I’m shaking. It takes the last of my strength to finally get off of the ground. Pulling myself to my knees, I peer up at Nine imploringly.
“Help me, please. Make this stop. Make it go away. You can do it. I know you can.”
“Riley—”
“You want me to beg? I’ll beg. I’ll do anything you want me to. I won’t go back there, Nine. I don’t belong in Faerie.”
Nine’s expression closes off. His silver eyes gleam, the points of his ears peeking out through the inky strands of pitch-black hair as he looks down on me. His nostrils flare, a muscle ticking in his sharp jaw as he stares down at me.
“Don’t beg,” he orders. “I don’t ever want to hear you beg me for a thing. That’s even worse than you trying to thank me. Trust me, Shadow. You don’t ever want to be in my debt.”
Thank you… know that? I actually remember that. One of Nine’s earliest lessons when I was a kid. The fae don’t like to be thanked. You can nod your head, even offer a curtsy instead, but never, ever say thanks. Either you’re doing what Nine just warned me of—putting yourself into the fae’s debt—or you’re offering mere words in exchange for whatever it was the fae went to the trouble of doing.
At least, that’s how they see it.
Come on. I can’t plead with him to help me, and even if I got him to agree, a ‘thank you’ would be a major slap in the face.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
I stick my finger down my throat, hoping that that will help get rid of the poison; it won’t, but no one’s accusing me of thinking rationally right now. I’ve already thrown up everything in there and then some so while it triggers my gag reflex, nothing comes out.
I lay out on the sewer floor, my hands wrapped around my middle. My sides ache from the uncontrollable heaves. Now my mouth tastes like rancid peach, acrid vomit, and dirty leather.
So that didn’t help. Not even a little bit.
Did I really think it would?
I moan. Can’t help it. I’m so miserable, and so freaking upset, it’s all I can do. And now my only hope is staring down at me as if this is all my fault.
I blame Rys. And the peach. And the Shadow Prophecy for good measure.
I’m not going to Faerie. As I return to my fetal position, I figure this is as good a spot to die as any. Right now, I don’t doubt that that’s what’s gonna happen.
From somewhere above me, Nine lets out a sigh.
“I’ll do it. For you, Riley, I’ll do anything. But you won’t like it.”
I perk up just enough to prop myself on my elbow. “I don’t care if I’ll like it. Fix me.”
“First, there are a few things you need to understand.”
No, I don’t. “If it will make this feeling go away, do it. If it will keep me from having to go back to Faerie, I don’t care what you have to do.”
“Be careful, Riley. It’s not in a fae’s nature to explain the terms before entering into a contract. I’m doing you a kindness. You want me to tell you what will happen if you agree to let me help you my way.”
Not really. Maybe it’s the panic attack, or the threat of what eating the peach means, but I’m feeling even weaker as another second passes. I want it gone. I want it gone now.
“There
’s no time.”
“There’s plenty. If I had found you after another moonrise, I don’t think it would take. I had to search countless portals until I found Rys’s trace and here you are. There’s still time enough. The charm from the faerie food… it’s still fresh.”
“Trace?” I echo, letting out a groan as my head begins to pound against my skull again. It’s so hard to think, but that sounded way important—and like Nine was trying to slip it by me by bringing up the demon peach. “Rys’s trace? What… what does that have to do with me being poisoned?”
He hesitates. I brace myself.
It’s never good news for Riley when Nine has to think about what he’s saying.