City of Spells (Into the Crooked Place #2) - Alexandra Christo Page 0,47

Wesley couldn’t help but smile.

This forest, evergreen and aglow in ancient magic, felt happy to see him. It welcomed him like an old friend.

This way, it whispered excitedly. Quickly, come this way.

The leaves of the trees, veined silver like Wesley’s staves, rustled to his left, and Wesley followed them like they were a compass. He wasn’t sure where they were leading him or why, but he didn’t care. He knew somehow, somewhere deep down, that it was taking him where he needed to go.

The clearing was sparse and at first Wesley thought that he was alone, but after a few short moments, four figures emerged from the distance.

One was Saxony, talking animatedly to an older woman on her right. The woman sighed, the man next to her shrugged, and then the three of them stopped walking altogether and formed a makeshift circle. They looked like they were arguing about something, but Wesley didn’t care enough to try to listen. His focus was pulled toward the fourth person. The girl who had broken away from them and was twirling her knives absentmindedly on a nearby log.

Tavia.

Many Gods, she was right in front of him.

Finally.

Her hair was a little longer now and still a fierce black that swung by her chin. She was dressed in gray, of course, with her sleeves rolled up to perfectly showcase the daggers of her new tattoo. A stave, of sorts. The tattoo of an ally.

Tavia looked older, in the way wisdom and death often shaped a person to be, but at the same time she looked so brand new. The fierceness in her eyes had grown stronger since he’d last seen her, molding her into someone who felt unfamiliar.

She looked over to Saxony with a sigh and then turned to stare into the clearing.

Her eyes fixed onto Wesley’s.

Her face paled.

She stood, quick as a cat, lips parted ever so slightly.

She had never looked at him this way, like he had made the day grow brighter, instead of raising the shadows.

Tavia squinted at him, trying to make sense of him being there. Wesley was trying to make sense of her, too. Tavia’s eyes were the color of rain clouds and her lips were a thin line that held a perfect cupid’s bow when she said his name.

“Wesley.”

Her voice carried over to him like a memory.

Tavia was so pretty and Wesley was a little mad at himself for forgetting just how much.

What a mess every hallucination seemed now.

Zekia hadn’t even gotten her glare half-right.

“Wesley,” she said again, this time louder.

Saxony and the other two people whipped their heads around to face him.

Wesley swallowed. Scrunched his eyes closed in a quick blink.

Things were so bright here and the sun seemed foreign to him after so long in a series of dark rooms.

“Many Gods,” Saxony said.

And then Tavia was running toward him, faster than he knew she could be, and her arms were swinging around his neck and clutching on to him as if for life.

Then Wesley was somehow hugging her back, even though he wasn’t sure he had told his arms to move. He didn’t know they could, he was so tired even blinking hurt, but still his body folded into Tavia’s like it was instinct and when he breathed in, he inhaled the scent of her.

By the Many Gods, he had missed that scent.

“Tell me you’re not actually here,” Tavia said. “Because if this is real, then hugging you is actually quite embarrassing.”

“I’m here,” Wesley said.

They felt like the first words he had spoken since he’d jumped from that window. Tavia pulled away from him and ducked her head sheepishly.

“I was worried about you,” she said.

“Why? It’s not like I was kidnapped by a mass murderer.”

Tavia’s eyes met his. She glared and then she punched him in the shoulder. “You bastard,” she said.

Wesley wasn’t sure it was possible to miss someone as much as he had missed her.

“Did you win the war without me?” he asked. “Am I too late for the victory dance?”

Tavia looked like she was going to punch him again, but instead she laughed, which Wesley found equally as intimidating.

“Who are your new friends?” he asked, gesturing toward the man and woman who were standing on guard beside Saxony.

The wary way Saxony stared at him, scanning his hands for knives and his eyes for secrets, made Wesley want to smile.

Just like old times.

“Does that glare mean you missed me?” he asked her.

Saxony looked inclined to relax, but she kept her body rigid as if she