Aisling had always known the time would come when she would be in the house alone. She had deliberately saved some of the books for this reason, choosing instead to play games with Bethany and explore the rooms and boxes together. They’d dragged down trunks of Lady Greymouth’s ballgowns from the attic before it became lost to them, and hung all the dresses in the wardrobe. They would parade around the house in the gowns, imagining the day when they had the curves to fill them out. When her mother was alive, Aisling would make her sit and tell them stories from her own imagination, enjoying these tales that starred her and her sister because they were always changing, always new.

Now that it was just her, she could make a start on the task she had set herself. When you were alone, the way Aisling and their sister had been for three years, and the way Aisling was now in a way she couldn’t quite comprehend fully, the only way to prevent yourself from going insane was to give yourself a task, a goal to complete. Aisling’s self-imposed task was to read every book in the library, and to create a catalogue of what she discovered.

Aisling already had a list of the first books she wanted to read. Once the raw pain of her loss had dulled to a cold ache, she’d dug out the new ledger book she had been saving for her purpose. For the first time in several months, her heart beat with excitement. It felt good to have a purpose again.

Down in the library, Aisling stacked her chosen volumes under her arms. Plumes of dust rose up around her as she hunted out books she hadn’t seen in months or years. She was about to sit down on the lumpy chintz chairs under the window, when the thought occurred to her that she could read in the blue drawing room, instead. The Hollow was her house now, and there was no rule that said she couldn’t read in there if she wanted to.

The library was in the west wing, and it was the first room along the wide hallway that opened off the large entrance hall that served as a through-point for the house. Aisling stepped out onto the marble floor, and her gaze instantly swept upward. The entrance hall was open to all three upper floors of the house. Twin staircases swept up from the ground floor, their carved mahogany balustrades depicting fat cherubs and swirling clouds. Between the staircases, large double doors led into the ballroom beyond. The history books Aisling had read about the house often talked about the lavish parties Lady Greymouth held – with enough guests to fill both the entrance hall and the ballroom and spill out into the gardens beyond.

The west wing, where the library was located, swept off from a wide archway located near the foot of the staircase. The drawing room was the first room along the east wing, accessed through an identical archway on the opposite wall. It had once been a grand receiving room, hung with elaborate tapestries and delicate french drapes, its large bay windows looking out over the front garden. The tapestries had long since been obscured by a thick layer of dust, and the dark gloom of the overgrown garden and the abyss beyond pressed against the windows, obscuring most of the view, save the bay window that looked out over the porch. Bethany liked to sit at their grandmother’s desk under the window, scribbling drawings and scrawling angry messages in one of her many notebooks. But Aisling rarely went into the drawing room – it had been their grandmother’s favorite room, and her mother’s as well. Their mother’s distinct sandalwood perfume lingered on the moldy furniture. From the window above the desk, one could gaze over Scitis, the lands of the fae who had caused all their woes. Seeing smoke billowing from their chimneys and fae children playing in the snow made Aisling’s blood boil.

But not today. Today, she ached to smell that perfume again, to be in the room where the three women she most loved in the world had passed their days. As Aisling moved across the large entrance hall, a heavy stack of books and her ledger cradled against her chest, there came a knock on the door.

Knock knock.

Aisling froze, the books teetering in her arms. I must be hearing things. It is the knocking in the walls again. We haven’t heard it in months, but it must be back again, and it’s trying to fool me into trying to open the front door—

Knock knock.

“Never open the front door,” her mother had warned her, more times than she could count. “Even if the house allows you to.” The Hollow’s grounds – including thehouse, the lawn and the cemetery, but not the front garden, porch, or iron gate gate – were protected by Grandmother June’s powerful spells, but opening the front door created a chink in the armor, a portal through which any fae could pass from the front into the house. It was like inviting a vampire over the threshold. The house knew this, and so it kept that door tightly sealed, except for a couple of rare occasions where it had creaked open a crack, before slamming shut again.

Bethany had tried to open it once, during one of her screaming fits where she declared that death by the fae was better than being stuck inside for all eternity. She’d pulled and pulled at the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. The house knew how to protect itself.

Knock knock.

The sound was definitely coming from outside the house. Her heart pounding, Aisling stood bone still, listening hard. Through the frosted glass on the side of the door, she could see a shadow moving on the porch.

