Four

The world spins around me, melting into a chaotic blur of maroon and gold as I tumble down, down, down…

Thwack!

I land on my side, the air forced from my lungs as my bag slides across the… soft carpet ? I push myself up on one elbow. Wobbly as a doe, I squint into the low lighting. My vision is black around the edges, dancing and spinning like I’ve had too much to drink. My stomach clenches, and I roll onto all fours, dry heaving over the thick fibers of a lush burgundy rug.

Where am I?

The question tilts inside my mind as my stomach and my vision settle. I blink, my eyes adjusting to the gentle glow of candlelight that casts flickering reflections on the walls, softening the lavish room into a warmly inviting space.

My gaze lifts in a slow curve, taking in the ruby-red velvet covering the walls and the gold-framed paintings of seascapes and garden cottages. A giant armoire dusted with gold leaf stands in the far corner, and I can’t imagine any of my clothes being deserving enough to hang inside. Rain slides down the large window cut into the velvet-coated wall,, the gilded mullions separating the view into small square panes of wavy glass that blur the dark landscape beyond. Beneath me, the deep-crimson rug cushions my knees, spilling in a plush circle against the shiny parquet floor that disappears under the window’s drapes, so thin and silky, they dance like ghosts in an unfelt breeze.

A huge piece of furniture looms in front of me, and I pull myself to my knees. Intricate carvings swirl beneath my fingertips as I move my hand along the large bed’s rich mahogany frame. A line of circle-wrapped stars is stitched in gold along the border of the deep-scarlet silk dressing the bed. Gently, I trace the embroidery. Recognition nudges the corner of my mind, but I can’t place the image through my muddied thoughts and the dull ache in the back of my head.

Oh my god. My hands smooth down the front of my open coat and rumpled dress, searching for any signs that someone did something to my body. The past minutes… hours …are nothing but a blur, and the more I try to remember, the sharper the pain between my temples. My fingertips graze the swollen knot on the back of my head, and I wince. I’ve read about this, another half article, but I got the point. I hit my head hard enough to black out…to lose time.

The card in the snow. I press my clammy palm to my forehead in an attempt to force my thoughts in order. Then the world went sideways. I must have passed out.

“But where am I now?” The question quakes against my lips.

“Currently, you’re on the floor.” A man’s voice hums through the room, each word precise and clear.

I jump to my feet and spin around, anchoring myself against the bed frame. The moment I see him, time stalls, the room around us fading back into a black-edged blur. He’s tall and solid. Night-black hair sweeps across his forehead and falls in shaggy, messy waves against his broad, thick shoulders. His eyes are piercing, dark wells of ink I want to surrender to, drown in. I stare, open-mouthed at his… manliness, the sharp angle of his jaw and the rough stubble that brings goose bumps to my flesh with the simple thought of it brushing against me.

Holy shit he’s gorgeous.

My knees go soft, my legs literally trembling as my gaze moves from his perfect mouth to his chest. And I swear I whimper as he crosses his arms over his torso, the muscles rippling and tensing beneath his linen shirt.

I press my fingers into the carved mahogany as he approaches, bringing with him the scents of woodsmoke and pine. He peers down at me, a question etched into the crease between his brows, but my gaze is back on his mouth, the delicious bow of his lips, which are moving almost in slow motion as he speaks.

“Are you febrile, woman?”

Febrile? I frown. I don’t even know what that means.

Candlelight dances across his tan skin and casts a sculpture-like shadow on the velvet wall behind him. This place is like a palace. Way, way out of my price range.

I bend over and snatch my purse and the fallen card from the edge of the rug. “Which hotel is this?” I ask, shoving the card into my bag. I blink and hug it against me as a wave of dizziness threatens to knock me back to the ground.

He lets out a puff of sarcastic laughter and tilts his head. “As if you don’t know.”

From this angle, he looks so familiar, so…

“You’re the guy from the elevator! The one with the hankie.” My cheeks flame. The scene in the elevator, plus dry heaving over an expensive rug… This is by far the worst first impression I’ve ever given.

Though not completely unlike you, Hannah.

I shove my inner critic aside and dig through my bag for my phone. “I can Venmo you for—”

He holds up his hand, commanding my silence as voices echo outside the room.

“But I—”

“Quiet!” he barks, and I bite my lower lip.

My hand gropes the inside of my bag, coming back with my self-help book, wadded up receipts, gum wrappers, and empty ChapStick tubes. “Where’s my phone?” I ask.

But he’s walking away from me, crossing the room in two silent strides to listen at the closed door.

