“Therador,” I repeated, still not convinced this wasn’t an elaborate joke at my expense. “Where is this place? If it’s another world, then how did you get here?”
“The curse,” Octavian explained. “We were sent here—and trapped here—by a curse. I cannot tell you were Therador is, at least not in relation to this world, but they are obviously linked somehow.”
“At first we assumed this was some sort of illusory plane,” Radven added. “A temporary dreamworld created by the curse itself. I even thought we might be dead, but further investigation suggested that was unlikely.” As if to prove his point, he produced a knife out of nowhere and slashed the tip of his finger, the blade moving so quickly it was gone again—probably up his sleeve—before his blood even began to well. “We’re still alive. And this place, wherever it is, has few traces of the essence of our homeland, which means it couldn’t have been created by the curse itself.”
“This world is larger and more complex than our own,” Octavian said. “And essence is…differenthere. We can’t feel the essence of this world, if it exists at all. And though we can feel the remnants of our own, we can’t manipulate it.”
In the time they’d been talking, I’d shoved half of the remaining cheese in my mouth. Unfortunately, contrary to what my subconscious apparently believed, a stomach full of cheese wasn’t helping me understand this any better.
“So are you guys saying you’re like, aliens? Or more like wizards?”
The corners of Octavian’s mouth deepened.
“Our world is similar to what’s depicted in many of the stories you call ‘fantasy’,” he said. “In fact, our research into those stories has led us to believe that this isn’t the first time people have traveled between our worlds.” He gestured to the bookshelf just behind me, and when I twisted around to get a better look I realized it was stuffed full of famous fantasy novels, includingThrones and Kingsand several more of my favorites.
“So you’re suggesting those stories are real,” I said, wanting to believe in spite of myself. “That magic and unicorns and all of that stuff actually exists. And you think the authors of these books actually traveled to your world? How can—”
Alastor’s fist slammed down on the table. “We’re wasting time. If you’re convinced this girl can help us, then just tell her what we need her to do and be done with it.”
“Yes,” Radven agreed, finally swinging his feet down to the floor and leaning forward in his seat. “There’s no reason to drag it out, Oak. Either she’s willing to help us or she isn’t.” The way his green eyes sharpened on me, though, suggested I had less of a choice than he’d suggested.
Octavian sighed, and there was an apology in his eyes as he addressed me again.
“We need you to help us get back home,” he told me.
“That’s the part I don’t understand,” I said. Okay, it was actually one ofmanyparts I didn’t understand, but sort of the Big One. “How exactly canIhelp you? You’re the ones from the magical world. I’m just a normal girl.” And not just a normal girl—a normal girl who had no life, spent as much time talking to succulents as to people, and whose greatest superpower was getting a bunch of internet people to read her mediocre fanfiction.
“Alastor has a theory,” Octavian said. “That if people have traveled here from our world before, they might have descendants who possess the essence of both worlds—people who are of this world but can touch Therador as well.Wecan’t open the connection between our worlds from this side. It has to be someone from this world—but someone who can connect to our world’s essence. Someone like that might be able to create a bridge between the two.”
“What are you saying?” I was pretty sure I already knew, but I wanted him to spell it out for me.
“You are from this world,” Octavian said, “but you can feel the essence of ours. Yourespondto it.”
“But I’m not magical,” I protested. “I’m not a wizard or whatever. I don’t know anything about curses or other worlds. And as far as I know, all of my relatives are normal.”
“But you canfeelit.” Octavian reached across the table and took my hand, his big, warm fingers enclosing mine. Immediately a fresh,shiveryshockwave shot up my arm, then tingled its way up the back of my scalp. “That means something, doesn’t it?” His eyes caught mine, and I suddenly remembered how close we’d been only an hour ago, how I’d allowed this man to hold me against his body and even kiss me when he was still a stranger. He had that same warmth in his expression now, but also an undeniablehope, like I was the answer to everything he’d ever been looking for.
My heart fluttered. I couldn’t put it into words, but something about this man made me want to trust him, to lean in, to offer him anything he wanted so he would keep looking at me like that.
“So what do you say?” His rumble of a voice was gentle, intimate, like a river tempting me into its deep waters. “Will you help us?”
9
The Lost
I’dalwaysbeenthesort of girl who said yes when people asked for help. It was part of my nature. And I liked to think that I was a good person, that Iwantedto help people, no matter what it cost me.
But this was too much.
Even assuming this was real—which was still open for debate—this sounded way,wayover my head.
I pulled my hand out of Octavian’s grip. My skin still buzzed, but it was easier to think straight when he wasn’t touching me. And when I wasn’t staring into those expressive, bottomless blue eyes.
“This is…alot,” I said finally, pushing up from my seat on shaky knees. My entire body itched with that incessantshiver, and it was growing more distracting every minute. “I’m sorry, but I think I need to go.”
I practically ran to the door, but Radven—who’d been the farthest away—somehow beat me there, blocking my path with his body. He hovered over me, all cruel beauty and deadly grace.
“I think you should reconsider,” he said, training his predator-like gaze on me.
