Page 126 of The Toymaker's Son

Adair’s gaze slid to me. He thought he loved me, but it wasn’t love. The love I felt for Val was more real than anything in this realm and the thousands of versions of it.

“You don’t know love,” Val said, echoing my thoughts. “This is not love. You do not cage a bird you love. You set it free.” He took the mechanical bird from his pocket and as he raised his hand, the rusted trinket hopped to the end of his finger, very much alive. I hadn’t done that, and by the widening of Adair’s eyes, neither had he.

Valentine had brought the bird to life.

Either Adair was losing his grip on this world, or Val was learning to take control. Whatever the source, Adair no longer seemed so confident. What else might Val do? So unpredictable, mortals. So reckless.

Was that fear on Adair’s face?

I smiled and reached out with my own senses, finding the invisible cogs and wheels of this world.

“You only know greed,” Val went on. “Like a child in a toy store, you want everything, but nobody has told youno. So I’m telling you. You helped make him, but Devere is not yours. You do not own him. He is not a possession, and you have no right to control him or any of this. You are a shallow parasite feeding on the dreams of others. You arenothingcompared to Devere, and I think you know it, which is why you stand in his way.”

Every accusation landed like a slap to Adair’s face, but the more he focused on Val, the looser his hold over this realm became. I could sense its thin foundations. The illusion was weak and liable to shatter. All it needed was a push.

I mentally pulled on the loose cogs, triggering another game in motion, and waited. It would all be over soon, one way or another.

Val stopped in front of Adair, so brave against the might of the dreamweaver, and I remembered the boy I knew to be beaten, the boy who saw the world differently, who heard whispers. My first kiss.

I’d made countless toys, brought dreams to life, and crafted worlds, but Val meant more to me than all of those things combined. He was brave. Over and over again he’d been brave. He was unique, more unique than anything I could craft, and he never surrendered. He’d fought on, even when he’d had nothing left to fight for.

The fae thought themselves superior, above humans in every way. They were wrong.

Adair’s smile grew, sliding into place like a masquerade mask. He feared the uncontrollable and what Val might do next.

They shared a moment of quiet, each staring down the other, waiting for their next move.

The door on Adair’s left swung open, and a lookalike mannequin stepped from the room. Then another. Val stepped back. The opposite door opened, and another lookalike emerged, then another, and another. They came from behind me, marching silently forward. An army of dolls that all looked like me.

Adair wanted me, so he could have me. All the countless versions. All at once.

They reached for Adair. He batted one away and shoved at another.

“Stop!” he barked, and when they ignored him, true fear showed in his wide eyes.

“The clock!” I told Val. “Destroy it.”

Val spun, searched for me in a sea of similar bodies, and caught my eye, silently asking if I’d be all right.

I smiled back at him. It didn’t matter. I’d lived a thousand lives. I’d loved him in all of them. It was enough to know he loved me back. I nodded, and Val turned, grabbed the grandfather clock, and roared, pulling it forward. It toppled with an ear-ringing clang.

“No!” Adair bellowed, as the clock struck the floor, its face shattering, hands mangled, the pendulum dislodged.

The corridor spun, tipping sideways, then upside down, until there was nothing but color and light, churning like an ocean, until the color washed away. There was no up, no down, just shades of darkness—and with one final gasp, silence rushed in.

ChapterForty-Eight

Valentine

Present Day

A clock chimed over and over, striking midnight. I pushed up from the gritty floor and spat a mouthful of dust. My head still spun, thoughts chasing each other—Adair, where was Adair, I had to stop him—and the clock chimed again, like a hammer to my skull.

The clock—I’d pulled it down. But it wasn’t on the debris-strewn floor or anywhere among the rotted, broken furniture and shelves.

I clutched my head and propped myself up on my knees. This was the toy store as I’d left it in the real world—abandoned, decayed, forgotten.

“Dev?” I croaked. Gods, if my head would just stop spinning, I could focus.

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