Her heart in her chest, Aisling raced into the drawing room. She dropped the books on the writing desk and leaned across. The bay window stood out from the house, so the corner window gave the narrowest view across one corner of the porch. She saw a shadow move in front of the door. Snowy footprints led from the cracked steps toward the door.

Knock knock.

Aisling wiped her sweaty palms on her skirts. She tore her gaze away from the shadowy figure, and looked to the wrought iron gate at the end of the overgrown path. She gasped as she saw the gate was open, creaking as it swung on rusty hinges. Who could it be? Who would be so bold as to enter the gates of the Hollow and knock on the door?

The iron gate would hurt any fae who touched it. Who is so bold or so desperate that they would accept that pain?

Fae came to the Hollow sometimes – some nights, bands of teenage fairies tittered from behind the gate as they dared each other to approach the doors or windows and peer inside, or to balance along the crumbling garden wall that fell away into the nothingness of the abyss. Sometimes, fae scientists came and camped on the lawn. They set up instruments on tripods and aimed them at the house, or bore holes into the ground and shoved instruments down them. But never were any of the fae so bold as to come right up on the porch and knock on the door.

Aisling leaned further, her knee digging into the hard wooden chair. She could just make out the outline of the figure’s face as it beat at the door with both hands.

It was a Fae.

Aisling could tell by the slight upturned edges on his ears, and the obscene beauty of his features, even though she couldn’t quite make out his face. As he raised his fist to knock again, the light caught the familiar wristband glowing around his wrist. Unlike most of the other fae she’d seen, who were scientists with lab coats and armloads of complex machinery, or superintendents in exquisitely tailored suits supervising workers who dug at the icy ground with pickaxes, this fae was a hunter. He wore a green shirt and trousers covered in pockets, and carried an impressive recurved bow across his back, the quilted arrow quiver banging against his side. Beside him, on the porch, sat a single black suitcase.

She leaned so far forward, her nose smushed against the glass. Her knee slipped out from beneath her, and she toppled forward, hitting the window with a dull thud.

The fae spun around, and his eyes found hers. Aisling’s breath caught. A jolt ricocheted through her body, as though she’d caught her hand in an electrical socket. She lost her grip on the windowsill and toppled backwards, stumbling over the chair and crashing to the floor.

He’s the boy. The one from my dreams.

The boy with the mesmerizing eyes. The boy who held her, whose touch lit up her body. The boy who whispered in her ear that everything was going to be okay, who seemed to watch over her shoulder when she had to venture into the parts of the house that were not safe. It was him. He was real.

And he was a fae. Somehow, in all her intense dreams about him, that detail had never been apparent. Dreams are your mind’s conception of the world, Grandmother June had once told her. You see what you want to see.

She’d wanted a boy. A friend. A lover. Someone to talk to, the way people talked in books. So she’d created him. But then how was he here, right outside the door?

Heat shuddered through Aisling’s body. She didn’t know if it was from fear or desire. She lifted her eyes to the bottom of the desk. He’s right out there, just on the other end of the porch—

Rap rap.

The sound was right above her. Aisling yanked her head up, and smacked her forehead against the underside of the desk. Cursing as the pain surged through her skull, she crawled backward, using the chair to hoist herself into a kneeling position.

From here, concealed by the heavy desk, she could gaze up at him without him being able to see her. She studied his face – a face that was supposed to be a figment of her imagination but now stood before her. He had the same features common in the fae; that proud, arrogant nose, the strong chin held high, the piercing eyes that seemed to stare into the soul. But instead of the usual haughty, superior expression, this fae’s features showed something else. Fear.

He was afraid.

Aisling wanted nothing more than to run to him and fall into his arms. Her whole body ached with need for him, for the comfort he represented. But she knew that was ridiculous. He was Fae. He was here to attempt to take the power from the house, as they all had done before. Nothing else.

But still … she could not just leave him alone. How can it be the same boy? That can’t be a coincidence. Grandmother June had taught her that nothing was ever a coincidence.

Aisling’s eyes followed the boy as he leaned forward and rapped on the window again. She pulled herself up, her eyes peering over the edge of the desk. He waved tentatively at her, a short, uncertain wave that made her heart flip. He seemed to move in slow motion, his movements liquid, as though he were underwater. It made him appear even more ethereal, like he did indeed come from a dream.

