The Faire (Harrow Faire #5) - Kathryn Ann Kingsley Page 0,34

onto the walls around him. Wood walls. He was still in the observation tower.

He was lying on the stairs, looking up at a very bloodstained, very tired-looking Cora.

This was not a dream at all.

He sat up. He tried to, at any rate. He grunted and fell back into her lap. His body was still healing. Reaching up a shaking hand, he tried to touch her face. He only made it halfway before she had to help him. She cupped his palm to her cheek, shutting her eyes and nuzzling into his fingers. The warmth of her skin brought him a measure of instant peace. Her face was damp. Not with blood, but with tears.

“Are you all right?” He furrowed his brow. She was so very bloody. Goodness, he felt dizzy. He tried to sit up again, but the world pitched and reeled around him, and he fell back. “Oh, my. I think I’m concussed.”

“Um. Yeah. You probably are.” She chuckled, smiling down at him sheepishly. “I kinda dropped you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“You dropped me?” He narrowed an eye at her. “How…exactly did you manage to get me free in the first place?” He tried to sit up again, the room spun dangerously around him, and he collapsed back into her lap. He decided that after three attempts, it was probably best to stay still. At least his pillow was comfortable. “Darling, you couldn’t lift me, let alone drop me.”

“Well…yeah. Sure. Um.” She chewed her lip. It was an adorable thing she did when she was nervous or frightened. He always wanted to kiss her and nibble on it for her. But his concussion kept him where he was. “It’s a…it’s a long story.”

“I appear to be going nowhere in any kind of rush. And however it is that you managed to get us both free, I’m grateful, but we’re still trapped in this damnable tower. How did you get yourself free of that statue?”

“I don’t think we’re trapped here. That’s the thing.” She sighed. Grief crossed her face, and she looked as though she might begin to cry again. “And I didn’t climb off that statue myself. You saved me.”

He ached with her emotional pain. He scratched at his chest, cringing. He did hate it when she was in agony. It gave him heartburn. He didn’t regret Sponsoring Cora—as unwilling as he had been when it happened—but he still despised sharing her anguish. It was a distressingly common emotion for her.

Someday, perhaps, she’ll go a day without suffering some kind of existential terror. Something tells me today is not going to be that day.

Then her words hit him. He hated having concussions. They always turned his thoughts into birds. Easily distracted and prone to flying off.

I wonder if there are pigeons in here. I’ve never seen any. That’s strange.

Focus!

He blinked. “I saved you? Cupcake, I was suspended by my ankles. How did I manage that?” And then he remembered the vision. “Oh.”

Looking to the wall, he expected to see what he always did. A shadow cast against the wood by no discernable source. One with jagged, swirling eyes and a demented, fiendish grin.

There was no smile to be seen.

No disembodied claw waving at him.

No irritating, lovesick expression being directed at Cora.

And more importantly, there was no voice in his head, scolding him for being such a monster.

There was only silence.

He picked up his hand and held it in the sunlight and watched in fascination as he saw…a normal shadow cast on the wall beside him. He wiggled his fingers. The shadow obeyed. Like every shadow should. Normal. Natural.

His heart cinched unexpectedly.

“He’s gone,” she whispered. “He…he burned himself out, pulling me off the metal. I think the Faire gave him just enough of a boost to do it. After saving me from that torture…he disappeared.”

Simon laughed.

When Cora looked at him in horror and disgust, he laughed harder. What was he to do? It was funny.

“Stop it.” She slapped his shoulder. “Stop—stop laughing.” Her voice cracked. Tears streaked down her cheeks, cutting through the stains of blood. The poor girl was distraught.

“Oh, Cora dear…” He reached up and stroked her tears away. His hand still shook and felt oddly detached from his body, but he was healing. It would just take him a little while. “I’m not laughing because he’s gone. That’s not what’s amusing. I know how much you cared for that part of me.”

“Then why?”

“Because all this time…for a hundred and thirty-five years, I thought I needed