Page 79 of Fallen Court

God, I missed when life felt normal.

“Why can’t you?” She blinked. “The harvest season draws to a close in a few days, and the veil will thin on All Hallow’s Eve to allow spirits to visit us for Samhain.”

Yeah, normal life had exited the building.

“Do you mean Halloween?”

She grinned. “Sure. I guess that is what someone who was raised human would call it.”

“So, I can talk to dead people that day?” I asked slowly.

“With help.” She pointed at herself. Rising, she shrugged as she collected my teacup. “Just think about it, Cate. Come around midnight on the first, and let’s see if Gran wants to chat.”

I stared at her. “Alone?”

“Your dark guy can come along.” She leaned closer. “It might take some convincing, but he has dead of his own who might want a word.”

I couldn’t wait to pitch that idea to Lach. “I’ll think about it.”

She started toward the back, pausing at the beaded curtain’s threshold. “Look, the truth sucks, but you can’t avoid it. Trust me, it’s better to face answers on your terms than have them meet you on theirs.”

I managed a nod, and she disappeared into the back.

Crisp air soothed me as I left the shop, my mind churning from the strange afternoon. Everything about the witch, from her satin pajamas to her blunt insights, had been unexpected. I replayed everything as I drove the few blocks to Waverly. It wasn’t until I turned onto it that I recalled something strange that Willow had said.

I guess that is what someone who was raised human would call it.

Her choice of words plagued me as I parked in front of the hotel, the questions it provoked chasing me up the Avalon’s steps. But there was one that kept circling back.

What the hell did she mean by that?

I was afraid I already knew the answer.

Chapter Nineteen

Cate

My old life fit into three boxes, and one of them was half empty. My clothes had already been put away in the closet, lost among the new and better ones that had magically appeared. I suspected I had Ciara to thank for that. The rest of my past comprised a dozen or so books, some old scrubs, half-used toiletries, and old photos—a few of me and Gran and Channing but mostly just magazine clippings. I gave up on digging through it, not sure what I was looking for but sure I wouldn’t find it.

There was nothing to find.

Faced with insurmountable obstacles and overwhelming emotional turmoil, I did what any sane woman would do: I started a bath. The Jacuzzi off Lach’s bedroom was larger than mine, although not as spectacular as the ones in the suites in the Otherworld with their magical taps. But the water heated to the searing temperature necessary to melt away this day, and its relatively normal features were a small price to pay for keeping my boyfriend alive.

I dug around the bar cart in the living room while the water ran, finally unearthing a dusty bottle of ambrosia shoved between the obviously more loved harder liquor. Grabbing a glass, I returned to the tub, peeling off my clothes and climbing into the water. The heat seeped into my skin, but the tension between my shoulders refused to loosen. I opened and poured the ambrosia, placing the bottle on the floor—but well within reach in case more was needed. It felt like years had passed since I’d returned to New Orleans.

How had I only been dealing with this shit for a couple of days?

I sipped slowly, the honeyed warmth of the fairy drink spreading its magic into my blood rapidly, but the heavy feeling persisted. Apparently, this was a problem that even wine and a hot bath couldn’t fix.

I finished my first glass, set it on the edge of the tub, and sank under the water, trying to wash away my questions and doubts, but they followed me. Pushing out of the water, I leaned to grab the bottle as a shadow fell over me.

Lach winced at my ear-splitting scream.

“Holy fuck!” I clutched my chest before my heart escaped through it. “Knock!”

“I did, and it’s my bathroom.” He rubbed his pointed ears. “Relaxing?”

“I was trying to. This tub isn’t quite as nice as the one in my old place.” I waved the empty wineglass at him, frowning.