His lips – those same ruby-red lips she’d dreamed of kissing so many times – moved. He was speaking to her, but all she could hear through the glass was a slow, muffled moan.

“Speak louder!” she said, her words coming out a whisper. Aisling cleared her throat and tried again. “I can’t hear you!”

His lips moved again, but still she couldn’t discern his words. It must be the protection spells, messing with the sound. An idea occurred to her. Aisling stood upright. The boy jumped back with a start, his gaze flowing down her body in a way that made her heart pound faster. His face looked even more terrified.

She jabbed her finger in the direction of the front door. “Go back there!” she shouted. “I’ll come meet you.”

He didn’t move. His eyes bore into hers.

Aisling tore her gaze away, and forced her limbs to move. She rushed back into the hall, and flipped up the mail slot on the door. “Who are you?” she whispered, her stomach churning in anticipation of his answer. “Why are you here?”

A shadow passed over the slot as he knelt down, and she found herself only inches from those icy eyes, boring into her with a stare so intense she felt as though he saw right through her skin. Aisling swallowed, her head thudding against her chest. It’s him. It’s really him.

“I’m Niall,” he said. Niall – passionate. The name suited him, or at least, the “him” of her dreams. “Can I come in? I … I have to talk to you.”

“We can talk fine how we are,” she said, her guard instantly raised. He may have been her dream boy, but that didn’t means she was stupid. He was Fae, which meant he couldn’t be here for any good reason. Perhaps he’s simply glamoured himself, putting on the skin of the dream boy in order to get you to open the door.

But how would he know what the dream boy looked like?

“Listen, I’m not supposed to be here. If the Conclave catch me, I’m dead.” He sounded scared. It’s a trick. He’s trying to get you to open the door.

“I don’t see how that’s my problem.” Aisling settled for bravado to cover her own sweaty palms and pounding heart.

“I really don’t want to talk about this out here,” he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “But I have information … you need to know the Quaesitors have invented a new machine to extract magic from objects. They’re testing it at the moment, but as soon as it's ready, they’re going to come out here and aim it at the house. And when they’re done, there won’t be anything left. You won’t be protected any longer.”

“So you’ve come to gloat at my imminent demise?”

He snorted. “Your ‘imminent demise’? Who talks like that?”

“I talk like that.” Aisling’s fear made anger rise quickly in her stomach. How dare her come to her house, terrify her, and then mock her? Dream boy would have never done that. “I’ve lived in this house my entire life. There are lots of books. I study the words. Now, you’ve said your piece, so thanks for the warning. If you haven’t anything better to do, you can go away. I’ve got some fae traps to set for when your posse comes knocking.”

Where had that come from? Aisling leaned back, surprised by her own words. She didn’t usually think that fast on her feet. She liked a more measured, analytical approach. It was Bethany who flared up when goaded. Fae traps, seriously? There were no such thing as fae traps. But dream boy doesn’t know that.

Aisling tried to slam down the mail slot, but he jammed his fingers into it. The tip of his finger grazed her cheek. She jumped back as an electric jolt raced through her body. The skin burned where his finger had touched her.

“Please …” Niall pleaded, his voice like honey. He averted his eyes from hers, staring down at the ground. “I’ve come to help you.”

I’ve come to help you. Oh, how many nights had she wished for this very thing to happen, for the dream boy to show up and rescue her from her prison. But now that he was here, she didn’t know what to do, what to believe. And worse still, she was all alone, with none of the more experienced witches in the family to guide her.

Again, she reverted to bravado. “And you think I need help, do you?”

“You will. I …” He kept his eyes downcast. “I have something that might be able to save your life.”

“That’s rather vague. This house has protected me from all the other rays and weapons you’re kind’ve thrown at it, so I don’t see how this situation is any different. You still haven’t given me a good reason to open the door.”

“I know you,” he said, looking up again. “I’ve never met you before, but I know you. I’ve seen you in my dreams.”

What?

