“She has the Sight.”

“Really?” I stare at the storefront again, trying to see inside. I know the five other humans who are working with the rebels. None of them is named Sara. Could this be one of Atroth’s humans? I only knew a few of them. She could be working for the remnants now or—

“Don’t get any ideas,” Lorn says, eyeing me. “This is another reason I’m not going through Lena. Sara isn’t some stray waiting around to be recruited. She’s mine.”

There’s a warning in his voice. It’s completely unnecessary. If she’s not helping the remnants, I’m not about to pull her into the war. I wish I hadn’t been pulled into it. I want nothing to do with the death and the violence, but I’ve been involved too long to just walk away. I care about too many people now, and I have too many mistakes to account for.

“A Sighted human is working in a wine store?” I ask Lorn. King Atroth wouldn’t have ever allowed this; he’d see it as a waste of her talent.

“Profit, my dear,” he responds, his tone lightening. “Nobles love their luxuries, and your world produces a delicious grape. I’ve tried transporting the vines to my farms, but our soil doesn’t have the depth and personality that yours does.”

I slant him a glance. “You have farms?”

“Vast areas of fertile land suitable for the raising of crops and livestock? Yes. I have several.”

I try picturing Lorn as a farmer and fail.

“What do you grow?” I ask.

“Cows.”

“Cows?”

“All quite illegal, in fact.”

“You have illegal cows?”

“I do,” he says with a pleased smile. “And the Realm hasn’t imploded yet.”

Obviously, Lorn isn’t concerned with damaging the Realm’s magic. It’s mostly the high nobles and extremely conservative fae who want to keep human goods and culture out of their world. King Atroth appeased them, ordering his people to arrest merchants who were caught with human goods or with anchor-stones that were imprinted with Earth-based locations. The only exception, of course, was for his own swordsmen who had to escort Sighted humans through the In-Between. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised Lorn didn’t follow the rules.

“Maybe Lena will lift the ban on nontech human goods,” I say.

“I should hope not.” Lorn gives me a look of exaggerated horror. “Wine and cows won’t be worth half as much if she does.”

Sometimes, I think Lorn is a halfway-decent fae being. Other times, I think he’s exactly as selfish as he seems.

Lorn taps a finger on the sketchbook I have tucked under my arm. “Make sure your map of Aylen’s shadows is accurate. I’ll fissure inside as soon as she leaves.”

“I want Paige’s location first.”

“I’m sure you do,” he says. “But that’s not the way I work. I’ll give you her location after you read the shadows.”

I cross my arms. “I don’t even know if you really have her location.”

“So little trust,” he says, tsking. “I always keep my word.”

I let out a sigh. He better know where she is. “How long until the fae shows up?”

“No idea. Could be in ten minutes. Could be in a few hours.”

“And I’m just supposed to hang around until then?”

“Yes.”

I roll my eyes. “What am I supposed to say when Sara asks why I’m there?”

Lorn smiles. “You’ll figure something out.”

NINE

A BELL ABOVE the door chimes when I walk in. Sara is younger than I am, early twenties probably, and wearing black slacks and a burgundy top with ruffled sleeves. She has a creamy, dark complexion—African-American and maybe a hint of something else? Bottles of red wine are in neat rows on the shelf in front of her, but she straightens them anyway, making sure each label faces out, before she turns to me.

“Can I help you with…something?” Her tone changes drastically after she takes in my T-shirt and ripped jeans, and about that same time, I realize this isn’t some little Podunk wine store.

I swear there’s not one trace of dust on the bottles, and each display has been set up with meticulous care. There’s a lot of floor space, and more than one bottle has a small table to itself in the middle of the floor. Those bottles might as well have spotlights on them. They’re displayed in small wooden boxes and cradled in a bed of black shredded paper. I don’t see a price tag anywhere in the store. That’s a flashing sign that says I can’t afford this stuff.

So, what am I supposed to say to her? I look around the store, searching for an idea.

“I got in a fight with my boyfriend,” I say. It’s the only thing I can think of to explain my ripped jeans and the dried blood on my knee. “Do you mind if I hang out here for a while? Just to be sure he’s gone?”

She folds her arms, cocks her hip. “I assume he’s your ex-boyfriend?”

“Soon to be, yeah. Definitely.”

Her posture becomes much more casual. “Then, honey, you can stay here as long as you want.”

“Thanks.” I pretend to stare out the window, looking for the asshole who skinned my knee. After a couple of minutes pass, I see Sara’s reflection approaching behind me.

“Here,” she says, handing me a glass of red wine. “You look like you need to relax.”

That’s an understatement.

She looks out the window. “Is he out there?”

I take a sip of the wine. “I think I saw his truck a second ago.”

“Should I call the cops?”

“No.” I cough. “No. That’s okay. I’m sure he’ll go away soon.” Before she asks more about my imaginary ex-boyfriend, I ask, “Do you own this place?”

She takes a sip of her wine, then shakes her head. “Not yet.”

The bell above the door jingles, and a man walks in. Sara gives me an inquiring look, and I shake my head no. That’s not the ex.

She helps him pick out the perfect wine for his anniversary. Another customer comes in after him, and she helps him, too. While she’s working, I nurse my wine. Half an hour passes. I think Sara is getting annoyed, but just when I think she’s about to kick me out, my skin prickles.

Sara definitely has the Sight. She tenses when the fissure cuts through the air. The woman who emerges is about my height, which is short for a fae. She’s not wearing jaedric, just a turquoise tunic over fitted black pants. The pants are tucked inside a pair of black boots that are embroidered with a pattern of gold half circles and diamonds. The design matches the scabbard holding her sword at her left hip. I’m surprised to see the name-cord in her hair. I wish I knew what kind of stones they were. If I did, I might be able to place where she’s from, but I don’t think I’ve seen these before. They’re two different shades of red with smaller black stones that might be onyx between them.

The fingers of my right hand start to tingle. I want to sketch the shadows, but they always tell me a fae’s exit point, not where they’ve come from, and since I already know where we are, there’s no need to draw out their curves and angles. Plus, I don’t want to get caught staring at something I’m not supposed to be able to see. I down the rest of the wine to distract myself and try not to make a face when it tickles my nose.