Neither one of my grandparents had magical brands on their hands or supernatural power in their veins, and yet they’d found true love. Perhaps I shouldn’t discard the companionship of human men. Perhaps I should travel to Earth when we returned to Neverra and try harder to meet someone. Someone as good and kind as Pappy.
I replaced the picture on the little hook. “I wish I’d known my grandmother.”
“I wish I’d known mine, too.”
Even though Stella Sakar’s fate wasn’t my fault, guilt momentarily nipped at my conscience.
“Who knew we had anything in common, huh, Trifecta?” The tangible blame, coupled with the hateful nickname, eased my conscience.
I took my gun back and walked out, rewarding his malicious baiting with glacial silence.
“I was just stating a fact.” He could choke on his facts.
“I think the inn has a basement. Good thing you still have that nifty pen,” I called out before shutting myself inside the first bedroom.
I leaned against the door, half expecting him to grumble something about my family being a bunch of murderers before stomping down the stairs and out the inn.
Oh, Skies, what if he returned to the train and left me alone in this world?
I rushed to the window, but it gave onto a side alley, not the front door. I squeezed the gun, vanquishing its solid shape.
I didn’t need Remo. I had dust and running water. And pie.
I’d survive just fine on my own.
17
The Bathrobe
I drew myself a bath, kicked off my boots, then sank into it fully clothed. Dried blood and mud darkened the water, but I didn’t drain it. I soaked inside without moving until the water became unpleasantly cold, then I sat up and scrubbed my suit with a handful of soap, before peeling it off my bruised body, being extra careful with my tender arm. How I missed the digital application and removal of clothing. So much simpler than getting dressed and undressed.
Casting a longing glance at my Infinity, wishing it would reactivate, I slung my suit over the shower rail. Droplets beaded out of the black fabric, plinking into the muddy bath. Even though I worried about draining the pipes, my long hair didn’t feel clean yet, and neither did my body, so I turned on the shower head and lathered myself from top to bottom a second time.
My skin didn’t morph into tiny copper scales here; didn’t even glimmer like it did on Earth. How very strange . . .
What sort of dark magic blocked out fae powers? And could this magic be wielded in Neverra? I hoped that was impossible, because it would destroy our world.
When my black hair slid through my fingers like silk, I turned the tap off and stepped onto the cold tiles. For some reason, probably because the inn’s amenities had made me forget where I was, I expected the water to steam off my skin and hair. Instead, a chill skittered over my fire-less body, and I shivered. I searched the bathroom for a towel, but all the racks were bare. Damn. I opened the door and tracked wet footprints over the white tiles and then over the navy runner.
Just as I remembered I could fashion a towel from my wita, I spotted a bathrobe laid out on my bed. Bingo. It hit me that the spun-cotton garment hadn’t been there before, which meant someone had come inside the room while I was in the tub. Even though I sort of hoped it was the pie-baking person, I imagined it was Remo. I imagined the fluffy robe was his version of an olive branch, and my heart softened a little.
I tied the robe around my body, then worked on unsnarling my hair with a wita-made comb. Once that was accomplished, I banished my dust back into its tracks and headed toward the door to find the mercurial fae.
“Remo?” I called out.
The bedroom doors were all ajar except the one across from mine. I crossed the hallway and knocked. No answer came. I stuck my ear against the wood to make out any sounds. When I didn’t hear anything, not the creak of a floorboard or the groan of a mattress spring, my pulse ratcheted up.
What if he’d left the inn after dropping off the robe? Or what if he hadn’t dropped it off and it was the pie person?
Instead of knocking a second time, I twisted the doorknob and barged in. There, lounging atop the bed, one arm slung