“We can not let the council know what we have!” Byron told me.
I decided I trusted him way more than I had ever trusted Caleb. I slashed my wand through the air and gave Byron my support. “Forget everything you saw and heard here!”
“Where am I? What’s happening?” Caleb said. “Helena? Were we…working on something together?” He turned around toward Byron and pointed at him with his wand. “You. You did something to me. Helena, please—you’re going to turn your back on the council? You sure you want to do that?”
“Helena!” Byron’s physical form was becoming more translucent, his power clearly sapped from the spell.
If Kiersten and Caleb didn’t post so many annoying pictures, I would have been more helpful, but…boy, it was hard to be the single girl living out of a truck and look at their sunlit California children, spa days, and beautiful remodels.
Caleb would be fine without any memory of this incident.
It was certainly possible that Byron didn’t really have my best interests in mind and his hotness was clouding my judgment, but there were worse ways to lose your head.
“Caleb, I banish all memories of this night from your mind and I banish you from my house!” My spell shoved the window wide open and Caleb was knocked out of it. The wind seemed to carry him to a tumbling stop on the grass, hard enough that he lay there a second. I ran to the window and slammed it shut, but then I watched him struggle to his feet and run like hell for his rental car.
I put my palm over my heart. I was feeling short of breath now that it was over. “I sure hope his memory stays gone. If this did get back to the council, I’m in deep shit.”
“He had a simple mind,” Byron said. “I think it will take.”
I couldn’t help a snicker. “But this is scary. The council is looking for this thing! Graham is coming back in a week to show me where he buried the books. Can he tell me the answers I need?”
“I wish I could say,” Byron said. “This is truly painful for me to watch. Everything is on the line for me, and I’m helpless to help you. All I can do is to assure you that the object must be protected.”
“Are you okay, Byron? You’re fading away before my eyes! Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Well…”
“Right.” I blushed. “I figured.”
“What do you say? Will you surrender to me tonight, sweet angel?”
“Not if you ask like that!” I gave my cheeks a little slap. I was feeling hot all over.
“We were interrupted. But if you think you can still sleep, I will meet you there and see what answer you give in the garden.”
My mother used to tell me never to trust a demon. This demon was awfully lucky that over time, I had learned not to trust my mother.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
HELENA
I STOOD at the gate of my dream garden but at first I seemed to be alone. All dressed up and nowhere to go. My brain had sorted the boots out. The heels weren’t quite as high. I was wearing a short, filmy dress like some mythological Greek huntress.
And no underwear. I guess my subconscious was ready to go.
Whatever. No shame in getting a little dream action.
Except there was no Byron to get with.
“Byron?”
I was a little worried when he didn’t come even when I called his name. Finally, I opened the gate and ventured out of the garden, walking the path that wound through a woodland. It was my own dream, so it should be safe, right? But I got a little jumpy when I heard rustling in the woods. Sometimes I thought I saw eyes looking out at me from the bushes. It felt like I was on the edge of the Sinistral realm. And clouds were moving in, blocking the sunshine I enjoyed in the garden.
Was he leading me on a chase? If so, not funny. I kept going, thinking less about dream sex and more about my genuine worries that Byron could be in trouble.
I came around a bend, the path curling around a rocky river bank that was just a little too wide to jump, the water clear but dark, and up to a bridge. Immediately, I saw the unconscious form on the far side of the bank, crumpled wings and his arms splayed limp.
“Byron!” I ran toward the stone bridge that spanned the river and—no shit—a big ugly troll clambered up the arches with surprising agility to block my way. He was only about five feet tall but his arms were thicker than my waist, and his skin was gray, his bald head the same color as the sky.
“First, you must answer my riddle!” the troll said. “What fabric is as old as time, as fragile as glass, and that shall brush the face of rich man and poor man, man and woman?”
“I don’t have time for this!” I blasted the troll.
The troll let out a shriek of rage and charged at me. Damnit. Trolls were tough. I tried to climb over the side of the bridge and the troll grabbed my arm and hauled me back onto the bridge, practically dislocating my shoulder.
I rubbed the aching joint. “This is just a dream! And it’s supposed to be sexy! Why is this so complicated?” I said. “I banish you from my dream!”
“You must answer the riddle.”
“A funeral shroud.”
“Wrong! Try again!”
“That’s totally right. A funeral shroud. Everyone wears a funeral shroud, well, at least in a lot of cultures throughout time. And they last forever because they’re buried, but then they get very fragile. Or—maybe—ohh, wait. The fabric of time?”
“I already said the fabric was as old as time,”
