Ash exhales audibly, the color draining out of his cheeks. “We’re leaving at first light.”

Chapter Twelve

ASH LOADS OUR bags into the back of the car and I notice that mine is significantly fuller than it was when we arrived. I can only guess that he took a few items from Layla’s closet or from the room in general before we left, but I didn’t actually see him do it because it was all I could do to choke down some bread and butter and orange juice.

I make the mistake of looking toward the sunrise and the bright light feels like it’s piercing my skull. If we were doing anything other than looking for my dad, I would run back inside and dive under some pillows for the next two days.

“Feeling any better?” Ash asks, and opens my car door for me.

“I think the charcoal is definitely helping, but I swear I’m never drinking whisky again,” I say unhappily as I slide into my seat.

Ash gives me a knowing smile. “Noted,” he says, and closes the door.

I wince at the sound of the car door shutting and lean my head back against the seat.

Ash gets into the driver’s side and starts the engine. “I’ll make sure there’s none of it served at our wedding.”

I look at him sideways. “Our wedding?” Then it dawns on me—my drunken rambling last night. “Oh god.” I put my face in my hands as Ash drives us around the circle and away from the Gothic manor. “Please tell me I didn’t say what I think I said.”

“I’ll admit, I always thought that when a girl finally proposed to me, it would be better choreographed than that. But at the time, I think you may have been a two-foot-tall seal. And it was pretty romantic for a seal.”

“This is so not funny,” I say.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Ash says as we drive down the empty street shadowed with tree branches in the soft morning light. “That definitely makes my top three best conversations of all time.”

“This would be easier if I couldn’t remember what I said. Aren’t you supposed to forget everything when you’re drunk like that? Where art thou, friendly amnesia?” I say, and Ash laughs. “Why don’t we talk about something less awful, like how terrifying this blacksmith is.”

“I did promise I would tell you more in the morning,” Ash says, giving me a way out but still looking far too amused.

“You most certainly did,” I say, leaving no room to further discuss me as a marine mammal.

Ash uses his left hand to steer with such ease that I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been driving since he was six. But before he can get a word out, Angus’s comment about the Ferryman floods my thoughts.