Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Which was how she knew that she needed to go. Go and get her own answers. Here, she would only be a part of Graves’s mission. She would only know enough to suit him and not enough to suit her. She wanted more than that. But if she was to return to the city, her home, to Graves . . . then she wanted it to be on her own terms.
“I understand.” He spoke in a way that said he didn’t approve.
“You could tell me where to start, though,” she suggested.
He considered the request. “If I was starting, I’d go to Dublin,” he said. “There’s a place on Grafton Street called the Goblin Market. It’s probably your best bet if you won’t stay.”
Kierse almost laughed. The Goblin Market. The same place that Lorcan had suggested. Well, if she had doubted either of them telling the truth before, having the same answer from both of them confirmed it.
“Thank you.”
He nodded. “You’ll be safe?”
“As safe as I ever am.”
“That’s what I am afraid of.”
“Give me more credit,” she said, reaching for playful.
“And the spear?” he asked hesitantly.
“Is mine,” she told him. “Your spell will have to wait.”
He grasped her hand. She realized in that moment that he wasn’t wearing his gloves. Skin to skin. His heat melted into her.
“What we had was real,” he confessed. “It was real for me.”
“I know.” She met his gray gaze, saw the fiery emotions so blatant there. She wanted to lean into it. She wanted so much more from him. “It was real for me, too.”
The door to the attic creaked open then. “Kierse, Ethan just left . . .” Gen trailed off when she saw Graves standing in the room. “Oh, should I come back?”
She looked around the attic that had been her sanctuary. But it was just a room now. It was the people that mattered in her life. Gen, Ethan, Colette, Nate. They were what mattered. And maybe . . . maybe Graves, too.
“No,” Kierse said. “I think I got everything that I need.”
Then she walked past Graves, took Gen’s arm, and closed the page on her life in the attic.
Graves’s voice carried over the threshold. “Are you going to come back?”
“New York City is my home,” she said. “I’m not done here yet.”
Interlude
Graves stood in his renovated library. All the books were back where they belonged. The roof was repaired. Even Anne had returned to his side.
Spring was fully in swing, but he still felt the cold.
Felt Kierse’s absence from the city.
He remembered the first time that he saw her. The little thief who had gotten in past his wards to steal a diamond. She had been limned in the dim light, her brown hair a chocolate wave extending out of the ponytail. Her figure was not quite starved—a look he’d seen on many in the city in those days after the war had ended. She had more muscle than most. Her cheekbones were defined as she pocketed the diamond and checked her surroundings.
But she didn’t see him.
Didn’t expect his fury. And when he caught her and had her within his clutches, there she had stood with a wren necklace around her throat, her skin refusing to give him the answers he so desired.
He had known then that she was powerful. But not how powerful.
Or that all that power would sunder him.
For he had lived many lives, but none had been worth living compared to these weeks with her.
He poured himself a drink and scooped up the black cat, who snarled in irritation at him. Anne nipped at his hand, and he dropped her. She landed on all fours and pounced atop the couch, giving him an angry side-eye before sinking onto a cushion.
She’d been like this ever since the night of the solstice. He could hardly blame her.
“I know. I miss her, too.”
Graves drained his drink and then set it down on the table. He leaned over the materials he had collected on the spell that he had been working on for much of his life. He needed all four objects to complete the spell. He’d had two in his possession on the solstice, and now, he had none. He was back at square one.
In a momentary burst of anger, he swept his hand across the table and cast all of the documents and papers to the floor. The glass went with it, shattering into a million pieces. He wanted to rage. He had lost both objects . . . and Kierse. His wren. And what did he have to show for it?
He leaned his palms on the table and dropped his head forward, his midnight-blue hair hanging into his eyes.
He knew who had the sword.
He knew who had the spear.
That was at least something. It was better than nothing, which was what he felt like he had.