once again. How much time had passed since—“Kaysar!” She jolted upright, various candles flaming to life.
Heart like an anvil, she surveyed her surroundings. A spacious bedroom straight out of a fairy tale, with marble walls, wispy white curtains that draped a massive bay window with colorful stained glass, and elaborate gold furnishings. Across the way, a crackling hearth blazed with cerulean flames, seeming to burn sapphire bricks. The opulence shocked her.
Remembering the things Kaysar had mentioned, she thought she might be in Micah’s palace. The fortress carved into the mountainside, perhaps?
Once his, now mine. No, not hers. Kaysar’s. She owned the farmhouse filled with her and Pearl Jean’s thrift shop finds and Sugars’s toys, and she wanted it back.
Only last week, she’d lamented her unwillingness to leave the run-down home. The epicenter of her childhood dreams. Today, homesickness churned in her belly. Mostly, she just missed Pearl Jean and Sugars.
What would they think of the new Cookie?
She shied away from the answer, calling, “Kaysar?”
When no response was forthcoming, she crawled from the warmth of the covers. Air kissed miles of bare skin, shocking her. Well. Someone had stripped and bathed her, then left her in her original packaging. Had that someone also provided a note about where he might be and what she should do next? No.
Cookie sighed and rummaged through the bedroom, on the hunt for a piece of clothing. Any piece of clothing. No, not any. She had to be careful now. What she wore affected her moods.
Ugh. The ability she’d first bewailed as a curse, then lauded as a weapon, was currently an inconvenience.
Maybe one day she would make a decision and stick with it—the way she wished people would stick with her.
Atop the dresser she discovered an empty jar. Bemused, she pretended to dump out invisible contents. Something her avatar was forced to do upon occasion. A silly action programmed into the game, whether a reward filled her jar or not.
Focus. What if Kaysar returned to find her naked?
She paused midway to the closet. Yesss. What if he did?
He wanted her. He’d made his desire clear. And she wanted him. Enough to put sex back on the table?
She checked her mental ledger to re-examine his crimes. The man had praised honesty—insisted on it—while purposely misleading her. Worse, he’d punished her for something she hadn’t done, dumping rocks in her bag to exhaust her. He’d also kissed her as if she was oxygen required for his survival and stopped far too soon. Not a terrible offense, but still. Offense!
Had she forgiven him for everything? Maybe? A one-time deal, never to be repeated?
What if he used her as Jareth’s substitute again?
Jareth, who might not be the villain she’d originally considered him to be. The torment he’d sported as he’d confessed his own trials had rung true. Had he suffered abuse, too?
Memories of his mistreatment at her hands sparked guilt and regret. Maybe she should apologize.
And how would Kaysar react to that?
As always, her thoughts swung back to her ruthless companion. The magnet to her metal. In a way, Kaysar reminded her of her bejeweled boots. Beautiful to look at, but extremely uncomfortable and better suited for special occasions. And what was more special than a trip to a magical land?
Before, she’d wondered if she should enjoy him while she had the chance. The question surged once more. Shouldn’t she take this opportunity to explore the rare heat between them? They had a pre-determined expiration date, so she wouldn’t do something foolish and fall for him. She would remain prepared for their inevitable split.
Could she ever return to the mortal world, though? She’d stopped taking her “necessary” drugs and healed supernaturally. She grew vines from her skin. How long before she was captured and studied? And that wasn’t her former paranoia or game-brain talking, either, but cold, hard logic.
But the most important question: What happened when she murdered a mortal who wronged her or her loved ones? What then?
A hefty weight settled atop Cookie’s shoulders. Why let herself get down over this stuff? Hadn’t she yearned for a different life? Well, here it was, hers for the taking. She could make it better or worse, depending on her actions.
What if Pearl Jean and Sugars came here, after all?
Tears burned her eyes, and she rubbed them away with her fists. Homesickness was a real disease, and it sucked. She was only surprised Pearl Jean hadn’t contracted it first.
If Cookie learned to unleash a torrent of vines without elderseed, she could