Living room it is.
No dreams. With a full belly and eyes that just can’t seem to stay open any longer, I fall asleep easily—and I don’t dream.
Thank freaking God.
Halfway through the night, I start to shiver. The temperature dips at night during October, especially in Acorn Falls, and no electricity means no heat. I pull the sleeves of my hoodie off of my arms, tucking them against my middle, trying desperately to warm myself up. It must work because I fall asleep in a curled-up fetal position, too tired to even care about the chill.
I’m up with the sun. The way it angles in through the bare window, the bright rays seem to slap me awake. I squint and groan and pull myself up so that I’m sitting instead of lying sprawled out on the hardwood floor.
Something whispers as I shift. Glancing down, I see the same black, silky blanket pooling around my waist, rustling beneath my filthy jeans as I move to get a better look at it. I blink, peering down at it, not quite sure what I’m looking at it.
In the morning light, it seems to glimmer. Sparkle. Shine. A dark, rich cocoa color that ebbs and flows through the pitch-black material. It’s so much prettier in the daylight. And, just like when I was in the sewer, it did an amazing job keeping me comfortable and warm.
One question, though: how did it get here?
I left the blanket in the sewer. I had no choice. When I went back for it, it was missing. Nine’s scarf, too.
Did it… did it follow me here?
Or was it another gift?
Nine? No. He wouldn’t have. I’d sooner believe it was a blanket fairy or something ridiculous like that than think Nine did after the way we left things between us.
I don’t know where it came from. Can’t explain it, either. And, honestly, having a weirdo blanket following me around like a puppy dog is the least of my worries right now.
It’s so strange, too, and not only the material it’s made of. It’s so warm when I have it on, but it doesn’t seem to weigh anything at all. Seriously. When I pick it up, folding it loosely so that I can stick it in the corner before I trip on it, it feels like air.
It’s so, so weird.
Once I toss it in the corner of the empty living room, I lift my hands to my head, running my gloves through the tangled snarls that used to be my long, white-blonde hair. It’s all one big knot now, no thanks to another hard night sleeping on the hard floor, and I try to finger-comb some of the more mild tangles out.
Of course, that stops the first time my fingertip accidentally brushes against the sensitive tip of my newly pointed ear.
My stomach sinks.
How the hell could I have forgotten about that?
Easy. After being told my entire life that the fae are dangerous, mythical creatures, it’s a shock to even think I could be one.
So I choose not to.
Denial’s worked for me so far. Might as well keep it up.
Hey, right now, it’s the only plan I’ve got.
11
My hands fall to my side, settling against my thighs. Even through the leather gloves, I can feel how stiff my jeans are. They’re so covered in dirt and grime and who knows what else, I wouldn’t be surprised if they stood up on their own when I finally took them off again.
Thinking of that makes me realize that I’ve got to pee. I know there’s a bathroom on this floor—I used it last night after Carolina left—and I’m hoping there’s at least one other with a shower or a tub in it. With the daylight streaming in through the windows, this is the perfect time to check out the upstairs.
Before I can head to the stairs, though, I hear a tentative knocking coming from the back of the house. My heart stops beating for a second, I’m so suddenly convinced that I’ve been found out, before I realize that only one person would be tapping so politely, yet insistently, on the kitchen door.
When I unlock the door and yank it open, I’m right.
It’s Carolina. She’s come back, just like she said she might—and she didn’t come empty-handed, either.
“Holy crap,” I breathe out. “What’s all that?”