For me, the worst thing about getting drunk isn’t the hangover. It’s that I always end up waking at the crack of dawn. Someone once told me it’s because when your body metabolizes the alcohol, it resets your sleep cycles. All I know is that it feels like shit.
This morning was no different. I lay on Shalini’s couch, staring at the blinking LED clock on her cable box. It read 4:58 a.m. Far too early to be awake.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to go back to sleep. When I opened them again, one minute had passed.
I groaned. What did I do last night?
Oh, right. I’d decided that if I got really wasted, I’d forget about Ashley and Andrew. As much as that had seemed like a good idea at the time, I wanted to go back and punch my earlier self in the face.
I pulled out my phone, and my stomach sank as I saw a text from my boss, Bobby:
Ava I’m sorry your off the schedule. We have been gang threads from fans of the faking.
I stared at the text for a minute, trying to figure out what he was trying to say. But Bobby’s texts were always like this because he used dictation and never bothered to correct anything. After a few minutes, I understood. They’d been getting threats from fans of the fae king, and I was fired.
I dropped my head into my hands.
No texts from Andrew. No apology or desperate plea for me to return.
I cringed a bit as I flicked to Andrew’s Instagram profile. To my horror, he’d already deleted all the artfully framed photographs of me, along with the wistful poetic captions. Instead, he’d posted a new photo of Ashley standing in a field of wildflowers in the golden light of the setting sun. Beneath it, he’d written, When someone is so beautiful you forget to breathe…
During the horror of it all yesterday, I hadn’t quite realized how gorgeous she was. Fuck.
My hands shook as I stared at it. When had he even taken this photo? We’d only broken up last night.
I rolled over, hoping to get to sleep by hiding my face in the couch cushions. I knew this sofa pulled out into a bed since I’d stayed here before, but I’d failed to manage it last night. I had pulled a blanket on myself, though.
It worked for a few minutes until my stomach twisted and hit me with a nasty wave of nausea. I wasn’t sure if that was the alcohol or my life falling apart. Likely both.
I sat up, hoping that a more upright position might settle my stomach. As I did, more memories of last night slowly filtered into my brain.
Five pints of Guinness, the margarita pitcher, a karaoke rendition of “I Will Survive,” and I was pretty sure someone had kissed Threesome Steve. And I had the disturbing feeling that someone might have been me.
So many bad decisions.
Still, nothing was as horrifying as the memory of my conversation with King Torin. Had I really said the most powerful fae in the world was nothing more than a pretty, rich douchebag? That he was a fae Chad from Hitched and Stitched?
My stomach churned again, and I rose to stumble to Shalini’s bathroom. I hunched over her clean, white toilet, my mouth watery. When nothing came up, I stood and rinsed my face in the sink. I looked up at myself—the tangled mess of hair, circles under my eyes, my skin strangely pale.
At 5:03 a.m., I wandered back into Shalini’s neatly decorated living room. A box of donuts had been left out on the kitchen island, but the sight of them turned my stomach.
It was clear. Between my throbbing head, twisting stomach, and the horrible memories of last night, I wasn’t about to fall asleep anytime soon.
I crossed to Shalini’s bedroom and peeked in. She slept under her comforter, her dark hair spread out on the pillow. Passed out, sound asleep.
Rubbing my eyes, I tiptoed back into the living room. I couldn’t find the remote for the TV, and my cell phone was now completely dead. I blinked at the sunlight that was already slanting in through the blinds. The hazy mist of memories of last night left me feeling jittery.
Maybe it was time to find a coffee shop, get some fresh air, head home—
Oh, right. I didn’t have a home anymore. I turned, surveying the living room, where everything was in its right place, beautifully decorated in shades of caramel and cream.
Everything except my gym bag, which lay on the floor by the end of the couch. I smiled. Seems Drunk Ava actually made a good decision. Maybe I could sweat out the alcohol. Before I met Andrew, I used to have months at a time of depression that would leave me drained of energy, lying in bed, unwashed and barely eating. I didn’t want to let myself slide down into that darkness again. And whenever the clouds had started to lift, it was always moving around outside—running, eventually—that had brought me back to life.
Picking up the duffle, I returned to the bathroom and changed into my running clothes. Then, as quietly as I could, I stuffed Shalini’s extra set of keys into my pocket and slipped out into the fresh air.
I hurried downstairs, past a row of mailboxes and into a small courtyard. Even in my abysmally hungover state, I had to admit it was an absolutely glorious morning. Not too hot, a pearly pink dawn sky, nearly cloudless. In the grass of the courtyard, a robin hunted for worms. Focus on the positive, Ava. I was alive, and it was a perfect day for a run.