Okay, this wasn’t normal. Her dreaming about him was one thing, but for them to both have dreams that involve the other was something else entirely. That was important. It meant something, Aisling just didn’t know what. Was it prophetic? Did they share some kind of magical connection? Aisling hadn’t had much cause to pour through their old family grimoire in recent years (she’d given up after it had become apparent there were no answers that could free her from the house), but she’d have to carefully study the section on dreams. This was unreal.

“What happens in your dreams?” She finally managed to ask, her voice a whisper. “What happens to me?”

“You are in trouble, and I try to save you, but every time I fail.” His eyes blaze with fury. “Not this time.”

Aisling stared out into his eyes. What she saw there terrified her. Here was this fairy, his body built for dominance and war, but his eyes betrayed the turmoil within his own mind. He looked desperate and terrified. That was not the way of the fae.

Her fingers itched to reach out and touch him, to feel the smooth skin of his face under her hands. She longed to brush her lips against his, to kiss the pain away, to feel her body react the way it did in her dreams.

Aisling’s hand poised over the door handle. Making a snap decision, she clamped her fingers around it, and tried to turn it. Maybe it will be different this time. Maybe the Hollow knows that he’s here to help me …

The door wouldn’t budge.

Disappointment flooded through her, along with a sense of relief. Aisling slumped against the door, and jammed her fist in her eye to hold back the tears. She’d never know what it was like to stand beside him, to gaze into his eyes without a door in the way. But then, he’d never have the chance to betray her.

“I can’t let you in, even if I wanted to.” Her voice came out as a sob. “The house won’t let me.”

As if responding, the front door clicked. The handle spun of its own accord. The door swung back toward Aisling. She leapt away in shock. For the first time in fifteen years, she saw the front porch. Her eyes drank in the details; dark stone – darker than she remembered – dotted with still darker stains, the posts cracked and buckling, leafless vines weaving between the lattice balustrade. The whole thing covered in the thick layer of ice.

And she saw him.

As the door crashed against the wall, the fae stood up, towering over her. His face chiseled and hard, his long dark hair hanging in ringlets around his face, and a line of stubble running across his strong chin. Biceps bulged from the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. Tattoos of fae symbols and arcane languages circled both his arms and trailed along his neck. The tips of his ears swooped back into pixieish points. But this was no pixie. He exuded danger. And she wanted it.

“It looks as though I’ve been invited in,” he said, giving her a wicked grin that transformed his face into something utterly enchanting. It melted her heart.

“I … I …” Aisling’s mother screamed at her inside her head. He’s fae. Run away. Slam the door in his face. Punch him right in his perfect fae nose. But Aisling’s body called to him, longing to learn more about him, and to do many other things besides. She didn’t move, and her mind had turned to mush. She couldn’t articulate what she wanted to say.

He didn’t move.

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” Niall said, gesturing to the open door. “Tell me what you want me to do. This is your home. I won’t come inside unless you invite me.”

Aisling stared at the fae boy’s eyes, then at the open door, unsure what to do. Her mother’s voice drummed in her ears. Never let the Fae inside the house. You’re safe in the house as long as the Fae can’t get in.

Well, you’re not here anymore, are you? Aisling fought back against her memory. You died, and June died, and Bethany died, and now I’m here all alone. I’m as good as dead anyway, so why not take the chance this fae is telling the truth?

Aisling knew the Hollow well enough to know the house never did anything unless it wanted to. It had its own agenda. For whatever reason, it wanted this fae to come in. Would he be her salvation, or her demise? The Hollow knew, but it would not tell.

Right now, one’s as good as the other.

Sucking in her breath, Aisling stepped back, and gestured into the hall behind her. “If you come inside, you may not be able to leave again,” she said. “Not unless the house wants you to. There’s some pretty powerful magic in these walls, and I don’t know what it will do once it senses you inside.”

“That’s okay. I have nothing to go back to,” Niall replied, his voice hard.

He lifted his foot and in one swift movement, stepped over the threshold. His heavy boot thudded against the marble floor of the entrance hall, the sound ricocheting through the empty, cavernous gallery like a gunshot.

Aisling ducked around him and shoved her arm out, trying to pass over the threshold herself. Her hand slammed against an invisible barrier. So much for that idea.

She grabbed the door handle, ignoring the strange shudder that reverberated through his fingers as soon as she touched it. If I could just force this door to stay open …

His whole body now inside, Niall turned around, and tried to pass his hand back through the door. His hand came up against the same hard, invisible surface. He tried to push against it, but his hand remained stuck in midair, the barrier before him unyielding.

