“Rowan, don’t,” I warned.
“Corbin spoke to her. He says he’s in the underworld, and that if we work together with him we can stop Daigh forever.” Rowan jerked my shoulder. “He said we could bring him back.”
Bring him back.
Corbin’s earnest face flashed in my vision – the dream as clear in my mind as if it was a real memory. But it wasn’t. Corbin wasn’t coming back, and the more Rowan wanted to believe it, the more certain I was it wasn’t true.
“Why didn’t you say something?” Aline stood up. “If Corbin spoke to you in a vision, then?—”
“It wasn’t a vision. It was adream,” I said. “I just lost someone special to me. Of course he’s going to show up in my dreams. I relived my parents’ accident again and again in my dreams after they died. It doesn’t mean they were trying to speak to me from the underworld.”
“That you know of,” Isadora said with a smirk.
“Don’t speak to me,” I growled at her.
“Can you tell us about this dream?” Aline said. “Entertain your mother and her belief in prophecy, just the once. Maybe there’s something to it.”
Spirit magic sparked against my palms. I wanted to press them to Rowan’s cheeks andshowhim how painful it was to see Corbin in his dreams. The flood of anger that rose inside me and was directed at this beautiful guy I cared about so much terrified me. I stepped back and shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.
“Come on, Einstein,” Flynn cooed. “Is it such a stretch to believe that he could reach you in your dreams? Youareour resident dreamwalker.”
“We don’t even know what dreamwalkingmeans!” I yelled. “Dreams are just our brains processing information while we sleep. I might be able to give other people my dreams and pulltheir own nightmares out of their heads, but that doesn’t mean I can process information I’m not supposed to know yet. Magic is still a natural force – it can’t break the laws of causality. If you don’t believe me, then look at the evidence. The stakes and the radiated earth in my dreams didn’t come to pass. Daigh had the dream first and gave it to me and then used the stakes because he knew it would scare us. Science was right – retrocausality can’t work on a macroscopic level, precognition is impossible, and chaos prevails.”
“Or maybe Corbin figured out how?—”
“He didn’t,” I growled. “Ireallywant to stop talking about this. Take me to Daigh.”
Rowan’s face fell. “But what about the dream?—”
I balled my hands into fists. “This discussion is over. I’m the High Priestess, and I’m seeing Daigh.Now.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
EIGHT: MAEVE
This begins and ends with Daigh.
My supposed father. The King of the Unseelie. Blake’s kidnapper and torturer. The murderer of my parents and Corbin. Every word out of his mouth so far had been a lie. He was right here in the same building as me, stripped of his magic and completely under my power.
And I had a motherfuckingscoreto settle.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea—” Clara began, but as her eyes met mine, the words died on her lips. She nodded.
“I’m going with you,” Blake piped up.
Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but Flynn glared at him and he shut his mouth.
“We’re coming, too.” Aline squeezed Smithers’ hand.
Whatever. I didn’t care. I needed to get out of this room. I needed them all to stop attacking each other and talking about Corbin as if there was some possibility he was still alive. Rage had forced out the numbness, and I needed to do something with it before its fire consumed me from within. As much as I wanted to throttle every witch and human and fox in the room, this rage wasn’t for them. I needed to give it to the person whodeservedit.
Ryan glanced from me to Blake to Aline, and then back to me again. He looked like he was going to protest, but then thought better of it. He shrugged. “Fine. Follow me.”
Ryan led us down another drab hall, through a thick glass and steel door into a temperature-controlled vaulted gallery filled with majestic paintings. Bright colours leered out of the walls, assailing my eyes with woodland scenes and bold abstracts that suggested the world was richer and more beautiful than I knew it to be. I balled my hands into fists, resisting the urge to tear down an image of a young girl carrying a heart-shaped balloon and smash it over Ryan’s head.
Down another short hall, the walls lined with stacks of large, flat boxes I guessed contained more artwork, we came to a large metal door. Ryan rapped on the door with his knuckles, resulting in a dull thud of solid steel. “I had this safe installed a few years ago to store my art collection when I rotated the displays. It’s the most secure place in the house. It’s also ventilated to prevent condensation damaging the paint.”
“The perfect prison,” Blake said in his usual easy tone. I glanced up at him. He had his mask on again – the still expression and cocky smirk that. But his eyes… the darkness.
