Seth shook his head. “Can’t. Summer Court revels tonight. Ash… we’re talking, and she wants me with her there.”

“Keenan?”

“Still MIA.” Seth grinned, but just as quickly looked away, as if his happiness was wrong.

“Pity.”

“Do you know where he—”

“Don’t,” the female faery, Chela, interrupted. “It’s not Gabe’s place or mine to tell you things that we learn for our king.”

Seth nodded. “Got it. Good fights today?”

“You’re still broadcasting your next move too much,” the voice, presumably Gabe, said.

“Tomorrow?”

“By the time you’re awake, it’ll be evening. If you do it right, pup”—Gabe stepped into the frame and grinned— “revels aren’t the sort of thing one follows with early mornings.”

The words spoken by the faeries in the frame felt far too precise to be a memory. Moreover, this wasn’t a scene that ended in Seth’s death. This is not good. As Rae watched, she had the sinking suspicion that she’d done something new: she’d somehow given the dreaming faery a glimpse into the mortal world in that very instant. How did I do that?

“Your son isn’t dead?” she asked.

“No. He is in the mortal world.” The faery turned to stare at Rae with unblinking eyes. A clear lens slid over her inhuman pupils, reminding Rae of reptiles she’d seen. Faeries were Other. She’d known that from her first day in their world, but it was rarely made as obvious as it was in that instant.

“Where do you come from?” the faery demanded.

“I am but a dream,” Rae said, as she had to so many other sleeping faeries. Her voice wavered though, making her words sound false. “This is all but a dream.”

“No.”

“Your imagination? Perhaps you’ve seen me in a painting, something you saw in the palace—”

“No.” The faery crossed her arms and stared at Rae. “I know every detail of every painting in my palace. You are new. What you did here was… impossible. I cannot see the threads of those tied to me. I saw him.”

Rae froze.

“My palace”? Threads of seeing? Sorcha.

Rae stood and stepped backward, away from Sorcha and the mirror where Seth was walking down a street that looked nothing like the mortal world Rae remembered. Devlin’s going to be furious… if I live through the next few hours. Words were suddenly far more dangerous than she’d imagined possible. Dreams were her domain. Here, she should be safe; here, she should be omnipotent. Sorcha, however, was omnipotent. Within Faerie, the world remade itself at her whim and will, and Rae wasn’t sure if that extended to dreams.

Or the mortal world.

“Who are you?” Sorcha didn’t rise from the ground. Even without a throne or trappings of power, she was fierce. The sea swelled in towering waves that did not fall. It hovered, threatening to crash yet frozen. The water iced over, capturing the waves in stasis. Sorcha’s dreaming mind was taking control of the images Rae couldn’t hold on to.

Except the mirror. It stayed in front of her, untouched by the shards of ice that were cracking from the waves and falling like rocks at the start of an avalanche.

“A dream. I’m merely the face you’ve called into being for your amusement. Nothing more.” Rae hoped that the expectation of truth from faeries’ lips was enough to buy her time to escape. “If you’d rather I vanish”—Rae turned her back as if to walk away—“it is your dream.”

“Stop.”

Rae paused mid-step. Then, resolute that the safest course of action, the wisest plan, was to keep going, she continued walking.

In a blink, Sorcha appeared directly in front of her. “I said, ‘Stop.’”

“You can’t control dreams, Sorcha,” Rae whispered. “You can’t control anything here.”

“I control everything in Faerie.” Her haughty look reminded Rae so much of Devlin that she wondered how she hadn’t recognized Sorcha immediately.

“We aren’t really in Faerie though. Dreams aren’t your realm.” Rae smiled at Sorcha as gently as she could. “There are mortals, seanchaís, with the ability to twist dreams. But you? You’re just another faery in my land of dreams.”

“You’re not just another faery, though.” Sorcha’s gaze took in every detail of Rae’s appearance. “Who has been hiding you from me?”

“No one,” Rae lied. “I’ve always been here. You’ve simply not interested me before now.”

And then, before the High Queen could learn dangerous secrets, Rae slipped out of the dream and back into Faerie.

Ani was still shaken hours after she left Bananach—a situation only made worse by the fact that someone was following her. Perhaps Bananach let me leave only to find out where I’d go? Ani wasn’t sure. The Barracuda’s windows were tinted so dark that she couldn’t see the driver, but she could tell that her stalker was arrogant. To follow someone in such a sweet ride spoke volumes about the driver’s personality. In a faery, that sort of surety and egotism wouldn’t be surprising, but most faeries didn’t drive. It wasn’t an option with so much steel, and having a custom car made of faery-friendly materials was foolish.

There are a few though.

She tried to think over the rare faeries who’d found beautiful machines appealing enough to have nonsteel machines constructed. It was a small list. Mostly, faeries would ride a beast glamoured to look like a motorcycle or even have a car fashioned out of magic and earthen materials. They wouldn’t be able to create this. The engine growled with barely restrained energy, so much so that it appeared to shiver as it crawled after her.

She turned down the alley. No, not a faery. Odds were that a mortal drove the Barracuda; she could confront a mortal.

It turned in behind her. The typical heavy scent of exhaust was absent as the car eased up on her and paused. It sat—engine idling, body humming—but no one emerged. The windows stayed closed.

“Fine. If you won’t reveal yourself”—she stepped toward the car—“we’ll do it this way.” She was beside the driver’s door. Letting her fears and angers out on someone stupid enough to cross a daughter of the Hunt seemed pretty tempting, but she gave one more warning. “You really shouldn’t try me.”

The car didn’t back up; the driver didn’t get out or turn off the engine.

Ani grabbed the door handle—and froze. The material under her hand wasn’t mere metal. She looked inside the now-transparent windows. Empty. The car in front of her wasn’t faery-made. It was something far rarer, something out of children’s tales that she’d long since stopped believing in.

A riderless steed.

Under her hand the car pulsed, like a purr. It vibrated through her body.

“Mine?” she asked.

Each other’s. The words came unbidden into her mind.

It had a voice that she heard. Unlike when she rode another’s steed, hers was in her mind, a part of her.

Of course, I am. The voice was genderless. I am yours. You will not ride any other now.

“Never again. Just you.” She stroked the long sleek lines of the hood. It was everything a classic should be: power and beauty, strong lines and a great engine.

It shifted under her hand, becoming a black Ducati Monster with chrome-spoked rims.

“Daaamn.” Ani felt it laughing as she all but drooled on motorcycle.

Then it was a horse, a skeletal steed capable of trampling every creature in their path. It lifted and lowered one leg, cracking the already-broken asphalt under a steel-sharp hoof. Like the most perfect Dark Court denizens, it was beautiful in its horror. “You’re gorgeous.”

And lethal, Ani.

“Yeah. That’s what I said. Lethal is gorgeous.” She stroked its neck. After the terror of facing Bananach, there was little that could ease her anxiety. This could. This did.