“You weren’t kidding,” he breathed, a shadow of fear passing over his face once again.

Aisling nodded. The door handle flew from her hand, torn away by some secret wind. The door slammed shut. The frame rattled. The outside world disappeared, swallowed in the gaping silence of the house.

Aisling faced her dream boy.

She looked up at her guest, her heart pounding. He was real. “I told you. You’re stuck here now, too. Do you … do you want a tour?”

“A tour? Don’t you want to know more about me? About this weapon they’re sending, and how I can help stop it? Don’t you want to see what’s in my case?”

“There’s plenty of time for that. There’s always time.”

He swept her eyes over her body, and she could feel her cheeks growing hot under his gaze. Instead of looking away, she did the same back to him, devouring him with her eyes. He was the first living creature she’d ever seen up close who wasn’t a member of her family. And what a creature he was, all hard edges and taut muscles and he smelled so strange and delicious.

Widdershins wandered into the hall from the library. When he saw Niall standing there, he arched his back and hissed.

“Widdershins!” Aisling ran to the cat and tried to pick him up, but he jerked away in terror and bounded down the hall, into the depths of the house. A few moments later she heard him meowing pitifully from somewhere in the west wing.

“Can I ask how you are keeping a cat in here?” Niall said. “We haven’t seen a cat in Scitis since the second year of the witches arrival.”

Anger flared in Aisling’s veins at his nonchalance. “That’s because you ate them all.”

Niall shrugged. “Not me. I’m a vegetarian.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes. I answered your question. Now answer mine.”

She didn’t like his demanding tone, but she decided to let it pass, for now. “Widdershins was my grandmother’s cat. He came through the crack when the fey opened up the world, but for some reason, he doesn’t seem to age. He knows this house better than I do. He disappears for days sometimes. I don’t know where he goes, but he always seems well-fed, and sometimes he brings back objects that don’t belong in the house. Once he came back covered in duck feathers, and I’m going to bet there are no ducks in Scitis, either.”

“No kidding.” Niall gazed around the entrance hall, taking in the marble, the baroque tables stuffed with June’s hideous ornaments, the enormous chandelier creaking above their heads. His eyes darted over the enormous portrait of Lady Greymouth that hung above the staircases and the door to the ballroom. “I’ve never seen a room this big before, outside of the university. And they’re not nearly this beautiful.”

“You get used to it.” Aisling led him into the west wing, holding open the doors as he could peer inside. “Here’s the library, and the smoking room. Across the hall we have—”

“Why is that door blocked off?” Niall stopped in front of the dining room, running his fingers along the boards Aisling had nailed across the door.

“Don’t touch that.” She shoved him aside. As her palms slammed into his chest, a jolt of fire raced through her veins, sending a wave of warmth crashing through her whole body.

Niall slammed into the wall, knocking a gilded frame askance. “What gives?” He looked petulant. I guess that’s the first time a witch has ever dared to shove him.

“There are things you need to know about the Hollow,” Aisling said, breathing hard as she stepped away from the door. Her palms still stung with warmth from their connection with his skin. “The house sits part in the fae realm, part in the human world.”

“I know that,” he huffed.

Aisling ignored him, continuing. “The two realms butt up against each other, forcing the house apart. And between the gaps, the void creeps in. It’s capturing the house, room by room, altering it into something completely other. If you’re not careful, it will capture you, too.“

“That’s impossible.”

“I agree. It is impossible. The Hollow is a paradox. It shouldn’t even exist. But it does, and that’s why it’s more than just a house. You’ll see for yourself. Some rooms change shape. Some rooms change position. I only just found the upstairs bathroom again yesterday. That’s the first I’ve seen it in months.”

“And this room?”

“Some rooms, like this one, will eat you alive. It ate my sister.”

“Your sister?” Niall’s eyes narrowed. “There are more of you in here?”

Aisling shook her head, steeling herself as a fresh wave of grief rolled over her. She closed her eyes, shutting out Niall’s beautiful visage in an attempt to hold back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. She didn’t want to cry in front of a fae, even if it was her dream boy.