My pulse speeds up, blood draining into my toes as reality hits.

This guy brought me here…passed out…and now we’re alone…in a bedroom.

“What’d you do with my phone?” The question squeaks against the panic tightening my throat as I frantically search my pockets.

My fingers find cold aluminum, and there’s a moment of relief before I yank out my phone. No service. “How long—”

“Be quiet .” He narrows his onyx gaze on me, his jaw ticking with frustration.

“No!” My voice is strong now, commanding as I march over to him. “Please,” I begin, cringing at how my boldness immediately turns into a request. “Get out of my way.”

He’s guarding the door, and I reach around him for the gold knob. With one fluid motion, he grabs my wrist, spins me around, and covers my mouth with his hand.

“You don’t want to go out there,” he says, his deep voice vibrating along my back.

Heavy footsteps thud in the hallway outside, fading as they pass by.

Sweat beads on my forehead, and my heart climbs up my throat as he presses me to the steel of his body, my breath coming out in quaking bursts against his palm. I keep hold of my phone but drop my purse as I struggle to free myself, my mind spinning, sifting through hundreds of half-read self-defense articles.

Alarm bells sound inside my head, and the phrase stomp his foot forces its way into my limbs.

I lift my leg, and my foot isn’t halfway to the ground when he dodges, sliding his scruffy cheek down my ear to whisper a piercing “ shhh! ”

I won’t be quiet. Instead, I yell against his hand and unleash another attack, sending my elbow back into his side. My blow glances off his hard core. He’s unflinching, unfazed, a solid block of muscle.

His punishing grip is back on my wrists as he turns me around, pressing my face against his chest. “I can get you out of here if you just stay quiet—”

I lift my knee in a quick and brutal strike that connects with its mark.

He lurches forward, cupping himself, and I break out of his grasp and rip open the door.

“Wait!” he grunts, but I don’t listen.

I charge into the shadowy corridor, death grip on my phone, searching for a way out.

* * *

Shit.

At least ten minutes have passed, and I’m still turning down dimly lit empty hallways. My boots, damp with snow slush, squeak against the marble floor shiny with veins of red as deep as dried blood. Each hallway is billionaire luxurious, and this one is no different. Affixed on the ruby-red silk-lined walls is a swirling swarm of glass dragonflies. Light from crystal chandeliers hanging on the coffered gold ceiling dances along the turquoise glass. I can’t help but reach out and touch one, bracing myself for it to come to life and fly away.

Focus! I internally shout at my unruly thoughts before I glance back down at my phone, the screen incredibly bright in the candlelight. Still no service. I can’t even make an emergency call.

“Hello?” The word echoes down the two-story hallway. I wait for a reply, but no one answers.

If I’m looking for a silver lining, and at this point I have to in order to keep moving one foot in front of the other, this isn’t the worst location I could have been kidnapped and taken to. The vibe is giving me haunted palace, and the insurance must be outrageous with every room lit by fire, but it’s probably the nicest place I’ve ever been. And, now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t know for sure that I was abducted. I mean, that gorgeous man said he would help me, and all he did was bring me to a really nice room after I passed out in the middle of the sidewalk. And then he wouldn’t let me leave…

You were totally kidnapped.

“Damn this rain.” A gravelly voice sounds from around the corner along with the whiny creak of old hinges. I run down the rest of the dragonfly-decorated hallway and straight toward the noises. I turn the corner, and a cool gust of rain-scented wind greets me. A man dressed like an old-fashioned guard stands at the end of the hall. His imposing figure is silhouetted against the dim light as he props a big wooden door open with his foot. He shakes out his cape, droplets of water splattering onto the floor.

He turns as I approach, the gold buttons on his deep-maroon uniform shining like stars. His hand moves to the long sword at his side, a clear warning. Fear slows my stride, but I push it down, forcing myself to keep moving forward.

“I need help,” I shout, my hands whipping the air like he’s the bus driver and I’m actually going to make it this time.

He tenses, his bushy brows slanting over his eyes as I rush closer. There’s a moment of hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty that’s quickly replaced by determination. Without a word, he grabs the front of my jacket. I stumble, my feet slipping on the wet floor, flailing my arms to keep my balance.

With a rough shove, he pushes me out into the night. I barely manage to hang on to my phone as I topple on the wet pavement. Icy rainwater soaks through my dress, and I gasp as I scramble to my feet.

He pulls the door closed. The heavy wooden slab slams shut with a finality that echoes in the empty street. Anger flares, and I yell at the solid slab of wood: “Screw you!”

What is it with these fucking doormen?