And I wouldn’t let myself fall into a major depression over some dickhead.
It was only when I’d nearly reached the gate to the street that I noticed a white van with CTY-TV emblazoned on its side in blue letters. As I realized what it was, a bright-eyed man with a microphone clutched in his fist jumped in front of me.
It was the reporter I’d seen on TV the night before. Oh, fuck.
“Ms. Jones,” he said briskly. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
I shook my head. “Don’t you need consent or something for this? I do not consent.”
The reporter acted like he hadn’t heard me. “Were you at the Golden Shamrock last night?”
“Maybe?” I tried to slip by him, but he blocked my way. Behind him, a woman had appeared with a large TV camera balanced on her shoulder.
Am I on TV?
“Are you an employee of the Red Stone Cocktail Bar in the South End?”
I felt queasy, and not just because I was hung over. They’d already found out where I worked. What else did they know about me? I pushed past the reporter and tried to run toward the gate, but the camerawoman stepped in front of me.
“Ms. Jones.” The reporter was trying to sound pleasant and genial, even as his colleague boxed me in. “Can you tell us about what you said to the fae king?”
Maybe if it weren’t five a.m., and they hadn’t been trying to corner me, I would have tried to think of a good response. But at that moment, my head was still full of cotton, and I couldn’t come up with a single coherent thing.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I really don’t have time to talk to you right now.”
The camerawoman didn’t budge from the gate, and the reporter stood next to her now. Again, he thrust the microphone in my face. “Is it true you insulted the fae king? With words that we can’t play live on TV?”
“I was actually just about to go for a jog.” In the back of my mind, horror was dawning that Ashley and Andrew would be watching this. A drunken public meltdown, relived in every household in America. I closed my eyes, wishing the earth would swallow me up.
The TV announcer held up his cell phone so I could see the screen. “Is this you?”
Before I could reply, the video began to play. Even though it was low quality, I immediately recognized the interior of the Golden Shamrock.
“It is expected for the fae to bow to their king.” Torin’s velvety voice played through the phone, and without the haze of cheap beer, I felt the heavy weight of his voice settle over me.
I stared at the phone as I hurled insults at him, rambling about Hitched and Stitched. Worse, the angle on me was deeply unflattering. I was disheveled, red-faced, slurring my words. Sweating. In the video, my eyes were half-lidded, my hair already a mess. The red stains on the sweatshirt gleamed under the bar’s warm lights.
“That is you, right?” I heard the reporter, but my fight or flight response had kicked in, and he sounded like he was speaking from a distance.
What was the best way to handle this?
Running away.
Ducking past him, I pushed the camerawoman out of the way and practically dove through the gate of the apartment complex. I spun right. I’d expected to sprint away down the sidewalk, but another TV crew was setting up there.
Oh, crap.
Someone shouted my name, and I spun around again, ready to take off in the opposite direction. Already, the first reporter and camerawoman were blocking my path. In hindsight, I probably should have tried to run back into Shalini’s apartment, but my thoughts were a blur of confusion. I eyed a gap between the end of the CTY-TV van and the car in front of it, trying to rush through.
My first thought had been to cross the street, but as soon as I stepped into the road, a car horn blared. A giant SUV was barreling towards me. In one terrifying second, I realized I was about to get hit.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The black shape of the SUV, the screeching tires, the horrified eyes of the driver. This was it for me.
In a fraction of a heartbeat, my life flashed before my eyes. The dark, early years I couldn’t remember except for a cold sense of fear. Then the face of my mom came into focus—Chloe’s kind smile as she baked me a carrot cake. Fragments of our happiest days together flickered before me: Christmases, birthdays, the time we’d visited Disney World. Her excitement when I finished my bartending course and got hired at one of the best bars in the city…
The memories turned darker.
There’d been the call in the middle of the night—the one everyone dreads. A doctor telling me she’d had a heart attack, that she hadn’t made it.
A sharp crack like a gunshot refocused me.
A glass pillar burst from the concrete, and the SUV slammed into it.
In the next moment, another pillar burst from the pavement beneath the news van. The van lurched sideways, then flipped onto its side. I stared, trying to understand what I was seeing.
No, not glass pillars. Ice. My jaw sagged. This certainly hadn’t been the relaxing jog I’d been anticipating.
What the hell was going on?
A powerful arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me toward the sidewalk.
