Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
For Don Malthus a translucent dessert dome that looks like a glass skull made of mist appears. Inside it I see a pale “mousse” that barely exists. When he lifts the “lid” or top of the skull, cold rolls across the table like graveyard fog.
I pick up my fork, trying to pretend this is normal and that I don’t feel the chill of the grave as I take my first bite of the delicious spice cake. It really is amazing and after a minute, I’m mostly able to concentrate on enjoying it. I take a sip of the sweet dessert wine a servant has poured into the dainty crystal goblet in front of me and the pairing with the cake is positively scrumptious.
Just as I’m thinking we might actually make it through to the end of this awkward dinner without something insane happening—because clearly I am naive—the huge double doors of the dining room swing open and Whistler the Realm-Hopper steps through.
He’s exactly as I remember him—with his wild hair and long leather duster. Under one arm, he holds a cat—my cat.
Mr. Mittens is meowing loudly and angrily, his black and white fur puffed up like he’s ready to fight the entire Shadow Realm. His tail lashes, and his green eyes are furious. I don’t need to understand cat language to be sure he’s cussing Whistler out.
“Oh my God!” I gasp, shooting to my feet so fast my chair scrapes on the flagstone floor. “Mr. Mittens!”
Lucian’s head turns sharply toward the cat, his expression unreadable for a moment—then something like satisfaction settles in his eyes.
I barely notice, because I’m already reaching for my furry companion.
Mr. Mittens yowls again, and wiggles free of Whistler. He launches himself into my arms.
“Hi, baby,” I whisper, cuddling him close—not caring that he’s getting cat fur all over my expensive dress. He’s warm and solid and real, and he immediately headbutts my chin like he’s scolding me for leaving or maybe asking, “Where were you? I missed you!”
I laugh and cry at the same time.
“I missed you too—so much!”
He meows, loud and accusing.
“I know,” I murmur into his fur. “I know.”
Then I realize Whistler isn’t alone. Someone has stepped out from behind his voluminous coat, like an appearance at the end of a magic trick.
Whistler’s hand is clamped around the upper arm of this person—who appears to be a woman.
At first glance she looks strange—too thin with features that are too sharp. Her bones seem to poke through her skin, which has an almost pearlescent sheen to it. Her hair is jewel-colored—shifting between emerald and sapphire depending on the light. Her eyes are too bright—the irises glittering like gemstones. Her ears taper into delicate points an inch above her head and her cheekbones are high and elegant in a way that makes her look like she stepped out of a fantasy painting.
After I get over her odd appearance—she must be one of the Fae from the Briar Court, I decide—I immediately see that she’s not happy to be here.
She’s trembling and tears cling to her lashes. In fact, she looks scared to death. Odd-looking or not, my heart goes out to her. This poor woman—why in the world has Whistler brought her here?
Lucian’s posture stiffens as he notices her as well and Don Malthus goes very still, his skull mask angled slightly, like a predator deciding whether it’s interested in a certain kind of prey.
I clutch Mr. Mittens tighter, my heart racing again and look at the strange woman.
“Who’s this?” I ask.
The woman looks at me—truly looks at me—and her face crumples.
“Jules,” she whispers, voice shaking. “Don’t you recognize me?”
My blood turns to ice, because I do recognize that voice. But her face is still wholly unfamiliar. I have a thought—could she be wearing a spell—what did they call it? Oh right—a glamour. Could she be wearing a glamour like the one Whistler put on me when he first brought me over from the Human Realm?
Whistler giggles with glee.
“Every time, I gets ‘em! Nobody can see through Whistler’s wily ways—so they can’t. Never fear,” he says to me. “Let me drop the glamour.”
He snaps his fingers.
And standing right in front of me, looking scared to death, is my good friend from Book Club—Hanna.
37
Jules
For half a second, I can’t move. It was weird enough when I got dragged out of the Human world and brought into the Shadow Realm, but all this time I’ve been kind of thinking in the back of my head that this whole experience is some kind of really vivid dream. I mean, a world divided into kingdoms ruled by paranormal Mafia gangs who all covet curvy women—it’s not exactly realistic, is it?
Only maybe it is because now it’s not just me in the Shadow Realm anymore. Hanna has been dragged into it too and I bet it’s somehow my fault.