Chapter 4

Four

WESLEY

I slept hard, a dead sleep that only my bladder could bring me back with an abrupt and painful reminder of mortal needs. But I was insanely warm, covered in a fluffy weighted blanket, even while the sun pierced the back of my eyelids with incessant brightness.

When I tried to stretch, something wriggled against me. I startled, sitting up and pulling away, half terrified I was back in the Winter court forced to entertain others. Chained to the floor and their whims of torture.

The blazing light of the new day burned colored spots into my vision and I blinked tears to clear my sight, fearing attack, but none came. I held out a hand, a universal gesture for stop , keep away , half expecting something to bite it off, but it licked me.

I rubbed my eyes, color pops giving me only partial sight, much as the dreaded migraines I suffered after an actual vision, with wiggling lines of writhing brightness blotting out portions of the world.

A huge white shape lingered in front of me, easily as large as mortal canine, like a Great Dane.

The kitten?

I sucked in a deep gulp of air, willing my sensitive eyes to focus, even as I wove my hand into thick fur where it touched my palm. It pressed itself into my reach, as though it could force me to pet it that way. The blind floundering erupted into a slow throb at my temple. A migraine coming. Fuck. Sometimes it preceded a vision, though that was rare. Usually, they happened after I had one. The more chaotic and violent the vision, the worse the migraine.

Had I missed a vision? I’d never slept through them before. But I couldn’t recall the last time I’d felt rested.

Something shifted above, clouds covered some of the blazing brightness, casting us in shade. I rubbed my forehead, though the throbbing only got worse, a sign that I would be incapacitated soon with pain turning my brain to mush.

The wiggling lines, like maggots of brightness, danced around the edge of my sight, and gave me the very center of my left eye to see with. I focused on the furry beast instead of looking overhead and chancing more light damage.

“Not a kitten,” I said, staring at a thick coated leopard with white fur. It lounged at my feet as if it were a friendly housecat. Too big to be the real thing, though the shape of the face and spots reflected what I knew from mortal zoos and reference books. “You’re not going to eat me, right?” I asked, frowning at the arm draped over my leg with a paw as large as my hand relaxed near my groin. “Keep the murder mittens tucked away, yeah?”

My head throbbed, and I couldn’t help my wince. The cat slid up with a slow and careful grace, as though afraid to startle me, and pressed its face to mine, scenting my pain.

“What are you, some sort of supernatural service animal? I’m pretty sure I can’t take you into the grocery store with me. Panic would ensue.” And I was going crazy, talking to a white leopard while sitting naked in a field of clover on the verge of a massive migraine.

My stomach growled thinking of a grocery store and the common produce section I’d grown to love over the years. Seasonal fruits and veggies drew me like a fly to honey. Not caviar and lobster dreams like many mortals, but fresh apples, juicy berries, and even a thick squash.

I sighed. Mortal hunger outweighed the Stag’s need. The Stag could eat the entire forest and my human gut would beg for more. Because the food was part of the magic of a realm and couldn’t sustain a mortal? Or simply because a mortal needed more varied nutrients? I suspected the latter.

The cat nudged me, face shoving up my arm.

“Sorry, pussy cat. A migraine is about to make me useless. Normally I hide in a dark room until it passes. Don’t suppose you can keep your scary wolf friend at bay until I’m feeling better?” The Stag could still run. Even blind it would evade the beast until one of us died. But I didn’t look forward to the pain changing would cause, or losing myself in a chase.

The cat nudged me again, squirming until it seemed to be trying to lift me, or at least encourage me to my feet. I sighed and reluctantly got up. “Okay, Lassie. Is Timmy stuck in a well? If it’s your oozing wolf friend, he can stay there.”

The cat brushed itself along my outer thigh and walked a few feet in one direction, pausing to look back to check that I followed. “Yes, yes. I’m Alice now, aren’t I? I’m coming. Let’s not be late.”

I found my way to a bush to relieve myself, glancing back a few times at the cat, who turned away as if giving me privacy. Strange. But I rinsed in the stream again, and then focused on the cat, waving at him to, “Lead the way.”

The critter led me through a weave of thick clover and tightly knit trees, most looking the same as I’d seen in my wandering, though I couldn’t recall the trees being that big, towering into the sky to ease the bright light of the day. The growing migraine slowed me down and brought a wobble to my step as I had to cover one eye completely with my hand as it eased the throbbing on that side of my skull.

We rounded another section of the stream, the trees widening, and suddenly a cabin stood there, like something out of a storybook, built out of logs and moss, tree limbs growing from the top, flowers decorating the base.

“Uh…” I froze a dozen yards away feeling like a witch should come charging out of the cute little hut to roast me and throw me in a soup pot.

The cat slunk forward, reaching the cabin and rubbing its side along the wood beneath the front window. It sat down in front of the door, expectant.

I stood there, struck half-stupid, half terrified. Too many stories, fae mixed with mortal retellings of misfortune. The longing to be inside, find darkness to ease the pain, and the sense of false safety that walls provided making my heart race. I could enact wards with physical barriers as a guide. Inside a realm, the effect may be minimal, but give me warning. I couldn’t open a portal between worlds, realms, or even free myself from this place, as I’d already tried. The ability lost when the little King drank down the remains of Underhill and spit out a god.

The tiny cabin could be a sanctuary or a prison.

My head throbbed again, and my stomach rebelled, threatening a rash of vomiting if I didn’t rest. I could lie down in the thick grass and hope for the best, or open the door and pray for darkness that would ease the ache chiseling its way through my brain.

I took a step toward the door, hesitant, but the cat slid to the side, watching me intently. “If you’re the Cheshire cat, leading me to madness, you should know I’ve been there for years. Insanity is part of the fae lineage.” I reached for the door handle, shoved it open, anticipating an attack, but found it empty; a small space with a narrow bed and bland walls, lifeless mostly, but the dark welcoming.

The cat shoved its way inside. Should I leave the door open? It waited, watching, perched a few feet away. I closed the door. The bed, though narrow, was piled in lush blankets, none fur, for which I was grateful. Sleeping under dead critters would guarantee nightmares and might trigger the Stag’s bloodlust. Being part fae was a mixed bag of terrors.

Thick curtains covered the windows, blocking out the sun, only the barest glimpses of it trickling through at the edges to give me an idea where anything was in the darkness. I crawled into the bed, digging myself a cavern beneath the blankets and finding the pillow a soft cloud of comfort. Not the Hilton, or even a Days Inn, but it smelled clean, the blankets warming my cooled flesh, and the darkness eased my throbbing skull.

The cat leapt up beside me, squeezing me back toward the wall, and putting itself between the door and me. Protection? My mortal anxiety faded and I couldn’t keep my eyes open as the beast began to purr. Could mortal leopards do that? I didn’t think so, but warm, and feeling safe, I let my eyes close and hoped the headache would vanish without delivering me a vision I couldn’t convey to anyone.