Once the remnantsof my suffocating panic ebbed away, I slowed down.
Why did this keep happening? My Soulsayer ability kept going haywire, overriding every sense, slipping further out of my control each time. It was bad enough feeling like I was drowning in a pool of my own emotions, but then to have my senses surge like a lightning bolt shocking that water . . .brutal.
God, I desperately needed real training. I’d be more likely to hit the jackpot at one of Lochlainn’s crooked casinos than find someone to train me. Soulsayers were rare enough in Hallow Land, so in Luckland—virtually nonexistent.
My mind kept replaying the intrusive voice on loop.
Like come on, Lochlainn’sgrandmother? I hadn’t even touched anything of hers. Or did I? The words sounded so clear, so crisp—as if she said it right into my ear. So unlike how the voices usually were.
And she slipped into my mind like a pest sneaking through a cat door with no effort or warning.
And as for the whole new, unusual, hand-vine-flower-unlocking thing?—
Fucking hell.
I combed my fingers through my long copper locks, a coping habit I’d picked up over the years. As if my anxieties were lice my fingers could scrape out.
Something was off with Lochlainn. He’d never been this much of a prick. The laid back, lighthearted, taking-a-piss version of him seemed to be on vacation today.
It took him all of three seconds to agree to me seeing the archives. Like it was no significance to him—just pocket change lost.
So why’d he back out now? And in such a hugely dick way?
Maybe I happened to stroll in as the convenient punching bag after his tiff with Pogue. I don’t know, I just couldn’t wrap my head around it.
The look he gave me—that lethal, warning glare—rattled me.
Then my new ability showing up again.Fothermucker.
Lochlainn will shit a brick when he realizes I broke out of his precious top-security fortress. I hadn’t even told David about my new little party trick. Told myself I was too overwhelmed by everything to bring it up, but in truth, I was nervous. I’dneverheard of a Hallow Lander having more than one ability—especially something nature-based. It didn’t make sense. But then again, a lot still didn’t make sense to me about this realm.
What the hell was wrong with me?
My mind slipped back to the prophecy David mentioned.
A child with powers unparalleled to the Skell King’s.
Wasthispart of that? I’d really been banking on taking that crazy nonsense with a grain of salt.
I mean, I could hardly hold a simple phone call with the dead—or fold a fitted sheet. The idea of being in the same league as theSkell Kingwas a complete joke.
Breathe. Just breathe, I reminded myself.
In my meandering, I’d wandered several blocks before finally stopping in front of Luckmarket Square. It was bustling with people. Elaborate tented stalls lined the perimeter of the cobblestone square in an abundance of colors. Pure social joy.
At its center, a circular patch of grass cradled a beautiful fountain in the shape of a golden oak tree. Fat droplets trickled down from the branches like its own personal rain shower. The base was a pool of clear water, shimmering with scattered sunken coins that caught the light like orbs.
This part of the city was so authentically Luckland. Those with heavy pockets had their fill, flaunting their gold-touched fashion, carrying boxes and bags full of new trinkets and fresh goods. Common folk took to the stalls as vendors, luring coin in with sweet scents or sights. People of every variety chattered away as steam sizzled from food stands while boisterous calls lured patrons to come try a bite. High-pitched giggles erupted as rare little ones sprinted by. Potent smells wafted off apothecaries, drawing in tempted souls. And beautiful Brassers trailed teasing fingers up the arms of men, hoping to make quick coin for their company. It was chaos. It was charm. It was culture. It wasLuckland.
One smell in particular was reeling me in.Chocolate. Warm, rich, and completely irresistible. I was too weak to fight its magnetism and too emotionally in need of a fix. It had a spice to it—something like cinnamon.
The chocolatier was snuggly tucked between an exotic fur shop and a trap shack. A small metallic squeak caught my gaze. A tiny cage was lightly swinging in the breeze. Cages of varyingsizes and lengths glittered with enchantments, faintly buzzing with power.
What in the world were people trying to catch? Actually, now that I thought about it, I wondered if those would work on Brownies . . .
I ducked my head beneath the velvet tent opening, letting the delicious scent guide me in as if it were holding my hand. Inside, a gray-haired woman worked with swift, practiced motions—twisting and stretching a golden-brown sweet, over and over.
Weathered eyes met mine.
