Bridget gaped at him, and then the vial in her hand. The swirling indigo liquid glistened and glowed with every movement. “Every potion I’ve had from a Fae has almost killed me. How do I know this won’t do the same to her?”
The Shaman rolled his eyes. “Relax. I made it from ingredients I bought at the Walmart in New London. Like I said, it won’t heal her, just contain her symptoms. For now, at least. Your Andarrian friend is right. The cure is only found on that tiny little island she calls home. Besides, I’m not Fae.”
Bridget grasped the vial tighter in her hand, refusing to break eye contact with the Tuathan in front of her. Had he seen them coming? And why help them at all? She looked for any sign on his face for an ulterior motive, but his gaze was unreadable. Every Shaman she’d met or seen had seemed wild, cutthroat, and embedded with a resentment for humans. But the one in front of her reminded her of Cade, more than anything. She couldn’t pinpoint whether it was his attitude or the shape of his face. Heart thundering in her chest, Bridget asked, “What’s the price?”
His lips turned upward as he nodded at Nylah. “Just give it to her.”
Wordlessly, Bridget uncorked the vial and handed it to her sister. Without hesitation, Nylah downed the potion in one gulp. Seconds later, color returned to her dark cheeks and her hazy eyes cleared. Bridget’s entire body relaxed in relief. So much so, she involuntarily let out a small laugh. She turned back to the Shaman to thank him, only to find him walking away again. “Wait!” she called. When he didn’t, she hopped up and ran after him. “Stop!”
“Bridget…” Archer warned.
But she was done waiting for answers. If he wouldn’t stop, then she would make him. Bridget pulled another dagger out of her boot and threw it at him.
The Shaman whirled around and flicked it away before it hit him. “Would you stop doing that?”
“Not until you send us across the gate,” she said. “I have to get the cure for Nylah. I won’t depend on some concoction you made. Screw whatever vision tells you to keep me here.”
The Shaman whirled around. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you’ve seen the things I have. Besides, I made a promise to myself to not get involved anymore. Trust me, it’s better that way.”
“You’ve already made yourself involved. You were there the night we came through from Cavamyne. Don’t deny it. And again, in Boston last month. You didn’t have to talk to me at the library. Or at the gate. I was just trying to say goodbye.”
She hated that her voice broke. Swallowing hard, Bridget straightened her spine. It would be easier to negotiate if he didn’t know how desperate she was. Even if she had a feeling he already knew. “Plus, you had that vial ready for my sister,” Bridget continued. “So just stop with the vague warnings and help us.”
The Shaman stiffened. He stared at her, then Nylah. He even spared a glance at Archer and Alexia, who still waited by the gate. Only then did Bridget realize they were frozen in place behind her. That the air around her was thick and heavy with the presence of magic. That she was the only thing moving.
Frantically, she asked, “What did you do to them?”
“Nothing. We’re inside your head,” the Shaman said. “For all they know, you’re still throwing the dagger at me.”
Faintly, somewhere far away, Bridget felt wetness underneath pooling underneath her nose. “Why are you talking to me in here?”
“Because if you expect me to help, I need to know you trust them. What I know shouldn’t fall on the wrong ears.”
“Shouldn’t you be able to see whether or not they’ll be trustworthy?”
“I’m not omniscient. My visions are only bits and pieces of important events, and usually about people I’m already focused on watching.”
Bridget tensed. “Then why see me?”
“Do you trust them?” he countered, each word said like its own sentence.
Bridget glanced back at the frozen Nylah, Archer, and Alexia. Only one of them made her hesitate. Would she ever trust Alexia with her life? No. But would she trust her to do whatever it takes to get back to Andarre? Absolutely. And that was all she needed to save her sister.
However, Bridget couldn’t ignore the tiny seed of doubt, or hope, that Alexia was lying about everything… that the curse wasn’t broken and that she wasn’t from Andarre. That somehow, they could heal her sister here so that her heart wouldn’t be fed the hope it was starving for… the hope to see Cade. Bridget pushed the thought away. He wasn’t something she could afford to think about until Nylah was safe and healed.
When she turned back to the Shaman, she wondered if he could hear her thoughts, because a sad, stony expression had overtaken his face. Throat tightening, Bridget asked the one question she knew would reveal if Alexia was lying or not. “Am I from Andarre?”
“Yes.”
Bridget closed her eyes and let the truth wash over her. Part of her wanted to sleep and not wake up for a very long time. The other part wanted to scream and thrash at everyone that had kept the truth from her. It was impossible, but at the same time, made complete sense in her head. Hadn’t she always felt out of place? Hadn’t she been secretly longing for the world she vowed to hate for the last few months?
When she was certain no tears would escape, Bridget opened her eyes. “Then I trust them,” she said. “If I’m from Andarre, does that mean Alexia is right? That the curse—”
The Shaman held up a hand and cut her off. “Some things are better seen than heard. At least for you.”
Bridget opened her mouth to argue, but a roaring whoosh slammed her to the ground. Noise and movement crashed into her senses. Bridget groaned and dug her fingers into the wet snow. The conversation in her head had cost her. Her temples throbbed and blood stained the white beneath her. A small hand grabbed her shoulder.
“Are you okay? Why are you bleeding?” Nylah asked.
