If anyone had asked me whether the hope chests were real, I would have laughed. But at that moment, with the weight of the wood solid against my fingers and the burning spreading through me, I believed, and I understood why Evening chose to protect the key before she protected herself. There’s not a pureblood in Faerie who wouldn’t die to keep a hope chest safe.

My hands pulled the box to my chest without consulting my brain, thumbs caressing the lid. For the first time since I woke up, Evening’s death was the furthest thing from my mind. There was nothing in the world but the hope chest and me. I almost thought I heard it whispering to me, offering the world if I’d lift the lid and see what the stories didn’t tell us. I could play Pandora, if I wanted to. I could remake the world.

Pandora was an idiot. I dropped the box, shuddering from cold as much as from temptation; as soon as the hope chest left my fingers, the burning died. Whatever it was selling, I wasn’t in the market. I had enough to deal with without being pushed around by magical items that shouldn’t exist.

There were plastic trash bags in the office kitchen. I grabbed one, wrapping it around my hands before I picked the hope chest up again, and then wrapped the rest of the bag around the box. It didn’t help. I could still feel it. I hadn’t seen anything that powerful since I left the Summerlands—maybe not even then—and honestly, I’d never wanted to. Magic that strong never causes anything but trouble. I wanted it away from me as quickly as possible.

Tucking the bag under my arm, I made my way back to the elevator. Time was running short, and there was maybe half an hour left before dawn. I felt horribly conspicuous, like someone was going to jump out of the shadows and accuse me of theft at any second. No one did. I made it back to my car and climbed inside, putting the black plastic bundle of trash bag and hope chest down in the foot well on the passenger’s side. It looked so small, wrapped up and set aside like that. It certainly didn’t look like anything worth killing for. Unfortunately, somebody thought it was, and that meant I needed to hide it, and fast.

But where? It had to be someplace no one would look. My apartment was at the top of the list of places they would look first. Home and the Queen’s Court weren’t far below it. I hadn’t exactly been subtle. And even finding a hiding place wouldn’t be enough; nothing’s really safe unless there’s someone there to guard it. One way or another, I was going to have to trust somebody, and when it comes to finding someone you can trust with something no one can know exists, you always turn to the ones you hate.

TEN

“TYBALT? TYBALT, IT’S TOBY. Are you here?” I stepped cautiously into the alleyway, holding my skirt away from the ground with one hand. The plastic-swaddled hope chest was under my other arm. It felt more visible than it was, and I kept glancing behind me, waiting for someone to lunge out of the darkness and attack me. Thus far, no one had. I didn’t trust my luck to hold. “Come on, Tybalt. We don’t have much time. The sun’s coming up, and I’m supposed to work tonight.”

Oberon only knew what I was going to do about that. My nerves were shot. I’d spent most of the drive to the alley where I’d seen Tybalt most recently trying to pretend that what I had riding in my passenger seat was no big deal. It had worked about as well as the time when I was nine and tried to convince myself I could walk through walls. At least this was leaving fewer external bruises.

Maybe more important, I couldn’t lie to myself about the hope chest. My fingers were still tingling from having held it, and my headache was gone. Wherever it came from, it was the real deal. That made it vital that I get it out of changeling hands. Tybalt isn’t the nicest person I’ve ever met, or even the nicest Cait Sidhe, but he’s a pureblood. He wouldn’t have a changeling’s longing for the hope chest—and no matter how much of a bastard he is or how little he likes me, he keeps his promises. Honesty’s not a virtue among the fae, but when a pureblood makes a promise, he keeps it. All I had to do was make him swear.

Not that it was going to matter if I couldn’t find him. “Why are you always here when I don’t want you?” I muttered, moving toward the back of the alley. He’d been haunting me for most of my adult life. I was never sure whether he hated me because I was a changeling or because of something more personal, and I didn’t care. Hate was hate, and ours was mutual.

Dawn was close, but the sky was still dark, and the fog was thick enough to reduce my range of vision to practically nothing. I’d tried waving the key around in the hopes that it would do its firefly impression again, but it just hung there like so much ornately carved metal. Getting the flashlight out of my trunk was out of the question—I wanted to attract Tybalt, not blind him. That meant standing alone, effectively blind, in a place he’d claimed as his own, when no one knew where I was or how to find me.

Ever have one of those epiphanies that just screams you’re a complete moron? I’d been having one since I got out of the car.

I stood there until my toes were numb and I was shivering so hard that I was running the risk of dropping the hope chest. The sky was starting to get lighter overhead. I had time to make it home, but barely. “Fine, Tybalt,” I said. “You win.” I turned to go.

He was standing behind me.

I squawked in surprise, barely managing to stop myself before I walked straight into his chest. He crossed his arms, one corner of his mouth slanting upward in a smile.

“Really?” he said. “What’s my prize? And why, my dear October, are you gowned so fetchingly? You don’t need to make yourself beautiful for me, you know; you’ll never win my heart. Although you’re welcome to keep trying, if you insist. Next time? Try wearing a corset.”

He kept smiling as I fought to get my breath back, and grinned when I snapped, “Oberon’s fucking balls, Tybalt, give me some warning next time!”

“Why? It’s more fun this way.”

I blinked, the urge to slap the smile off his face fading. He wouldn’t be teasing me if he wasn’t interested in what I was doing there, and as long as he stayed interested, he’d listen. Cats are like that. “Well, hello to you, too. Took you long enough to get here.”

“I was busy.” He frowned, mood turning on a dime. “What are you doing here? The sun’s about to be up, you know. I didn’t think we were going to be making this a habit.”