shook it. It sloshed. She recognized it, and the initials etched on the surface were A.F. “I finally found a use for Aaron’s vile hobby.”
She wiped her hand over her face. It was damp. “You poured it up my nose.”
“Sniffing it wasn’t working. I went with the more direct method of application.” He smiled helpfully. It flickered and turned into a frown. “Are you upset with me? You’re upset with me. But it worked. You can’t be mad at me if it worked.”
He was so comically upset, she laughed. “No. Just…would you get me a damp washcloth?” She wiped at her face again. “I think I can feel it eating through my flesh.”
“Oh! Yes. Of course.” He shot up from the bed and rushed into the bathroom. She heard the sink run, turn off, and he emerged a second later, wet cloth in hand.
Taking the washcloth from him, she eagerly wiped it over her face. It helped stop the burning, but she didn’t know if she’d ever get the smell of the alcohol out of her nose. “Thanks,” she murmured into the fabric.
The weight of him settled onto the bed next to her again as he wrapped an arm around her to pull her against his chest. He ran his hand through her hair, combing the strands. “Dare I even ask what happened?”
“I’m not sure I know.” She lowered the damp cloth to her lap. She looked at him, and at those black-red-white eyes that had long since stopped startling her. She might even miss them if they were gone.
She wasn’t sure what did it. Whether it was the realization that she preferred his bizarre eyes, or the furrowed look of concern that he wore, or the fact that he had gone to Aaron to fetch moonshine to wake her up. Or maybe it was what Clown—the Faire—had told her in her vision. That this man would have murdered his family, done terrible things, and would have inspired others to do the same. It didn’t matter.
The thought hit her like a ton of bricks anyway.
I’m in love with the Puppeteer.
Well, shit.
“What is it?” He arched a thin black eyebrow. “Do I have something on my face?”
“No.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled herself close to him, shifting to sit in his lap. Otherwise it was hard to reach the tall bastard.
“All right, then.” He chuckled and leaned back against the wall, pulling her legs until she was sitting sideways across his thighs. “I’ll take this to mean ‘thank you for waking me from whatever nether-void the Faire sucked me into.’”
She rested her forehead against the side of his neck. She enjoyed how his chest rumbled when he spoke. She basked in the comfort of his nearness. It felt…good. It felt nice. It felt like home. I really do love him.
Damn it.
Typical me. Falling for a guy who couldn’t love her back. Literally couldn’t. If he did, he might shatter. Great. Awesome. I’m a genius.
“What’s wrong, Cora dear?” He stroked her arm. “What did you see while you were unconscious?”
“I talked to Harrow Faire.”
He went silent for a long time. “Oh.” He watched her, his dark eyes searching hers, as if trying to find something. “So did I, it seems. I asked you to tap into whatever darkness you felt when you drained Clown of his seity, and it came up to say hello. It seems you are now tapped into a very dangerous live wire, Cora. I do not know how to pull you from the tracks. Not yet. I will find a way to free you from this.”
“I don’t think it wants to hurt me.”
“I know. But I don’t like sharing.” He sneered. “And I’m jealous of the power you have.”
“Power? To what…murder people? No. Thank you. I don’t even think I get a say in the matter.” She looked down at her palm. “I think it decides who it wants. I’m just the lightning rod.”
He hummed thoughtfully and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “What else did it say?”
“Turk wasn’t the oldest one here. Clown was. Clown has been part of the Faire since…1675, he said. Or longer. Probably much longer.”
Suddenly, she had the strongest urge to kiss Simon. She wanted him to lay her down and make her forget everything. But she already felt like she was going to pass out again as it was. And this was the beginning of something big. This was important. It wasn’t the time to get distracted by