Lightning streaks the sky, illuminating the world for a brief, blazing second before a clap of thunder booms. The clouds unleash a torrent of rain. I yank my hood over my wet hair and try my best to smooth out my wrinkled wet dress as I look around, trying to get my bearings.

The rain must have melted the snow because there’s none in sight. The dark alley stretches between the massive stone building I was just shoved out of and its twin, lurking ten feet away. Fog swirls thick and eerie, tendrils of mist curling around my ankles as I shiver in the cold, rain pattering against my hood until it’s all I hear.

The earthy scent of woodsmoke drifts on the frigid gusts blowing in from Lake Michigan. I catch the scent of food cooking, and my stomach growls. I press my hand to my middle, trying to soothe the pangs of hunger, and pull out my phone. I shiver again and try to hunker down in my coat as I dial 911 with stiff, cold fingers.

Ambulances carry saltines, right?

It’s a desperate thought, but some would call me a desperate girl.

The call immediately fails. The screen’s harsh glow shows I still have zero bars. No service.

“Aren’t phones supposed to have some sort of SOS signal even when you have no bars?” I hiss. Searching for a signal, I hold up my phone with one hand and wrap my coat tightly around my middle with the other. I need to get out from between these buildings. All this stone must be blocking—

Baa!

There’s a sharp click clack against the pavement. I fumble with my flashlight, turn it on, and swing it around the dark alley. The fog swallows my flashlight’s beam, reducing my world to a few feet of illuminated mist.

Baa!

A sheep emerges from the fog, its dirty matted fur brushing my leg as it click clacks past me and into the shadows.

“Where the fuck am I?”

Dull amber light glimmers up ahead, and I hear a muted cloud of laughter. I clutch my phone and hurry toward it. Once again, I’m off chasing a noise, this time hoping for someone more helpful than every doorman in Chicago. I should have gone out for drinks with the others. Instead, I’m in some rural-adjacent suburb, running from my abductor as my coworkers sip bespoke cocktails on the heated rooftop of Giovanni’s.

Swallowing my pride and pretending to enjoy myself would have also kept me from finding out the truth about Chad and our completely one-sided relationship. The memory stings, and Chad’s voice echoes in my mind, mocking and dismissive.

You’re so desperate.

I shake my head and ignore the instant headache that follows as I force Chad from my thoughts. I have other things to worry about, like staying alive and finding help.

“Or maybe I hit my head really, really hard,” I say aloud, my breath misting in the cold air. “Maybe this is a dream. Maybe I’m in a coma.” I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch myself through my puffy coat. When I open my eyes, there’s a chicken peering back at me from the middle of the road.

Not a dream, then. So where the hell am I?

Just ahead, past the chicken, lanterns hang outside a small house, its steeply pitched roof covered in ivy. Oil lamps bathe the street in liquid sunlight and illuminate the weathered sign hanging on the door— WILL’S TAVERN .

I walk from between the towering stone buildings and onto a street—a real street. Well, kind of. Cobblestones run beneath my boots like tree roots, and homes emerge from the earth in a patchwork of timber and plaster. The glow of candlelight flickers through their gabled windows, looking down on the hay-littered street, where I stand completely transfixed.

This looks like a medieval village. Is this some kind of film set? Because this is not Chicago; this is not a suburb; this is not even soybean, cornfield middle-of-nowhere Illinois.

I adjust my hood against the rain and cross the street toward the sound of raucous laughter. “Just find people, and they’ll help you. Everything will make sense soon,” I tell myself with more confidence than I feel. “You’ll go home and never come back to this strangely accurate recreation of the past.”

I push open the ancient wood door and step into the tavern, the air warm and thick with the scents of beer and musk. It’s a sticky kind of cozy, with low wooden beams and a crackling fire. Tables of ruddy-faced men in dirty linen tunics are crammed together, filling most of the space as women walk around handing out pitchers and glasses, their boobs spilling out over the tops of their corset dresses.

What kind of Ren Faire nightmare is this?

There’s a burst of laughter from the back of the tavern, but it isn’t jovial. It’s harsh and barbed. The kind of outburst that occurs before a fight.

I scan the room, searching for a friendly face, someone who can explain where I am and what’s happening. But everyone looks strange—different from me in a way that’s hard to put my finger on.

“They’ll help you,” I remind myself. “You’ve just escaped a kidnapping. That’s why everything feels so wrong.”

From behind the bar, a plump, pink-cheeked woman looks up from polishing a glass and catches my eye. She motions to me, her nipples dangerously close to slipping out of their bindings with the movement. “Who’re you?”

