I cracked an eyelid, finding only rich browns, golds, and reds in a low-ceilinged room, no Al. I was standing on a raised circular area, my running shoes on thick carpet. The lighting was dim, a small puddle of light glowing on the arrangement of two tall chairs and a couch bracketing a coffee table before a stone fireplace. It was built into the curving wall, and a thick layer of coals radiated heat. “Opulent” would be the word. There wasn’t a circle in sight, making me think this was a spot of privacy where you would never need one.

“I’ve never been here,” I told Bis as I looked behind us into a lowered, large circular room filled with books. Lots and lots of books. My shoulders eased, and I reached to touch Bis’s clawed feet, wishing he wouldn’t pinch so hard. “You okay?”

Someone breathed behind me, and I spun. The snap of Bis’s wings brushed my ears as he found his balance. It was Al, and he ignored me as he stood before the fireplace and took off his green velvet coat and draped it over a nearby wing-back chair. Heart pounding, I dropped my hand from Bis, watching Al’s considerable muscle moving under the thin white silk.

“This is my library,” he said, his voice preoccupied as he shifted his shoulders in the new freedom. “I recently got it back.” He turned his head and smiled. “Isn’t it pleasant?”

I didn’t like his mood, both satisfied and evil. “Where’s Brooke?” I asked, wedging a finger between my neck and Bis’s tail.

Al took off his glasses and set them on the long table. His gloves landed beside them. “I told you,” he said, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “I got my library back. Nothing is free, itchy witch, especially in the ever-after.”

Crap, he’d sold Brooke. In the time it took for me to catch my breath and turn around, he had sold her. I was going to get blamed for this. “I thought you had to wait until sunset to sell someone,” I said, and he eyed me.

“Private sale. Prearranged.” Seeing me on edge, he smiled, worrying me more.

“You snagging Brooke is not going to help my situation,” I said, watching him move to the fireplace and crouch before it.

“It’s helped mine.” Al dropped a piece of wood onto the flame, making sparks fly. A lick of flame rose, and the wood caught. “This is what I do, Rachel. You need to worry about yourself, love. I want my conservatory next, and living things are always more expensive.”