It took me a few moments to adjust and focus. Having realities swapped so quickly and completely seems to exceed what the human mind can process—we were not fashioned for such a method of travel—and it goes blank, like the static on late-night television, for a few seconds. It’s a vulnerable time. A person could be ambushed in such a moment.
My hand went instantly to my spear. I was relieved to find it was once again there, in the belt draped around my—“Haha, V’lane,” I muttered, pissed—hot pink bikini. “Jackass.” It was no wonder I was cold.
Then my brain processed what I was seeing and I gasped.
Barrons Books and Baubles had been ransacked!
Tables were overturned, books torn from shelves and strewn everywhere, baubles broken. Even my little TV behind the counter had been destroyed.
“Barrons?” I called warily. It was night and the lights were on. My illusory Alina had told me more than an hour had passed. Was it the same night, nearly dawn? Or was it the night following our theft attempt? Had Barrons come back from Wales yet? Or was he still there, searching for me? When I’d been so rudely ripped from reality, who or what had come through those basement doors?
I heard footsteps, boots on hardwood, and turned expectantly toward the connecting doors.
Barrons was framed in the doorway. His eyes were black ice. He stared at me a moment, raking me from head to toe. “Nice tan, Ms. Lane. So, where the fuck have you been for the past month?”
TWELVE
O ne afternoon,” I insisted. “I spent maybe six hours there, Barrons!”
I’d lost a month of my life, on a beach in the sun with Alina. It was incomprehensible. Had I aged a month or stayed the same? What if I’d chosen to hang out with Alina for a week? Would I have lost a year? Ten? What had changed since I’d been gone? I glanced out the window. One thing hadn’t—it was still raining.
“In Faery, you fool,” he snarled. “You know time doesn’t move the same there! We talked about that!”
“V’lane promised it would be only an hour of my time. He tricked me,” I said hotly.
“‘V’lane promised. He tricked me,’” he mocked in falsetto. “What did you expect? He’s a bloody Fae, Ms. Lane, and one of the—what do you call them—death-by-sex ones. He seduced you and you fell for it. What else did you fall for? Why did you agree to give him an hour in Faery in the first place?”
“I didn’t agree to give him an hour in Faery! I agreed to spend an hour with him at a time of his choosing. He didn’t say anything about where it would be spent.”
“Why did you agree to spend an hour with him at all?”
“Because he helped me clear the Shades from the bookstore!”
“I would have helped you clear the Shades!”
“You weren’t there!” We were shouting at each other.
“Deals with the devil, Ms. Lane, never go well. That’s a given. You will not make one again. Do you understand me? If I have to chain you to a fucking wall to protect you from your own stupidity, I will!” He glared at me.
I rattled my chains. “Wrists. Beam. Chained already, Barrons. Come up with a new threat.” I glared back.
He tried to stare me down, make me quail and look away. I didn’t. Not even with my arms chained behind me, wearing only a string bikini. I was losing the ability to quail and I would never again be the kind of girl that looked away.
“Who trashed the bookstore, Barrons?” I demanded. I had a lot of questions and so far I’d not gotten the chance to ask a single one. The moment he’d seen me, he’d charged me, roughly bundled me over his shoulder, hauled me to the garage, stripped off my tool belt, and chained me to a support beam. I hadn’t even tried to fight him off; there was more steel inside Barrons than the post behind me.
A muscle in his jaw worked. He turned away, walked to a small metal worktable on wheels, and rolled it over next to me. Then he retrieved a long, flat wooden box from one of the many tool shelves.
“What are you doing?” I said warily. He removed items from the box and began placing them on the table next to me. First came two tiny bottles that contained liquids: one crimson, one black. Were they poisons? Drugs? Next came a knife, very sharp, with a long, deadly point. “Are you going to torture me?” I said incredulously. He withdrew a sooty candle with a long black wick. “Or cast a spell on me?” Could he do that?
“What I am going to do, Ms. Lane, is tattoo you.” He opened the bottles, unwrapped a set of needles bound in embossed leather, and lit the candle. He began heating a needle in the flame.