38
Jules
I don’t stop dragging Hanna until the heavy bedroom doors close behind us with a decisive thud.
Only then do I let her and Mr. Mittens go.
My cat slips out of my arms and goes to explore, sniffing curiously at his new surroundings.
Hanna stumbles a step, then spins in a slow circle, staring at everything at once—the towering four-poster bed draped in crimson satin…the thick carpets muffling sound beneath our feet…the floor-to-ceiling scarlet curtains framing tall gothic windows that glow faintly with the light of the Bleeding Court beyond—she takes it all in. The ruby-crystal chandelier overhead casts a warm red gleam over everything, turning the room intimate and surreal.
Seeing the strange surroundings through her eyes is like seeing it all fresh for the first time. It feels like a dream…or maybe a nightmare.
I cross the room and drop into my favorite chair by the fire—the big one that seems to cradle me just right, like it was made for my body. The flames crackle softly, sending warmth over my skin.
“Come sit,” I offer, motioning to the chair beside me. “We need to talk.”
Hanna comes over to the chair, but she seems too nervous to sit. She starts pacing instead, hands flying as she talks, scrubs whispering with every frantic stride.
“Okay,” she says, sounding breathless. “Okay, no. Nope. You don’t get to just drag me out of a dinner with a walking skeleton deer-man and then not explain anything.”
I rub my temples.
“Hanna, breathe. I’m trying to explain. We’re in the Shadow Realm.”
She takes a jagged breath and runs her hands through her curls.
“The Shadow Realm? What the hell, Jules? Is this where you’ve been all this time? We’ve been so worried about you! You didn’t answer any of your phone calls or texts. You haven’t sent anyone a funny meme for ages.”
“So you came to my apartment to check on me?” I guess. Hanna has one of my spare keys. Tasha has the other one.
“Yes, because your apartment isn’t far from my work, so I was closest,” Hanna says. “I knocked and knocked, but you weren’t there. But I could hear Mr. Mittens meowing his head off.”
I glance down at Mr. Mittens, who has settled in front of the fire and is currently licking his paw with intense focus, completely unbothered.
“He had almost run out of food,” Hanna says, nodding at him. “He’d eaten nearly everything from the automatic feeder—I guess he managed to knock it over somehow. There was kibble everywhere. And water all over the floor too.”
I frown at my cat.
“You’re going to have a tummy ache,” I tell him sternly. “I hope Whistler remembered to bring your litter box.”
Mr. Mittens flicks an ear at me and continues washing himself.
“Whistler?” Hanna asks sharply. “Is that his name? The weird guy who grabbed me?”
I nod.
“Yeah, that’s him. He brought me over too.” I lean forward. “How did it happen for you? Did he just… appear in my apartment?”
“Kind of…” Hanna frowns, her eyes going distant. “I heard this scratching sound coming from your bedroom. And I had this horrible thought—” Her voice wobbles. “That maybe you’d been attacked. That you were tied up back there or something and that’s why you hadn’t been answering any of our calls or texts.”
My stomach drops at her words. That is an awful thought—but not nearly as strange as the truth.
“So I went to open the bedroom door,” she continues, “But it didn’t lead to the bedroom.”
I sit up straighter.
“Let me guess—instead you saw a long hallway?”
