“It’s not that kind of ring.” I lean forward with a groan, setting my chin on the table again. “It’s Fae-spelled, enchanted to interfere with magic. Sabine is bound now, unable to access her gifts.”
Frederick doesn’t answer right away. When he finally does, he hisses, “What have you done? Where is she now?”
“At the hotel.”
“In your suite?”
“In hers.”
His eyes go wide. “How do you know she’s still there?”
My alcohol-muddled mind is confused by his concern. “Because that’s where I left her.”
“And you assumed she’d stay?”
I think about it dumbly for several seconds before I sit up. “She must stay—she’s helpless without her magic, and she knows nothing about the city. Can you imagine a princess of Faerie wandering Davon this time of night on her own?”
We stare at each other for several seconds and then leap from our chairs. I nearly trip over my feet as we head for the door, and Frederick tosses a handful of fluots at the barkeeper.
Fifteen minutes later, we reach the hotel.
“Wilma,” I say as I rush to the check-in counter. “Have you seen Sabine? The girl in Room 207?”
Aghast, Wilma gapes at me like I just crawled from the gutter. And who knows, maybe I look like I did. “She checked out, Mr. Devereaux.”
“When?” Frederick demands from behind me.
“About fifteen minutes ago.” Wilma looks between us. “She turned in her key, and she left.”
Frederick bites out a curse and drags me to the semi-privacy of the corner. “Next time you decide to kidnap a girl, you might consider locking her up.”
The whiskey rolls in my stomach, but I clamp back a wave of nausea. “What are we going to do?”
Frederick sighs heavily, looking toward the glass doors to the dark night. “We’re going to find her. Where do you think she would have gone?”
“Home,” I say immediately. “She’d try to get back to Kellington so she could cross the border.”
“We’ll go to the nearest depot then.” He’s already heading toward the door. “I first met her at the one across from Waltfeld Bank. She’ll go there.”
* * *
The building isdark when we arrive, but that’s no surprise considering it’s well after midnight. Unfortunately, Sabine is nowhere to be seen. I rap on the door, hoping someone is inside even though the note says the next coach runs in the morning.
“It’s closed,” grouses a groggy man on the outside bench, rolling over.
“I can read, thanks.” I shove my hand in my hair as I scan the area, looking for any sign of Sabine. Maybe she didn’t come this way at all.
“Now what?” Frederick asks.
“If you’re in that much of a hurry, go to the coach house on Carnation Street,” the man on the bench mutters. “They run all night.”
“There isn’t a depot on Carnation Street,” I say.
With a heavy sigh, the man pushes himself up. “A man escorted a woman that way not long ago. He said they have coaches that run all night.”
“What did she look like?” I demand, taking a step toward the man.
He scowls at me. “Pretty, blonde hair. About your age, I suppose.”