man.”
“And what about Cora?”
“I…I don’t know. I’d like to think she was strong enough not to be corrupted by Simon.” She shook her head. “But I don’t think she was strong enough not to be corrupted by the Faire.”
“Exactly.” He sat down at his table, the chair creaking. He picked up one of the small gold statues he kept by the salt and pepper. They had been gifts given to him by…he couldn’t remember who.
He remembered loving the gifts. He remembered how happy they made him. That he treasured the little gold statuettes and wanted to keep them nearby and visible. Still they made him smile. But he couldn’t remember why.
That was why the creature needed to be stopped. Not because he couldn’t remember the moment he had been given the statues, but because that was what it did to people. Harrow Faire robbed people of themselves. Little bit by little bit, it chipped away at them. It would be one thing if it fed on blood. It would be another thing if it fed on years—taking life away.
But to rob someone of the only thing that truly mattered?
Feeding on what made a person themselves?
It horrified him, even now. Even after over two hundred years of living with that reality, it made cold run down his spine. Harrow Faire ate people. In the worst possible way.
And so…sacrifices had to be made.
Even if it hurt his heart.
What was left of it. What the Faire hadn’t taken. He ran his thumb over the little gold statue and wished—deeply wished—he could remember who had given it to him. But it was just out of reach.
Amanda slid a plate of the crepes in front of him, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Cheer up. It’ll all be over soon, and we’ll have finally won our war against this monster.”
He smiled faintly. “War is never something to celebrate. Even if you’re the victor, it always comes at a price.”
“But it’s all over now. The Faire played its hand, and you won.” She stood behind him, draping her arms over his shoulders, resting her head against his. “Now, buck up and dig in, my big Turkish mountain. Before they get cold.” She kissed his cheek again.
Turk chuckled. He turned his head and kissed her. “I love you, Amanda.”
“And I you.” She kissed him back. “And I always will. No matter what.”
He had no doubt she meant it. But he hoped her words of victory were as true as her words of love.
Something told him the war had not yet been won.
Something told him it had only just begun.
Cora wasn’t sure how long had passed before she could finally stop crying. She stayed on her knees on the metal grating, weeping, her head in her hands, for what might have been hours.
Simon’s shadow…every time she remembered his stupid, grinning face, or his wild overexuberance, she teared up again. She wanted to reach out and hold him. She wanted to kiss him and tell him how much she loved him. She wanted to hear his words of love in return.
But she never would again. He had sacrificed himself for her.
The only part of Simon that could love her…that wanted to love her…was gone. She sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She was covered in blood. It was sticky and gross. And it was the least of her problems.
Simon.
That was the thought that finally pushed her to her feet. It was easier said than done. She staggered up the stairs and took her time. Because they were inverted, the railing was beneath her. She pressed her hand against the wall, walking close to it. The idea of falling back onto that statue made her sick to her stomach. She focused on each step in front of her until she was at the landing at ground level. She barely stopped to breathe as she raced up the stairs, now two at a time, until she could see him.
Her heart broke again.
He was hanging limp, his arms lashed to his waist. His eyes were open, but unseeing. He was dead—for now. She knew he was trapped in the same cycle she had been. She put her hand to her mouth and tried not to cry again. She had to get him down, but he was too far out of her reach. She ran up the rest of the steps, hoping she might be able to shimmy out onto a beam and untie him. But she was greeted by a