I let out my first real exhale since meeting Chad’s new bed buddy and sag with relief against the bar. These might not be my kind of people, but they’re people. And there are a lot of them. Safety in numbers, right? Plus, I have to be one step closer to finding my way out of this—whatever it is—and back to reality.

I pull out my phone and am not completely shocked when I still don’t have a signal. “Do you have Wi-Fi?” I ask, avoiding the narrowed gaze from the man next to me.

The bartender puts her hands on her hips and juts out her round chin. “I asked who you were, girl.”

I blink. “Sorry. I’m Hannah. Hello.”

My throat goes dry, and for a moment, I struggle to breathe. Embarrassment washes over me, fiery hot in my cheeks as I’m suddenly reminded of my failed presentation. The whole reason I’m here to begin with.

“I mean—I need help. I hit my head, and this guy grabbed me, and I think I have some kind of short-term amnesia, because I don’t remember how I got here, but I do know my name, and…” I trail off as more patrons turn to stare, their heavy gazes assessing my rumpled clothes and flat hair. “If I could just use your phone or get on your Wi-Fi…” I hold up my phone as if this is another terrible pitch and they require a visual aid to understand what I’m asking.

“What’s that yer holdin’?” The man in the seat next to me surges up from his barstool so quickly, it wobbles on the sticky floor.

Silence falls across the tavern as stale and thick as the loaves of bread torn apart and crumbling on each table. The air is heavy, the sudden quiet palpable.

“It’s just my phone,” I say around a breathy laugh, trying to diffuse whatever situation I’ve gotten myself into. I give it another little shake, and my thumb slides across the screen, accidentally pressing the flashlight button. It blazes to life, shining directly into the face of the man on his feet in front of me.

His eyes widen, and the bartender shrieks. Men shoot up from their seats and clamber backward, their dirt-streaked faces going pale. The sudden panic is contagious, rippling through the tavern.

I step back, ice in my stomach. They weren’t just acting like they’ve never seen a phone before. They have never. Seen. A. Phone. I punch my thumb against the screen to turn off the flashlight, but my hands won’t stop shaking. Flashlight beaming like the sun, I shuffle backward toward the door.

Two men emerge from the terrified crowd, stalking forward to join the man at the bar.

My back hits the door, knocking the air from my lungs. My breath comes in short, ragged bursts as I fumble with the handle, the flashlight still shining. This has to be a dream. Or a nightmare. So why can’t I wake up?

“She has magick! She’s a witch!” the bartender screams, high and shrill, slicing through the din of the tavern.

“I’m a what ?” My heart pounds, panic gripping my lungs like a vise.

“A witch !” The bar erupts into a chorus of voices, one on top of the other, spitting the word at me like a curse.

The three men exchange glances and rush me. Fear explodes in my chest, propelling me forward. I burst through the door and stumble out onto the cobblestone paved street, the cold air biting at my bare legs.

“Help!” The word rips out of me, a puff of vapor against the frigid night. “Someone, help—”

I jam my phone into my dress pocket and try to run, but the toe of my boot catches on an uneven stone, and I smack into the ground.

If I die in this dream, will I die in real life?

A meaty hand grabs my wet hair and yanks me to my feet as a scream tears from my throat. Every person in the bar is now out on the street, watching as these three men surround me, like hyenas closing in on wounded prey. I scream and try to run, but the man jerks me back. Pain slams into my side, white-hot fire that throws sparks across my vision, and I double over. He pushes me forward, ripping my coat from my weak limbs as I slam into his comrade. With an agonizing gasp, I right myself.

My attacker lunges forward—a flash of a knife in his hand, blood dripping from the sharp edge. I let out another scream, my throat raw and dry.

As if brought on by my cry, the earth beneath me shakes. Hoofbeats hammer against the stone street, growing louder, closer. The crowd rushes to part as a dark and mysterious cloaked figure charges through the braying throng, sword held out in front of him, long and deadly.

There’s a shout, a gurgled cry of pain, and one of my aggressors clutches his throat. Blood sprays from his neck, splattering hot against my cheek. Hooves continue to beat the ground, and there’s another flash of steel. The man in front of me drops to his knees, his knife clattering to the stones, sliding off into the shadows.

The crowd scatters, shrieking, but fear cements me to the spot. The horse and cloaked figure barrel toward me. Another cry escapes my lips as the figure reaches down, his rough hand grasping mine with a strength that leaves no room for refusal. In one fluid motion, he pulls me onto the saddle and against the warm iron of his body.