance to a vast room, there was nothing to suggest these doors were anything other than ordinary.

She hesitated with her hand on the doorknob. The physical pull of the magic was making her hand shake. She needed to get herself together.

Taking the moment steadied her. She focused on that memory of opening and closing the vault, using it as a meditation. Then she pushed the door open, just a hairsbreadth, enough to peek inside. What she saw took her breath away.

A sacred tree.

It grew endlessly toward the ceiling, surrounded by grass, moss, and clover.

A small pool bubbled nearby. Men and women in green robes stood in a circle with their eyes closed, chanting softly in a foreign language.

The scent of lemon and pine was strongest here.

Her hand went to her chest as tears sprang to her eyes.

It radiated unfathomable force that made it feel timeless.

As if it had been growing since the dawn of life itself.

Stretching its branches toward the heavens from which it came.

It had a similar energy to the Oak Throne—holy, reverent, and awe-inspiring.

She didn’t want to say the name, not even in her head.

Because it was not possible that this tree existed.

And yet, she could not deny that the tree felt holy.

Sansara.

Could this be the tree? And if it was still alive, did that mean Cillian Ryan was as well? Did that mean he was here? Was his magic the pine-and-lemon scent she kept smelling?

As one, the chanters finished their mantra and then opened their eyes.

Kierse nearly yelped in surprise, not wanting to be caught standing conspicuously in the doorway, she slipped fully inside, letting the door close behind her.

Unfortunately, it didn’t close silently the way it had opened.

A ringing sound echoed through the chamber and the chanters turned in unison toward her intrusion.

“Welcome,” a nymph said with a lilting laugh.

“I…think I got turned around,” Kierse lied. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s okay,” a man said nearby. “You are free to join us in our meditation.”

Meditating. Right. Not chanting to a powerful magic tree.

Well, if they were going to invite her in, then maybe she could get more answers. “Sorry.” She glanced upward. “What’s with the tree?”

The nymph chuckled. “Nature promotes healing. We all come from nature. We all return to nature. It’s a calming exercise.”

“Are you new?” another woman asked, stepping away from the circle to hold out a hand to Kierse.

“Just came in,” she admitted. “I didn’t really mean to sneak out, but…”

“We all did it,” she said. “I’m Loretta. You can come sit by me if you like.”

“I’m not big on meditating.” Which was true. She’d always kind of sucked at it.

“Of course. Why don’t I help you out of here, then?” Loretta said.

She glanced around the room at the group of avid meditators. All their eyes were slightly glazed, as if they were high on the power they’d drawn from the tree itself. Still alert enough, but not quite here . Something predatory filled the room. A vibe she couldn’t quite explain.

Only that she wanted no part in this.

This had gone from a very nice charity to probably a…tree cult in a span of a few seconds. Would she have felt the same if she hadn’t been able to feel the tree’s magic? Could they feel its magic? Did they even know what it was doing?

Her eyes caught on the face of a man in the corner. She furrowed her brow. He looked familiar. Where had she seen him?

He must have noticed her at the same time. Their eyes met—his were a rich brown with that same glazed look to them. He was maybe thirty, with a goatee and shoulder-length brown hair. His tan skin spoke of a Mediterranean summer. So familiar, and yet she was uncertain.

“Kierse?” the guy said as if sparked to life.

Uh oh. He remembered her a little too well.

He took a step forward, and she retreated a step in panic. “Sorry. My name is Shannon.”

Just then a second set of doors opened at the far end of the hall. Standing there was a pair of goblins. She recognized them—at least one of them had been at the auction—which meant…

“That’s her! Get her!” he yelled.

Kierse’s eyes widened in alarm as the group of happy meditators turned as one and rushed toward her. Loretta was closest to her and snatched at her arm, but she was just a human, and a slightly drugged human at that.

Kierse broke her grip with ease and fled from the room.

Her cover was dashed to shreds. She needed to get the fuck out of this compound.

She kicked off the stupid spa shoes, letting her stride lengthen.

Within minutes, she was back through the corridors and into the lobby, the sound of pursuit behind her, as she whispered under her breath, “Please let the door be there. Please let the door be there.”

The door was there, and it let her pass as if she’d been sucked through a vortex. Then she was on the other side. Her feet carried her forward, still at a run—and then she landed in someone’s arms.

“Graves?” she gasped.

“I was about to break the door down,” he snarled. “Are you all right?”

“We’re about to have a cult come down on our heads,” another voice said.

Kierse whipped around to see Vale with an enormous broadsword at the ready. “Vale? You called in Vale?”

“You went into the market alone,” Graves accused.

“I’ll cover your exit,” Vale promised.

The doors burst open behind them.

“Run!” Kierse cried. For once, Graves didn’t ask questions.

He took off after her, leaving Vale to distract the cultists. They raced down countless flights of stairs and across the New York–like streets inside the market. No one seemed to think it strange that they were running at top speed. Just another day in the market.

Kierse was panting and out of breath when they finally burst out of Nying Market and back into the real New York.

Laz, George, and Edgar waited impatiently nearby.

They all jumped up at Kierse and Graves’s abrupt appearance, barreling toward the vehicles to get them started.

Kierse finally looked over her shoulder and saw that the goblin who had blown her cover was still on their tail.