But it was no use. Bethany’s face at breakfast flashed across her vision. A tear forced itself out the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek. Aisling hated herself for showing Niall that weakness, but Bethany’s death was still too new, too raw. She turned her head away. “No, there’s no one else. I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone anymore,” the fae said, stepping toward her.

Aisling’s eyes flew open, the tears instantly dry. His words echoed in her chest, drumming against her pounding heart. His smell swirled around her, an earthy scent of fire and freedom, another world from the mustiness of the house. Aisling looked up, into his eyes, captured by that icy stare. His chest was so close, all she had to do was tip forward and she’d be right up against him.

Touch me, her body begged. Please, kiss me.

Niall opened his lips, as though he were about to speak. But no words came out. Aisling fixated on those pouty lips – perfect red bows, like the weapon that hung from his back. She wondered what it would be like to run her tongue along them, to feel them slide over hers.

This is insane.

She tore herself away, staggering backward until she slammed into the dining room door. Shrieking, she leapt back, her heart pounding against her chest. She shook her head. Whatever magic had been pulling her toward him, the spell had most definitely been broken.

“You okay?” Niall asked.

“Sure, I just …” Aisling rubbed her elbow, where it had banged against the door. “I don’t like touching it.”

“Fair enough.” He tilted his head to the side, the way her dream boy always did when he was studying her, parsing her meaning from the words she didn’t say. “Shall we continue the tour?”

Her heart still pounding, Aisling led Niall through the few rooms on the west wing that were still accessible, before bringing him back into the main entrance. As they crossed the marble toward the ballroom, the knocking sound came from the hall they’d just occupied.

“What’s that?” Niall whirled around. His hand darted instinctively toward his bow, but he didn’t yet draw it.

“I don’t know,” Aisling said honestly. “I’ve heard the knocking ever since I could remember. Every year it grows more frequent. Here’s the ballroom.”

As she opened the door, she heard Niall suck in a breath. Aisling didn’t blame him, it was a beautiful room. Gilded deer leapt across the vaulted ceiling, and pillars of wooden vines twisted around the outside of the room. The dance floor – made from cream and black marble arranged in a checkerboard pattern – gleamed as though it had been used only yesterday. A dusty grand piano stood silent in the far corner.

But as beautiful as it was, the ballroom was also … wrong. The whole thing was the size of a football field (not that Aisling had ever seen a football field, but she’d measured the room and found a description in a book and they were pretty close). It had grown several times its original size, and didn’t seem to want to stop. One wall wobbled, like a jelly mould set out on the table. Bethany had thrown a teacup into it once, and it had never come out again. The floor sank slightly in the center, buckling like a Dali painting. A gilded staircase had appeared in the far corner two years ago – the steps leading in a spiral down into the darkness below. Aisling had never dared to follow it.

Sometimes, late at night, Aisling heard the fluttering notes of the piano playing the waltz. She wanted to tell the dream boy all this, but she couldn’t. Not while he was standing right there, being all big and menacing and beautiful and fae.

“You can see where the floor has—what’s wrong?” Aisling looked at him again, and saw Niall’s face had gone pale, the translucency of his skin making him even more beautiful.

“I’ve seen this room before,” he said. “It was in my dreams.”

That’s just nuts. How had he possibly seen this room? Aisling narrowed her eyes. “Maybe you just saw a room that looked like it. Lady Greymouth – who designed this house – modeled this room off the manor of Mandalay. A lot of ballrooms of the era follow this style—”

Niall shook his head furiously. “It was this very room, only it wasn’t yet changed by the house. It was smaller, and that staircase wasn’t there. You were here, dancing to a beautiful waltz. Then I saw a shadowy figure behind you, and the floor opened up and sucked you in. I tried to save you, but I was frozen in place.”

His face flickered with fear again. Aisling didn’t know what she was supposed to say. She felt the urge to apologize, but she pushed it down. She wasn’t responsible for his dreams.

“Let’s go to the west wing now,” she said. “You can tell me more about this weapon.”

As quickly as she could, Aisling led him through the rest of the accessible rooms downstairs, explaining as many of the house’s quirks as she could remember with him standing there, being all gorgeous and distracting.

As she led Niall along the first floor corridor, where the manor’s main bedrooms were, Aisling noticed the bathroom had disappeared again. When she opened the hallway door where it had been only this morning, all that greeted her was a red-brick wall. A lone spider clung to the mortar.

