It’s colder than I’d like, but I don’t care. Winter might be throwing one last hissy fit before surrendering to spring, but it’s all good. The fey invaded two weeks ago and nothing terrible has happened. I’ve been glued to the news, but so far it seems the fey simply walked into the Houses of Parliament, and the White House, and other places of power, and announced that they are in charge now.
Some humans tried to fight back, but it has been about as effective as trying to put out the sun with a water gun.
As I chuckle at the thought, my breath fogs in front of me. The tips of my ears are already red, and I still haven’t put gloves on, but I can’t stop smiling. Everything is good, and today is an especially excellent day. I’m pacing outside the house, grinning like an idiot, checking my phone even though I know the time down to the second.
Cara’s coming. She’s finally coming. Cara and Sorcha.
My parents are arriving tomorrow once we’ve finished getting all the unused rooms ready. Everyone I love is going to be under one roof.
The fey have taken over the world, but granted our house safety. So we all decided it was a good idea to gather up any relatives and loved ones. Morgan’s got some people coming tomorrow too. They need to be somewhere safe, somewhereprotected. Somewhere enchanted, if we’re honest. Somewhere that understands the weird.
Our strange little found-family manor is perfect.
I hear the crunch of gravel and my head snaps up. A battered van rolls up the long drive like it’s just finished a cross-country quest, and I guess that’s pretty much the truth. It squeaks to a halt and the driver door opens. Cara climbs out. Her dark hair’s in a long braid, her coat is half-buttoned, and she’s already squinting at the house like she’s trying to work out which part might be haunted.
I bolt forward.
She spots me and lets out a squeal. “Flyn!”
We meet halfway in a tight, bouncing hug. I lift her off her feet, the same way I used to when we were kids, as soon as I was big enough, and she lets out an exaggerated oof.
“I missed you,” I say into her hair.
“Obviously,” she laughs. “You left civilization to shack up with sirens and sword-wielding sorcerers.”
I laugh, too, even though the truth is weightier than the joke. We part and she gives me a once-over.
“You look happy,” she says softly. “Like, really happy.”
I nod. “I am.”
Then something small slams into my legs.
“Uncle Flyn!” Sorcha yells.
I scoop her up and spin her around, and she shrieks with laughter, legs kicking out, arms clinging to my neck. My heart feels like it might split open. I haven’t seen her since just after her fifth birthday. She’s grown.
“You’ve gotten heavy!” I say, planting a kiss on her cheek as I set her down.
“Have not.”
“You definitely have.”
She sticks her tongue out at me. I grin.
Then I see her eyes dart past me, so I follow her gaze.
Threefigures are peeking out from the side of the house. Noah, Oscar, and little Lottie, all of them hanging back shyly, half-hidden by the ivy. I wave them over.
Sorcha doesn’t wait.
She marches right up to them, hands on her hips like a tiny general, sparkly wellies stomping. “I’m Sorcha,” she declares. “Your new best friend.”
The four of them stare at each other for half a second, and then they’re off, screaming with laughter, bolting toward the back garden like a swarm of puppies.
Behind me, Cara snorts. “Well, I see your place comes with instant childcare.”
“Apparently,” I say, still grinning. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”