Graves jerked open the back of the limo, and Kierse fell inside. He jumped in behind her, and then the car was screeching away, back onto the Manhattan streets. They turned around and saw the goblin cursing at them.

“Thank fuck,” she gasped. “I think we lost them.”

“Yes,” he agreed. His phone buzzed, and he checked the message. “Vale broke up the cultists. Only the goblin got past him.”

“Good,” she said. She collapsed back against the cushion of the limo, letting her breath return to normal before opening her eyes to look at Graves.

He looked paler than usual. “Are you all right? We lost you inside the market, and I was…” He didn’t finish the statement. She could see the fear still on his perfect face.

“I’m all right.”

His hand touched her cheek. He looked her over, verifying her claim. “I thought I lost you.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” she said, breathless for a whole new reason.

His storm-cloud eyes were serious, his mouth set in a firm line. “You went in the market…alone.”

“There was no other way.”

“You could have waited ten minutes for me.”

“You could have trusted that I’d handle it,” she fired back.

“I did,” he said solemnly. “I waited outside for Edgar to get another coin. But it was my own team who kept me from eating goblin fruit to get to you.”

She gasped in horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would have if they hadn’t stopped me. I was that worried about you.”

“I was going to text you,” she conceded, “but George’s phone died. The magic must have fucked with it.”

“The market runs off of a different magical frequency. That happens.”

But she was still stuck on goblin fruit. Graves wouldn’t be stupid enough to eat the stuff. “Either way, you can’t risk yourself like that.”

His eyes widened. “And you can?”

“But goblin fruit.” She bit her lip. “I wouldn’t have wanted that, either.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

She choked on her words. “Because I don’t want you to die!”

“It’d take a lot more than goblin fruit to fell me,” he said, brushing a finger against her bottom lip.

“I accept that you’re independent, that you can handle yourself, that you’re bloody reckless,” he said, his British accent thickening as his emotions bubbled to the surface.

“But you can’t do this all alone anymore, Wren.

At some point, you are going to have to let others help you.

You’re going to have to let me help you. ”

Kierse didn’t have some witty comeback this time.

He was right. She had been running on adrenaline, and going into the market alone was, frankly, stupid.

It had seemed like the best choice at the time, but seeing it now through Graves’s eyes made her reconsider.

He’d feared for her life. He’d almost put himself in mortal danger for her.

She’d had her guard up for so long. Graves had hurt her and betrayed her trust. But he’d more than proved himself to her—he’d had her back in the market, he’d involved her in all the planning for the auction, he’d given pieces of himself that he never would have before.

And tonight, when she’d recklessly walked into the market alone, he’d believed in her even through his fear.

She felt something break in her chest. Ice shattering from around her heart. She couldn’t hold onto it all anymore—the anger, the fear, the hurt. She didn’t want to have to hold it all anymore, alone.

So she would give it to him.

“Okay,” she said. He must have seen the resolve in her eyes. “Okay.”

Then his lips were on hers, slanting against her mouth and claiming her in one smooth motion.

She leaned against him, into him, feeling his warmth radiate through her like a life force.

The heat of the summer pressed all around them as the sun rose on the horizon in a shock of liminal dawn golds and saffron.

She sighed into him, running her hands up the front of his faerie king costume, which looked macabre in the early morning light.

His hands fisted into her new green robe, those strong arms crushing her against him.

She swung her leg across his lap, straddling his firm body, and continued to kiss him as if her life depended on it. Perhaps it did.

Tonight had gone to shit. It was hard to believe they’d begun the evening doing something very similar. Now she was trembling against him from hunger, exhaustion, and the hard comedown from adrenaline. Not to mention she’d been shot and now had stitches in her arm.

It had been a long night.

She wanted to shred his faerie costume and her cult uniform in the back of the limo in the heart of the Village. Oh, how she wanted it. Except she felt the small tremor in his hand. He was not feeling as well as he was pretending to be, and neither was she.

Slowly, she pulled back, pressing one last faint kiss on his lips.

Their breaths mingled as she stared down at him from her spot on his lap. The desire was plain on his face, but it was mingled with fear and fatigue.

“We should get you home. I think some reading will do you good,” she told him, dragging her thumb across her bottom lip.

He caught her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Are you babying me?”

“Perhaps you need to be babied,” she said as he nipped at the pad of her thumb.

“I’ve lived a long time,” he said with a slow, deadly smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“You ingested a lot of wish powder. The antidote only helps so much. You still feel like shit.”

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated, going for another kiss. “I’m more worried about you.”

“A little shaken up,” she admitted.

“What happened in there? And what exactly are you wearing?” He tutted, fingering the little tree emblem. “I don’t like you wearing oaks.”

She laughed softly. “Well, you don’t have a holly clothing line, do you?”

“I’ll put it on the list.”

“See that you do.” She chuckled. The levity helped. “They’re clothes from a tree cult.”

Graves’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah. Decided to join, in all my spare time.”

“Wren.” He twirled his finger around a lock of her hair.

“I think I know who the curator is,” she said shakily.

He froze. “Did you meet him?”

“No, but the tree on this robe and the cult I just escaped—it was called Sansara.”

Graves’s eyes widened. “But Sansara was destroyed.”

“So we were led to believe.”

“And you think it’s…”

“Cillian Ryan.”