Aisling slammed the door shut. Niall laughed. His laugh was like glass shattering, like ice cracking against the edge of a lake. It was cruel and intoxicating, like a force of nature. Against her better judgment, Aisling found herself smiling, too.

“These are all the rooms. The rest of the house belongs to the void. Let’s have tea.”

Careful rationing of her grandmother’s tea stash meant that even with the enchantment malfunctioning, Aisling had two whole boxes of English Breakfast on offer. She fixed the tea with shaking hands and brought it into Niall in the blue drawing room. He slumped into her mother’s old chair as though he owned it, his small suitcase still locked beside him, and accepted the fine china cup.

“Tell me about this weapon,” she said.

“Hang on, let me taste this first.” He took a tentative sip, then grinned. “Seems to be free of poison.”

“I’m not kidding around here, fae. Tell me, or I’ll give you a bedroom with an attitude problem to match your own.”

He grinned at that, but set down his cup and leaned forward. “Fine. Here’s the story. For years, the Quaesitors – that’s the order of scientists – have been trying to find a way to extract magic from objects. As far as we know, we’re the only faction that has anything like the Hollow. We’ve since discovered you witches hid a fair amount of atern in certain other objects as well, and we need that energy. It’s our currency and our life-force, and it used to be endlessly renewable, but now it’s not.”

“It was only renewable because you came to our world and harvested from humans.”

Niall shrugged, as if it was no big deal, which to him it probably wasn’t. “You do what you have to do to survive. Anyway, my job was to locate these magical objects, and the Quaesitors’ research has focused on finding a way to extract their atern. My friend Odiana believes she has figured it out, and she’s designed a ray that will draw out atern from any object. Unlike the other rays that have been trialled, this one’s practically guaranteed to work.”

“When will they use it on the Hollow?”

“I don’t know. There’s some rigorous testing first. Last time they tried—” Niall’s throat caught on his words. “There have been accidents here before.”

“I know. I’ve watched you all through the window, aiming rays at the house and digging holes around the place.” She set down her own cup and leaned forward. “You said you had something that would stop them.”

“I do. Me.”

“Explain.”

“Odiana loves me. She’s always had a thing for me, but she won’t say anything about it and risk our friendship. If I’m inside, she won’t use her ray and risk killing me.”

“If she loves you that much, she won’t just let you remain trapped in here.”

Niall shook his head. “I wouldn’t expect so, but finding a way into the house is going to take them some time. Meanwhile, you and I will be able to figure out a solution.”

“For a rescue plan, this is awfully vague.”

“It’s better than, ‘Tomorrow, a ray blasts your house into the void.’”

“True.” Aisling drummed her fingers against the table. “What I want to know is, why have you come here to help me? I know the fae well enough to know you don’t do anything out of the goodness of your heart.”

Niall gulped a huge mouthful of tea, and swallowed before he said, “I told you. I see you in my dreams.”

And I see you. The words were on the tip of Aisling’s tongue, but she bit them back. She needed to keep something back, to retain some semblance of control over this situation. Right now, Niall was scared and amenable, but if he got over that, he’d just be an ordinary fae, cruel and capricious. She didn’t want him to have anything on her.

Hang on … something occurred to Aisling, and it made her stomach lurch. “I saw your face at the window. You looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see you. You didn’t know I was the girl in your dreams when you approached the house, did you?”

“I did, actually. I just didn’t expect you to be right there beside the window.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, not sure what to believe. That could be true, but then … he was fae. “Anything else you’re not telling me?”

Niall inclined his head. “I’m being honest with you here, since we’re in this together, so I’ll give you the full story. This house killed my father,” he said. “He was a Quaesitor, and he died testing the last machine. I guess … I wanted to see if he still left something of himself here. I wanted to understand.”

It seemed he did. As they drank the rest of their tea, Niall asked question after question about the house, and as the minutes turned into an hour, and then two hours, Aisling found herself increasingly opening up to him. As the hours wound by and Aisling talked more to Niall, she felt her unease melting away, Dare she hope that Niall would stay, that her dream boy was truly real?

Dare she hope that Niall’s presence in the Hollow was a good thing?