Page 46 of The Unseelie Court

“Your…penchant for tearing items through the veil of dimensions, my little butterfly, is going to cause a great deal of unpredictable issues for us both, I fear.” He poured himself a double and downed it in one go, before refilling his glass. “I therefore am going to recommend that you only use the grimoire or magic at all if you deem it absolutely necessary.”

Oh, goodie. That was all she needed. To be trapped in a magical world that was trying to torture her in fun, new, and exciting ways—and to be a colossal disappointment on top of it. “I guess when you fantasize about being whisked off to a fantasy world, you never stop to honestly consider if you’d be any good at it.” She sipped the scotch. God, it burned. Whatever. It was booze. She stared down into her glass, not wanting to look up at the fae. “I guess I’m shitty at it.”

She didn’t hear him approach. Just saw movement as he walked up to her. “Ava.”

She didn’t look up.

He crooked a finger under her chin and turned her head to look at him. She was on the knife’s edge of crying again, and she really was sick of crying at this point.

“You are not a failure. Far from it, in fact.” He rested his palm against her cheek. His touch was warm, and she fought the urge to lean into it. “You stand perhaps the highest chance of success at breaking the seals of any of my attempts thus far.” The slightest smile crossed his features. “I am simply bracing myself for the chaos you are about to rain down upon us all.”

“And apples. And trains.” She smirked. “But mostly chaos.”

“Indeed.” His smile deepened. But like thin ice in the sun, the moment quickly melted. He lowered his hand and headed to a table of papers, gesturing for her to follow. “Now, you will need to find the door that keeps me here. Which is a task easier said than done, as the Web does not often desire to stay in the same configuration for long.”

“Cool, it’s a sentient Web-maze-thing.” She took a sip of the scotch. The burning was getting less obnoxious the more she drank it. She supposed that was how alcohol worked. “Why not.”

“It isnota maze.” The statement felt significant. Heavy. She had no idea why.

“Okay, not a maze. Sorry.” Yikes. She stood next to him and looked down at his collection of papers.

He gestured at one of them—a sketch of what looked like an enormous, Baroque mirror. It was skinnier in the middle than at the top and bottom, almost resembling an hourglass. The silvered backing in its circular center was shattered into three shards. “It is not simply enough to find the door. You must locate the three glass keys, shards, that will allow the door to be unlocked. They are earned through trials that must be completed.”

“Trials.” Squeezing the side of her neck, she winced at the tension there. “This is starting to sound like a bad video game. Tell me there isn’t an escort quest. I hate escort quests.”

Serrik stared at her blankly.

She waved a hand at him. “Never mind. Continue. Trials.”

“The door is sealed in such a way as to ensure the individual who seeks to unlock it must be fully committed to its opening.” The dread and misery in his voice was painted on thick. Whatever these trials were, it was clear he didn’t want her to do it any more than she did. It sounded personal.

“Meaning?”

“You will find out soon enough.”

Yeah. It was personal. She shook her head. “Okay, so, I have to wander around the Web and look for a big broken mirror that looks like this. Then, I get to wander around for keys that I get after I fight three mini-bosses—sorry, complete threetrials.”She did it that time on purpose. “Good thing we’re both immortal, right? I have plenty of time.” She tried to sound a little upbeat about it. It went over like a lead balloon.

“You do not have time. May I remind you that both those from within and from without will be coming to see what opportunities you might bring them.” He sorted through his papers, before finding another one. It was an illustration of two people—one, she recognized, if only because she’d seen him in artwork before. Valroy, the Unseelie King. Beside him, a young woman with a fiery mane of red curly hair. Her skin was tinged green, and a crown of gold sat atop her head. That must be the Seelie Queen Abigail. She had a mild, almost kind expression on her face.

“She looks nice.”

“She isfae.”Disgust leaked through his impassive, stony exterior. “Though she was once human, she has long forsaken her born people. Remember that.”

“She was—whoa. Talk about a ladder climber.” She chuckled. “All right, well, then if I have to speed-run the Web to find the door,howdo you recommend I do that?”

“You will need to solve that problem on your own, I fear.” Serrik folded up the sketch of the mirror, then folded it again, until the parchment was a neat square. He handed it to her. If she wasn’t mistaken, she detected the slightest hint of jealousy in his voice. Or maybe distrust. Or maybe both.

“Can I bring things back with me?” She turned the parchment square over in her hand.

“I suppose we are about to find out. You have managed to rip enough things through realities. I do not see why this wouldprove a challenge.” He glanced over his shoulder back at the room where she had summoned the apple trees. “I really must think of something to do with all those apples…”

She laughed. It wasn’t meant to be funny. He wasn’t cracking a joke. But the direness of the situation, combined with howstupidthe apples were, and his confusion over what to do with a cubic fuckton of them, just set her off.

“What is funny?” He arched an eyebrow at her.

“Nothing. Sorry.” She released a breath, forcing herself to stop laughing. Even though his bemused expression wasn’t helping. It wasn’t helping at all. “Got it. Quest objectives—find spooky mirror door. Ask Book for directions and hope it helps me. Try not to put too many holes in reality or get eaten along the way.”

“You have a fascinating way with words.” It was clear how little he thought of it.

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