Page 112 of Fallen Court

“I’m all ready.” Willow gestured toward a table at the heart of the gloom, where a cluster of unlit candles waited like dormant specters. “Have a seat.”

I bumped into a few chairs on my way, stubbing my toes on one, but I was too distracted to even notice if it hurt. When I reached the table, I sank into the chair with relief. At least it would be over soon—one way or another.

“I was almost worried you wouldn’t come,” she admitted as we settled across from each other.

“Me too.” I’d nearly turned in the opposite direction twice during the short trip over.

She nodded, darkness glinting in her eyes, as if whatever knowledge she possessed of the place that lay on the other side of death allowed her to sympathize—the very place I was about to plunge headfirst into under her guidance.

My fingers twisted in a dance of anxiety as I stared at the candles’ unlit wicks, starkly black against the pale wax. Willow flourished a hand with a flamboyance that matched her outfit, passing her palm above them, and one by one, the tips caught fire, casting an orange glow that made the shadows around us lengthen and stretch ominously.

“Are you wearing the ring?” She peered at my clenched hands.

I swallowed and uncurled my fingers to reveal the band that seemed fused to my skin. “I still can’t take it off, remember?”

“Good,” she said, her playful voice assuming a tone of gravity. “It will serve as our beacon through the veil.”

That made about as much sense to me as geometry, but I nodded anyway.

“Is where Gran is…like the Otherworld?” My voice quavered as I spoke, betraying how weirded out I was.

She shook her head. “Not exactly. None of the living can truly know what or even where it is. The veil is simply a divide between us, the living and them—the departed.”

A chill skittered down my spine, and goose bumps popped along my arms. “Then why are the wraiths in the Otherworld?” I thought of what Shaw had told me. “Are they trapped there?”

“Trapped?” She gave a soft chuckle that held no hint of humor, unusually serious as if the night demanded it. “No, they choose to remain. Wraiths can move between worlds if they wish.”

“Even this one?” I whispered, feeling the weight of darkness around us. I’d never encountered a wraith in New Orleans. Not like I had in the fae courts.

“Even this one,” she confirmed, and my heart stuttered at the implication. “And I think that’s enough questions. You’re looking a little peaky. Let’s start before you chicken out.

“Belle Mère, guide us. Allow us passage,” she called and closed her eyes. Her cool fingers latched on to mine, and she began to chant, her words weaving through the air in an ancient rhythm that felt…ridiculous. Despite everything I’d seen, part of me rebelled against the nonsense of conjuring spirits, of reaching into realms beyond comprehension. But underneath my skepticism, a current of fear ran deep. I’d seen the truth.

Magic was real, and so were its consequences.

Willow continued the spell while I sat, waiting. Minutes passed, and when nothing happened, relief cascaded through me, smoothing out the goose bumps and settling my stomach.

I opened my mouth, eager to throw in the towel, and the candles sputtered, a breeze sweeping through the room where there should have been none. A tug from within my core pulled me forward, the world blurring at the edges as reality smeared into a shroud of gray mist. Panic clawed at my throat, and I choked back a scream. “Willow?”

There was no answer.

I peered into the dense fog surrounding me, stumbling back a step and nearly falling as a figure emerged from the haze. My breath hitched as the space filled with a presence I hadn’t felt since those final, horrible days in the hospital.

“Gran?” Disbelief mingled with a surge of something else—hope, perhaps.

She stepped from the mist, and for a moment all my fears were forgotten. Wisdom was still etched into her brown skin, the silver strands in her black hair sparkling like she wore a crown of knowledge. There wasn’t a trace of frailty in the body I’d last seen ravaged by cancer. Her eyes were no longer dulled by pain and the medications that never seemed to temper it—they were sharp and warm.

“Are you really here?” My voice cracked as I stepped forward, my heart pounding against my chest as if to prove this wasn’t a dream. Reaching for her, my fingers met only air.

She offered a tender but sorrowful smile, her form flickering like the candles had in the shop. “We’re in limbo,” she said, her voice steady but strained from whatever effort it had taken for her to come to me. “A place between the many worlds.”

I nodded, ignoring the many worlds tidbit. This one encounter was overwhelming enough.

“I’m happy to see you.” Warmth flowed through her words.

But doubt clouded mine. “Are you?”

How could she be after everything I had done?