Fiadh

Fiadh

Consciousness seeps back slowly, a creeping tide washing over the shore of my mind. My eyelids flutter open to a narrow slit, the world a blur of muted colors and shifting shadows. I groan, the sound foreign even to my own ears. The ground beneath me is cool and unforgiving, imprinting its rough texture onto my skin. I realize then, with a clarity that slices through the fog in my brain—we are not where we should be.

What the fuck just happened?

My palm feels warm, and as awareness trickles in, I realize I’m still gripping Khol’s hand. I let go gingerly, flexing my fingers to chase away the numbness. My head throbs as if it’s been used as a drum, each pulse a reminder of our chaotic journey through that weird vortex. It registers that I was warned over and over not to be so reckless with shit in Faerie—my luck was bound to run out at some point. They’re never going to let me live this down and I hate it.

“Khol?” My voice is raspy, like I’ve swallowed sand. “Are you okay?”

“Everything’s intact, Sassy,” he responds, his voice steadying me more than I care to admit. With a chuckle, he smirks as I turn to look at him. “The bloodsucker is going to be interminable, you know.”

I push myself up to a sitting position, taking in our surroundings with a cautious gaze. We’re all still clad in the rich, extravagant fabrics from the Harvest Court royal ball—velvets and silks now stained with dirt and grime. I brush at my gown to dislodge the debris, but it’s a lost cause. Just my goddamn luck that the only dress I’ve ever really liked is likely ruined because I had to touch the shiny object.

Irony, you’re a straight-up ho.

The alleyway is narrow, flanked by brick walls and dark shadows that look familiar. When I see the unlit sign for Cocktails I figure it’s only fair.

A groan to my left draws my attention to Tiernan, who’s pushing himself upright with a grimace, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. I can almost hear the pop of his vertebrae as he straightens up. He sniffs the air, nose twitching as if scent alone could decipher our bizarre predicament.

“Anyone else feel like they’ve been through a tumble dryer on high?” Revelin’s wry voice floats up from where he’s propped on his elbows, gazing skyward, studying the sky above us.

Only he could lie on his ass in a dirty alley and be this goddamn calm—it’s infuriating.

“Who pulled the mummy out its tomb, eh?” I joke, relief bubbling up and spilling over in a shaky chuckle, the sound foreign in the tense silence.

Revelin arches a brow at me. “I believe you were the one who touched the mysterious Fae artefact blindly, Sparkles.”

“We’re too ornery to die, so it chose door number two,” Khol retorts, a lopsided grin momentarily lighting up his bruised features.

“Speak for yourself,” Revelin snaps back, “I’m delicate.”

“Delicate? Since when?” I tease, trying to keep the mood light despite the creeping unease at our situation. “You adore a bright red bum and bruises on that pretty pale skin.”

“Since always,” he huffs, though his lips twitch in amusement. “It’s a sexy setting, with everyone naked and lubed up, not on the ground.”

Dezi doesn’t join in our banter. Instead, he remains quiet, gaze locked on the shadows dancing along the alleyway’s edges as if they whisper secrets only he can hear. I frown, because he should have jumped on that—he enjoys the fuck out of the Prince being tied up and twisted as we all tease him.

This must be really serious.

“Okay, time to get up and figure this shit out.” Tiernan extends a hand toward me, then does the same for the prince, who takes it with a smug grin.

Once we’re standing, I stretch out, moaning when my back cracks in ten places. “Fuck. Me. I’m going to register a complaint that whatever the fuck brought us here didn’t put us in a place that was cushioned.”

“Enough lollygagging,” Khol declares, brushing off his pants before leaping to his feet with that reptilian grace of his. “We need to figure out what in the nine hells is going on and why we’re here.”

“Something tells me we’re going to miss the VIP afterparty we were aiming for,” Revelin grumbles, dusting off his backside. He points at me with a serious look. “You’re never touching Fae trinkets again without a full ancestral chart and user manual, missy. Your magic and ours are… unpredictable.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“Remember the caves and puzzle spots?” Tiernan interjects, his voice slicing through the tension. “We had decent luck there.”

“Decent luck led by Fate,” Khol counters with a snort, his voice sharp. “We landed here escaping a handsy noble—that’s not Fate. It’s an occupational hazard in Fae Court affairs. The Prince is correct.”

“Regardless of how we ended up here,” Dezi says, his tone sharp as flint when he finally speaks, “we’re here now. Let’s not waste any more time.”

His words hang between us, a tacit command to focus. Since we’re accustomed to him taking charge now, we head out of the alleyway, our ballgowns and finery ludicrous against the backdrop of the Night District’s grime.

Daylight is harsh for those wearing last night’s clothes from a night out.

Dezi breaks the silence first, his voice low and practical. “Let’s shed these costumes before we draw a crowd. I don’t want to draw attention to our presence on this side of the Veil until we know why we’re here.”

“Can’t argue with that,” I mumble, leading the way as I study the stores here. Clementine’s shop is out; her clothing is too ‘Yes, Mommy’ for Briarvale’s streets. Instead, I head for the Eleven District, knowing we can find less conspicuous gear in the part of town where everyday folks shop. Stopping at Feeling Thrifty , I grin. Fer and I always came here to replenish our meager wardrobe and you don’t get anymore down to earth than two broke waitresses’ favorite store.

The chimes above the door announce our entrance. I feel Dezi’s discomfort without looking as he scans the racks packed with decades of discarded styles. His lip curls ever so slightly under the harsh fluorescent lights.

Khol catches it too and chuckles, jabbing him in the ribs, “You look like you’re worried about catching the plague, man. Stop wincing or you’re going to offend the elves.”

“Quiet, gangster,” Dezi fires back half-heartedly, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Tiernan is already flipping through shirts, unaffected by the selection, while Revelin holds up a leather jacket adorned with an absurd number of zippers and laughs.

“Adorable ‘vintage’ stuff here, Fi,” he teases, eyes twinkling. “I’m going to have a fabulous time picking my outfit.”

“Watch it, Bowie. We’re not looking to get attention out there,” I elbow him with a smirk, and dive into the hunt.

In minutes, we’re transformed: me in ripped jeans and an altered Darkness Falls band tee that clings just right, my combat boots thumping the wooden floorboards. Tiernan is professional-cool in jeans and a crisp, sky blue button-down that makes his eyes pop and my thighs clench. Our vampire is still hot, but looks less than thrilled in dark slacks and a shirt that clearly doesn’t meet his stuffy standards. The Prince ignores our instructions completely and goes full rockstar in skinny jeans and a tee that matches mine, metal glinting at his wrists and throat. Khol looks born to wear the James Dean get-up he pulls on, smirking at his reflection as I lick my lips.

These fucking men are making me a horny bitch even when we’re lost in space and I can’t find the wherewithal to complain.

“Charge it to Cocktails I’ve had about enough of that shit for one year.