she hadn’t heard over the wailing and crying and shouting.
“I said, what are you doing?” Fi pointed to the floor marker. “That’s eleven.”
“No.” Chrysabelle shook her head, trying to enunciate. “This is twelve. I counted.”
“So did I and this is eleven.”
Chrysabelle checked the time. They’d been on the fae plane for fifty-three minutes. “Are you sure?” The margin for mistakes was zero.
Fi nodded, already floating farther up the path. “Yes, come on.”
Chrysabelle went after her. When they hit the next floor, she knew Fi was right. The exit tunnel lay before them. Chrysabelle tried to keep up her speed, but it was like her feet were mired in quicksand. At least the noise had faded a little.
“How do you feel?” she asked Fi.
“Happy we’re leaving. You?”
“Like I’m running out of juice.”
“I noticed.” Fi went ahead of her. “Do you want me to go get Augustine to help you? I could stay outside and open the gate when you get there.”
“No… I’ll… make it.” But her breath came in gulps now.
Worry creased Fi’s face. “I don’t like this.”
“We’re… almost… there.” Gray light filtered through the tunnel’s darkness.
“Come on, Chrysabelle, you can do it. Think of Mal. He’ll be waiting for you. And he doesn’t even know about the baby yet. Think about how excited he’ll be.” Fi kept talking, encouraging her.
The gate lay ahead. On the other side, Augustine watched them. “Sixty-two minutes,” he announced, shaking his head. “
“I’m trying,” Chrysabelle answered. She stumbled and fell to her hands and knees. Every command she sent to her brain to get up was ignored. It wasn’t happening, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to keep moving. Motivated by the thought of her unborn child and reuniting with Mal, she crawled toward the gate.
“Sixty-eight,” Augustine counted off.
“That’s… not… helping.” Lifting her head took too much effort, so she let it hang. She had to be close. The gate creaked open. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Maybe she should lie down for a second…
Strong hands closed around her arms and pulled her through. Augustine cradled her like a baby and carried her back to the field. “I told you no more than an hour.”
She nodded, wondering how he could carry her when she knew she must weigh a thousand pounds. He set her on her feet, but she collapsed backward. The sky was so gray here. Like a storm was always on the horizon. Fi moaned.
“It’s okay,” he assured her. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small round mirror, then tossed it on the ground.
“We’re never going to fit through that,” she whispered as he picked her up again.
“Fi, get corporeal and hold onto me.”
Fi must have, because Chrysabelle blinked and they were back in the hotel suite.
“What happened?” Jerem asked. “Why are you carrying her? Is she hurt?”
“She’s fine.” Augustine deposited her onto the sofa. “We were there too long.”
Jerem kneeled beside her. “She doesn’t look fine.”
“It’ll wear off.” He headed for the door. “There’s no way the elektos doesn’t know what happened so I need to get scarce. None of you hang here any longer than you need to, either.” He glanced at Chrysabelle. “Nice to see you again. Next time you need access to the Claustrum? It’s on Mortalis.”
With that, he was gone.
Mal opened his eyes. And realized he was lying on the foyer floor in Chrysabelle’s house. He sat up. A mostly familiar group surrounded him, except that there were an unusual number of weapons pointed at him.
He held his hands up. “I surrender.”
Mortalis narrowed his eyes. “How do you feel?”
His hands went to his head. “Like hell.”
“How do you feel about Chrysabelle?” the fae asked.
The sound of her name deepened the ache in Mal’s chest. The voices droned in his brain, sad and confused and unhappy. “Like I can’t wait to see her again.”
Damian brought his sacre a little closer to Mal’s face. “So you can kill her?”
“No.” Mal scowled. “I love her.” Then he remembered. “Son of a priest, I’ve been a total ass.”
“Wasn’t your fault,” Mortalis said. “Not exactly.”
Doc shifted back to human from his half-form. “What the hell just happened?”
“Mal just got his emotions back.” Mortalis looked at him. “That’s all that matters.”
Doc raised a brow but said nothing else.
Mal got to his feet, wobbling slightly. Apparently getting all your emotions sucked out and then pumped back in made you feel like you’d been on a monthlong bender. “How did that happen? And where’s Chrysabelle?”
“She had something to take care of,” Mortalis answered. “But she should be home soon.” He studied Mal. “Are you sure you’re back?”
Mal nodded. The voices scratched around in his head, searching for remnants of old Mal. “I feel like I am. Except I really need to sit down.”
They moved into the living room, but Mortalis stayed close. “If you’re really back, take out those earplugs.”
Mal reached up and popped them out. “I’d forgotten about those. Damn it. And about Tatiana.”
“What about her?” Damian took the chair next to him. “We know she’s in town.”
“Not anymore. She’s already gone back to Corvinestri. Where she thinks I’ll be joining her.”
Damian frowned. “Why?”
Mal explained everything that had happened, from Tatiana coming to see him to his encounter with Creek to the tainted blood Dominic had been sending.
Mortalis nodded. “Chrysabelle asked him to do that.”
“It was a good idea. I can’t imagine how many people she kept me from killing.”
Doc frowned. “How many did you kill?”
“None.” He tried to think, but ingesting so many drugs in so few days had left a few hazy spots in his memory. “At least, I don’t think I did.”
“Think harder,” Damian said. “There have been a couple humans murdered in the last few days and everything I’ve heard says it was a vampire.”
“Bloody hell.” Mal racked his brain, trying to remember. He looked around. “I don’t seem to have any new ghosts following me, so I’m going to take that as a good sign.” He stood and stretched. “But if you want to stand guard over me while I sleep, be my guest. The sun will be up soon and I’m exhausted. Wake me when Chrysabelle gets home. I’ll be in the hurricane shelter until then.” Without waiting for a response, he headed down the hall.
He locked the door behind him and leaned against it. He’d remember if he killed someone, wouldn’t he? But he couldn’t answer that definitively. There was one way to tell. He stripped his clothes off and checked his skin for new names. Nothing but the usual that he could see.
He’d need a mirror to check the rest of his skin, but that would have to wait until the sun went down again. Until then, he needed to get unconscious and hope no new ghosts showed up to haunt him.
Chapter Twenty-six
I wish Velimai had made enough sandwiches for the flight home. I’m starving.”
Chrysabelle shook her head at Fi as she slid into the car beside her. “You’re always hungry, but this time so am I. A little.” She wasn’t totally over the lethargy of being on the fae plane, but as it diminished, her appetite
