“Ibiza?” I echoed, incredulous. “Look, it’s late, and I’m not really in the mood to—”
The Guardian held out a cell phone, and his hand trembled, though he tried to hide it. Taking pity on him, I plucked the phone out of Omar’s gloved palm.
The instant I pressed it to my ear, Viessa’s voice blared through the tiny speaker. “Before you tell my poor Guardian to get lost, you should know that I told him if he couldn’t convince you to come, his life is forfeit,” she said.
I darted a glance at Omar, knowing he’d heard every word. “You better be kidding, Your Majesty. I honestly can’t tell.”
“Get your ass to Ibiza or you’ll find out. You may use the Door at the Unseelie Court—not that lacking my permission stopped you before. Tell Laurelis that he’s not as sneaky as he thinks he is.”
She stopped, giving me a chance to respond. There was music in the background, loud, pulsating, and suddenly I wished I was there. Anywhere but here. In that world, it was easy to forget. I jabbed my toe into the snow, as if I could crush the strange urge rising within me. The urge to take Viessa up on her offer.
“So are you coming?” she asked, as if she could sense weakness on my end of the line. There was a male voice in the background, and she laughed at whatever he said. A shuffling sound filled my ear. Then Viessa added, “You said we could still be friends, Lady Sworn. Was that a lie?”
Her attempt to guilt trip me didn’t work. I lifted my head, another no forming. But the word slowed when one of the barn windows caught my notice. Something had recently shattered it, so now my face appeared as disorientating fragments. I never really looked at myself; I didn’t want to, even now. But there was something comforting in the broken pieces, the way I could only see a glimpse of one eye, the corner of my mouth. As if I weren’t completely there, and the unseen parts were somewhere else. Could be anywhere.
Going to Ibiza would also be an excellent distraction from that niggling question at the back of my head. The one that had been tormenting me since the opera.
I just needed to bite the bullet and take a pregnancy test.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I told Viessa. She hung up, and I handed the phone back to Omar. “Did she send you to escort me?”
“Yes, Queen—” The Guardian caught himself. I watched the question flit across his face. What was it safe to call me, now that I was no longer his sovereign? “Yes, she did.”
“I need a few minutes to get ready. You can come inside, if you want,” I added, already wondering if I was making a huge mistake.
The possibility didn’t stop me from going upstairs. Omar opted to remain outside, so I entered the loft alone. Nym was back in his room, the door closed. Respecting the signal we’d established, I went into my room without trying to speak with him.
Finn was so exhausted from changing forms that he didn’t stir.
I stopped in front of my closet, considering the pathetic array of choices. After a minute, I reached for a hanger tucked into the back. A black dress hung from it. Made from stretch satin, the bodycon fit left little to the imagination. It was also cinched at the waist, and the asymmetric cut in the skirt highlighted my legs. The last time I wore this, I’d gone to a bar with Sorcha, showing the fake IDs she procured using her Unseelie connections. It was strange that I was putting it back on, years later, to go out with another treacherous faerie. More questions hounded me. Was history about to repeat itself? Was I being foolishly optimistic giving Viessa the benefit of the doubt?
Then the other question came back. One that had nothing to do with Viessa, and everything to do with me and my future. Still no period.
Trying to evade it yet again, I put the dress on, applied a hasty layer of makeup, and rejoined Omar outside. We trekked to the Unseelie Court in silence, no easy feat when I’d decided to wear heels and forego a coat. Once we reached the Door, Omar gave me the name of the club Viessa was at, and we walked through.
He led me down a cobblestone street, the buildings on either side bathed in moonlight. Clusters of figures walked up and down the sidewalks, dressed in everything from shabby jeans to dresses that glittered. Wearing a glamour to hide his pointed ears and strange-looking armor, Omar rushed past everything, making the city difficult to take in, but I tried, anyway.
We halted outside a building lit up with neon signs. A line of people waited along its length, standing behind a velvet rope. Omar put his face next to the bouncer’s and said something, the words low and brief. The human instantly reached for the rope, lifted it, and stepped aside, staring straight ahead as we passed. We made our way down a narrow hallway, pulsing with red light and distant sounds. The walls were covered in velvet curtains, making the air feel hot and tight.
Then we reached the end, and the ceiling fell away, putting me and Omar at the edge of an enormous space that was a circus and a house party all at once. Noise crashed over us. A DJ bobbed and swayed on the other side of the club, his silhouette standing out starkly against a huge, vibrant screen.
Omar led me past numerous alcoves and a massive crowd of partiers. I spotted the Unseelie Queen the instant she came into view—Viessa sat in the VIP section, of course. A dozen figures surrounded her in a lush booth, all of them beautiful and heavy-lidded from whatever drugs they’d done. The table in front of them was littered with upturned glasses, puddles of spilled cocktails, and plates of half-eaten food.
Standing, Viessa welcomed me with open arms and an exaggerated smile. “Fortuna, darling, it’s wonderful to see you! Love the dress. Come, sit, sit. Jolynn, move your fucking ass. My friend is here.”
She was wasted, I thought as I slid awkwardly around the table. Viessa’s companions were equally gone, and once they’d resettled on the cushions like a flock of seagulls, most of them lost interest in me—a strange experience for a Nightmare. I liked Ibiza already.
Omar planted himself near the booth, resting his hand on his sword. I searched for Nuvian, but there was no sign of him. Interesting.
“A toast. To new friendships,” Viessa declared, holding a shot out to me, a second one in her other hand. Her long earrings quivered against the sides of her neck, and she looked stunning in a lacy green dress that stopped just short of her unmentionables. None of her friends reacted to the toast, and it felt as if we were alone, somehow.
I took the glass and quirked a brow. “You go first.”
The queen put a black-tinged hand on her chest. I couldn’t help but admire her for not wearing a glamour, and I wondered if the humans here assumed her icy appearance was a costume. Oblivious to my thoughts, Viessa sounded wounded as she asked, “Don’t you trust me, Nightmare?”
“Not even a little.”
She laughed and brandished her shot, then tossed it back. Viessa slammed the glass down, declaring, “You remind me of myself, Fortuna Sworn. Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”
“I’m not sure that was a compliment,” I remarked dryly. Viessa just tipped her head back again, downing another shot. She didn’t even notice how I avoided taking mine. Swallowing, Viessa ushered her friends to leave their seats again. Then she was gone, tossing a string of words over her shoulder that I couldn’t make out. The smile she flashed me was wild and free, and in that instant, she looked like an entirely different person.