Illusions of Fate

“Running water helps,” he says as if that is any explanation at all. “But I cannot have any part of you outside of the circle. If you would stand on my feet and”—he pauses and looks down as though unwilling to meet my gaze—“wrap your arms around me in as tight an embrace you can manage without pain, that should be enough.”

“Must we?”

I do not know why this sounds more intimate than being carried in his arms, but my cheeks burn. He nods and removes his arm from beneath the bend of my knees, easing me down until my toes meet the water and the tops of his shoes. Keeping Sir Bird between us and angling my hand so that it touches nothing, I wrap my free arm around Finn, trying not to note the smooth muscles of his back beneath his long, black overcoat.

“If you could—that is, would you mind terribly—tucking your head in as well?”

I close my eyes and lean in. My head fits right at the hollow of his neck, and the image of his collarbone springs unbidden into my mind. My breath must catch because he murmurs about having hurt me again. I shake my head, pressing it closer into his neck. “It’s fine,” I whisper, not trusting my voice.

“This won’t be painful, but you will be disoriented. Try not to let go when it’s finished. I fear you would fall.”

I nod into his neck, his pulse beneath my cheek.

He whispers a series of foreign words, and we are swept away, twirling and tumbling in a rush of water that is neither cold nor wet. It takes me several seconds to realize I am still upright, clinging to Finn, and even longer to process that we are not in any river, nor are we in the sewer system, but rather in a bright room where every square foot is covered in books—crammed on shelves, piled on tables and chairs and couches, strewn haphazardly in teetering stacks on the floor.

“You’re trembling.” Finn’s voice is a low song beside my ear, and I know I should let him go, but the commands refuse to transfer from my brain to my arm.

“Here is the back of the couch. Use it to steady yourself. I’m going to clear a spot for you to lie down.” He’s careful and gentle, as though addressing a spooked animal.

I nod and pull my head away from his neck, keeping my eyes down. I cannot look him in the face, not so soon. I shift to lean against t

he couch, and he slowly releases me. I sway but manage to stay upright, and he darts out of view. The sound of books being flung to the floor punctuates an otherwise silent room.

“How are you?” I whisper to Sir Bird.

He is breathing, I can feel it, but I have no knowledge of normal bird breathing, much less magical bird breathing, to determine whether it is too fast or too slow. It is easier, though, to focus on the bird rather than let my mind dwell on my own pain.

“Here,” Finn says. His arm is around my shoulders again, and he guides me around the couch to where I can sit. I don’t want to lie down. It feels too vulnerable, too personal, and brings to mind the other strange couch I woke up on today.

The coffee table.

The hammer.

“Are you going to be sick?” He sounds alarmed.

I lie down and squeeze my eyes shut. I feel fingers reaching to take Sir Bird and flex my arm instinctively.

“I promise not to harm your beastly little friend. But I need your hand. Will you trust me?”

This time I nod, and his hands are soft as he lifts Sir Bird away. “I have my eye on you,” he says in a low, menacing tone, and I am relieved to hear Sir Bird caw ill-naturedly in return.

Something warm and comfortingly heavy is placed over my waist and legs. I am shivering, shaking all over. Now that I no longer need to run, my body is shutting down.

“Your hand.” Finn’s voice is cold. I’ve done something to anger him, and I open my eyes, confused. He’s kneeling next to me, fingers outstretched, just barely above my injuries. They shake until he draws them into a fist. “I will kill him.”

“Wait your turn,” I try to say, but my voice breaks and I seal my lips shut.

“Will you let me fix them?”

“Are you a doctor?”

“I would not let a doctor within twenty feet of your fingers. I can make them right again.”

“Will it hurt?” I hate that tears pool in my eyes, but I cannot help it.

He nods. “It will. Terribly. But only for a moment.”

“Couldn’t you knock me over the head with something first?”