With a groan, she stretched her arms over her head. Her whole body ached like she’d just gotten over the flu. Giving Kester part of her aura was apparently hard on the nervous system—not to mention the rest of the magical shitstorm she’d been through this evening.

She walked to one of the bookshelves. For some bizarre reason, learning that Kester was a voracious reader was the most shocking revelation of all tonight. She scanned the spines—a row of the classics: Shakespeare, Melville, Dante, Dumas.

Ursula pulled out a volume of Homer and flipped it open. The pages were stiff and smelled of fresh ink; he wasn’t reading these books. The shelf below held more recent novels: Doyle, Verne, Burroughs, Christie, even Brontë. The spine of Jane Eyre was creased and faded. Flipping through, she noticed some underlined passages. I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.

Kester’s heels clapped over the boards, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, suddenly overcome by the feeling that she was invading his privacy. She shoved the book back on the shelf before glancing at him.

He now wore a moss-green shirt, open to his stomach to expose his chiseled chest, and leather bands around his wrists. His trousers were midnight blue velvet, and fitted to his body, and boots were laced up to his knees.

Ursula gave a low whistle. “You look amazing.”

He frowned. “I look like a knob. But this is how they dress.” He picked up the white fur jacket he’d spelled into existence and passed it to her. “Joe will be here any minute. I’ll instruct you in the car on the way over. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

She shot him a sharp look. Ursula was gradually coming to understand that F.U. hadn’t been a girl to be trifled with. “Don’t underestimate me, Kester Peele. Let’s go.” She slipped into the jacket, and strode off his boat into the stormy winter air.

Chapter 29

The Bentley stopped on a deserted New York City block, the street lined with darkened brick buildings. Ursula stepped out of the car, tugging the fur coat tightly around her flowing green dress. A rusty steel door in a brick wall wasn’t exactly what she’d expected for a portal to the faerie realm. There was nothing around it but a small buzzer set into the brick, and a camera discreetly positioned above the door. The air smelled of stale piss.

Wrinkling her nose, she clutched her wyrm-skin purse, her good luck charm tucked safely inside. “Are you sure this is the right place?” she asked.

“Yeah, this is it.” His green eyes flashed a look that said don’t second guess me. “Do you remember your instructions?”