“Ava, that was awfully foolish.” The smooth, deep tone of King Torin’s voice skimmed over my skin from behind me.
I turned to look up at his ice blue eyes, but he wasn’t moving away from me. His hand was still on my waist, as if I might run into the street again just for kicks. “What are you doing here?”
His lips quirked in a half-smile. “Keeping you from dying, apparently.”
“I was just about to dive out of the way. These reporters were hounding me because apparently, it’s a huge news story if someone is vaguely insulting to you.”
His blue eyes blazed with an icy light. “Vaguely?”
A camera lens glinted in the sun behind him.
“The TV people. They’re behind you.”
“Hmm.” Shadows gathered about him, cold on my skin. Torin was shielding me from the view of the cameras. As the reporter called his name, his shadowy magic thickened like heavy fog, swallowing the light and the heat around us.
The reporter’s voice faltered. “My sincerest apologies…”
King Torin didn’t bother to face him. His eyes were locked on me as he issued a command from over his shoulder. “Destroy the camera.”
Through the dark mist, I watched over Torin’s shoulder as the anchor grabbed the TV camera from his assistant and threw it on the ground. It shattered on the pavement. I winced. That couldn’t have been cheap.
“Can you tell me what’s happening?” I whispered.
“I’m getting rid of any witnesses. Today’s news is already bad enough without video of you trying to throw yourself in front of an SUV.”
King Torin’s eyes still pierced me. Behind him, the camerawoman and reporter were stomping the camera into bits.
“How did you get them to do that?”
He arched an eyebrow. “You don’t know what glamour is?”
“Should I?”
“Yes.”
I jabbed a finger at his chest, which was like pressing a brick wall. “If you people wanted me to know things about the fae, maybe you shouldn’t have exiled me. And by the way, I got fired because of you.”
“Because of me?”
“Your crazed fans were threatening my boss.”
“How is that my fault?” He cocked his head, curiosity glinting in his pale eyes. “We’re getting sidetracked. Do you know anything about magic at all?”
His powerful body exuded a menacing chill, and I took a step back from him, breath clouding around my head. “Nope. Why would I? I don’t even remember Faerie.”
Torin’s features softened almost imperceptibly. “Glamour,” he said quietly, “is a special kind of magic we use to influence humans and a few weak-minded fae. It allows us to help them forget things.”
“Like mind control?”
“Not exactly. More like a powerful suggestion.” He turned to face the TV crew, and the icy miasma around him started to thin. The reporter and camerawoman stood among the shattered remains of the camera, their eyes glazed.
The corner of the king’s mouth curved. “If they truly loved their job, my magic wouldn’t work. They’d want to protect the camera. Instead, the glamour helps ease them past their inhibitions. Encourages them to indulge in their darkest desires. They wanted to destroy it.”
I swallowed hard. “How do I know you’re not glamouring me right now?”
Torin turned the full force of his arctic gaze on me, and curiosity burned in his expression. “Why? Are you thinking about indulging your dark desires?”
Given how he looked, it was no mystery why he might think that. But I didn’t want him any more than I’d wanted the donuts. “No. It’s just that power seems ripe for abuse.”
“You’re certainly primed to think the worst of people, aren’t you?” King Torin’s eyes narrowed. “Trust me when I tell you that any fae who misuses their glamour is dealt with very harshly. It’s what allowed us to remain hidden from the human world for so many years. But we don’t see any reason to cause unnecessary problems with the humans by overusing it.”
The reporter and the camerawoman stared at each other like they’d just met.
“I’m Dave,” said the reporter, smiling faintly.
She blushed. “Barbara.”
King Torin caught my arm, pulling me away from them. “I need to speak to you about marriage.”
“You what? I just rewatched the video of last night. I told you I don’t want any part of your tournament, and you said I’d be disqualified even if I did.”
Torin’s eyes flashed with icy light. “That’s exactly it. I don’t want to get married, either.”
I blinked. “So why are you here?”
“We need to go somewhere more private.”
Even if I hated his arrogance, how could I say no to King Torin? I didn’t get the sense he was going to take no for an answer. And he had just saved me, I supposed.
“Okay. We can use my friend Shalini’s place.”
“Take me there.”
I wanted to say that I wasn’t his subject, and he should stop using that commanding voice with me. But instead, I started guiding him to Shalini’s apartment building. When I turned to look back at the reporters, I saw them making out next to their overturned van. Broken glass glittered around them.
A shiver of fear ran over me. Torin’s magic seemed very dangerous, indeed.
