“Lee?” Esme’s golden brows twist with confusion. “Lee …” Understanding dawns in her wide sunshine eyes. “Su-LEE-en?Sulien?”
She remembers.
I knew I wanted to hear my name—my true name—on her lips at least once more. But I didn’t know how much until my entire body shudders with the simple pleasure.
She remembers me.
That single gift, my name spoken in her sweet voice, is more than I let myself hope for. Now—maybe—I can leave Folk Haven. Let her live a happy life with her new love.
“You’re here?” She pants the question, and my brief spike of triumph morphs into concern when I spy the wildness in her gaze.
“Essie—” The nickname slips out.
“You’rehere?” Her features sharpen in a flicker, taking on the beautiful angles of a hawk, as she digs her fingers into my beard, searching for the shape of my face.“YOU’RE HERE!”
A harpy’s scream.
The words pierce my skull like needles shoved into my eardrums. Painful. Powerful.
The last thing I hear before the world goes black.
8
As I slowly awaken froma strange dream, I hear muffled voices speaking around me. Part of my mind wants to pay attention to them. But another part—a more demanding part—wants me to turn over and bury my face deeper into the most comfortable pillow in the world.
I’m distracted from the internal argument by the gentle brush of fingers through my hair. Someone is touching me, and it feelsgood.
If I could stay in this half-wakeful state forever, I would. But there’s one problem.
My ears itch. When I reach up to rub them, my fingers come away, coated in an oily substance.
“Don’t do that. It’s a healing potion.” The sweet voice coaxes me to open my eyes, meeting an amber set above mine. “Sorry. I ruptured your eardrums when I screamed.” Esme scowls. “I mean, I want to throttle you.” Her hands fist in my shirt, and I watch her glare go soft. “But I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Yes, well, he’s fine now.”
Glancing to the side, I spot a Black woman with iron-gray hair in braids, washing her hands in my kitchen sink, and I realize we’re in my apartment.
“Easy enough fix. Easy for me, of course. Doesn’t mean it won’t cost you.”
“Madeline is a healing witch. One of two in town,” Esme explains before leaving off staring at me to glance the stranger’s way. “And of course. What payment do you want? Money or favor?”
Madeline packs up her bag, tucking away glass jars full of colorful liquids. “Favor,” the witch declares. “I want you to stitch me a dress for the Halloween Ball. Something that’ll make Georgiana choke on her snobby tongue.”
Even from my lower angle, I can see the curve of Esme’s smile.
“I can do that.”
“And do I get a favor for carrying his heavy ass upstairs?” The familiar voice comes from the couch, and I know who it is without looking.
“Don’t get me started on you, Xavier.”
My pillow shifts with her movement, and I realize I’m not lying on fabric and stuffing. My head is in Esme’s lap.
Now, even more than before, I want to bury my face into the plush surface.
But before I can roll over, her strong hand cradles the back of my skull, and her legs disappear, quickly replaced by an actual pillow. A grumble of protest sneaks out of my throat, but she doesn’t seem to be paying attention to me anymore.
“You knew this whole time, didn’t you?” The harpy advances on the dragon, face fierce.
