The hours on the clock clicked by, and still Aisling did not sleep. The thought of the boy in the room down the hall kept her mind occupied. Was he struggling to sleep, too? Three times she yanked off the covers, swung her legs out of bed, and took the first steps toward the door, her body humming with desire for him. Each time, the part of her mind that still saw sense yanked her back.

Your hormones are in overdrive because he’s the first man you’ve seen since the fae killed your father. He’s gorgeous, but he’s fae. Just because he’s now trapped here with you, doesn’t mean you have to have anything to do with him.

Remember, it’s the fae who brought the Hollow here in the first place, who doomed you to this isolated life. Niall and his people view this house as a source of energy, a powerhouse they should be able to tap into whenever they choose. Despite what he says about coming to save your, his real motivation has to do with his father. He sees you as an amusement, nothing more. That is, if he didn’t lie to you, if he isn’t secretly here to kill you and claim the house for himself.

He came to save me, Aisling argued with herself, round and round in endless circles. If he wanted to kill me, he could have done it already. He sees me in his dreams. Surely that means something?

It means he’s very good at spinning a tale. He knows how to play a witch. Your sister is dead, and all you can think about is a fae. What kind of a person are you?

At the thought of her sister, fresh tears welled in Aisling’s eyes. Bethany would have known what to do about Niall. Aisling had told her all about the dreams, and her older sister read all those romance books. She was the expert. She’d know why Aisling’s body felt like it was on fire every time he looked at her.

But Bethany wasn’t here, when Aisling needed her more than ever. The only person here was Niall. And she couldn’t very well ask him. She knew from what her grandmother had told her that fae were sexually charged – they often used their magnetism to lure unsuspecting humans into traps, in order to steal their atern. In fae society, lovemaking was part of a magical binding. Sex made them stronger. A guy like Niall … he would have bound with many fae women. He wouldn’t be interested in a witch like her, even if she had appeared in his dreams. And even if he did, how did she know it wasn’t part of a plot to take her magic from her?

Not that your magic is much good to you as it is. Aisling’s magical education halted at age thirteen, when her mother was taken by the void. She read what she could from the books in the library, and Bethany had taught her a few more spells, but without a coven member to initiate her into their secret family rites, she lacked the knowledge to perform all but the simplest of spells.

Even without magical abilities, everything she knew about the fae and their nature told Aisling to beware. Yet, she couldn’t deny how Niall pulled her in, made her want to trust him. That easy smile, those haunting eyes that seemed to see right into her. The pain that crept into his voice.

Stop it. Stop thinking about him. Go to sleep.

It was past 3 a.m. before Aisling drifted into a dreamless sleep.

She woke with a start, sensing a foreign presence in her room. She opened her eyes, scanning around her for the source of the uneasy feeling clenching her gut. But the gray light of morning had only just begun to creep across the bed, and all she could make out were the blurry edges of her furniture.

“Rise and shine,” a deep voice whispered, close to her ear.

Aisling shrieked and scrambled away. She whirled around. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could just make out Niall leaning over the bed, his handsome face inches from hers. He held something long and dark in his hands. A weapon?

He lied. He really is here to kill me!

Aisling dived across the bed, trying to kick her legs free of the duvet. She kept one of her great-grandfather’s rapiers in the corner of the room. If she could just reach it …

Her leg broke free. She grabbed the rapier hilt and whirled around, directing the tip at Niall’s throat. “Get away from me,” she growled. I knew you couldn’t trust him, her brain screamed.

“Hey now, is that any way to greet the bearer of breakfast?”

“What?” She was breathing hard. Niall lifted his hands, holding the object in the square of gray light streaming from the window. He was holding a tray. On it sat two bowls heaped with porridge, topped with huge dollops of jam, and two small glasses of orange juice.

A lump formed in Aisling’s throat. He’d brought her breakfast in bed. The last time she’d had breakfast in bed, she’d been eight years old and recovering from a fever. Her mother brought her dry crackers and the last of the cranberry juice. She’d gotten gritty crumbs all throughout the sheets. It wasn’t a very pleasant memory.

Now, this handsome boy leaned across the bed, the tray poised on his long fingers, a mysterious smile playing out across his lips. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the hard muscles of his chest called her, begging for her to run her nails across the intricate tattoos winding their way across his pecs. He balenced the tray in one hand and with the other tweaked the tip of the sword with his finger, causing the blade to shudder. He grinned wider.

“Do you even know how to use that thing?” he asked, a smile in his voice.

Aisling’s whole face burned as she realized she was wearing nothing but a threadbare lace summer nightgown that had once belonged to her grandmother. The faded white material probably showed everything. She tossed the rapier aside and crossed her arms over her chest, hoping Niall wouldn’t see her nipples standing erect.

Her mouth watered, and not just for the warmth of the porridge. Beneath her folded arms, her nipples rose like hard stones.

He’s used the last of your jam, her sensible self scolded. And that’s at least six days of porridge in those bowls. You should be scolding him.

Instead, Aisling managed a small smile. “Thanks,” she said, her stomach flipping.

“I figured it’s the least I could do, after barging into your house yesterday.” Niall set the tray down on the bed in front of her, like a peace offering. He climbed across the covers and settled himself against the headboard, leaning on his side with one strong arm behind his neck. He patted the bed beside him. “Shall we?”

Aisling’s body hummed with electricity. Ignore it, her brain screamed. It’s just his fae magic. He makes everyone feel like that. But somehow, she didn’t quite believe it. Without even realizing she was doing it, Aisling slid down beside Niall on the bed, laying on her side so she faced him, propped up on her elbow. The tray sat between them, a barrier of precious food.

Niall’s eyes blazed a trail across her body. Aisling positioned her arm across her chest and reached for the bowl closest to her. Niall reached out and brushed his fingers across her knuckle, and sparks of electricity shot up her arm, straight toward her heart.

She jerked her hand back. “Why did you do that?”

“You feel it, too,” Niall said, his eyes burning into hers.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her fingers fumbling with the spoon.

“The energy … whatever it is … that flows between us.” Niall’s voice lowered. “Whenever we touch, it’s like I’ve stuck my finger in a light socket.”

She stared down at her bowl, trying not to notice how close his leg was to hers. If that tray hadn’t been between them, she could reach out and touch—

No. Don’t be ridiculous. He’s fae.

“And when you combine it with the dreams I’ve been having,” Niall continued, his fingers creeping across the sheets toward Aisling’s. She gulped, but couldn’t find the words to reply. “It all points to something connecting us. Something I don’t think has anything to do with this house. But why do I have the dreams, and you don’t?”

Aisling squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t tell him, she warned herself. Don’t give him that power.

“I have dreams, too.”

Great. Way to listen to yourself, Aisling.

Niall’s body shuddered. “You do? Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“I didn’t know if I could trust you. I still don’t. But you’re right – there’s something very odd about you and me. We should both have all the information if we’re going to figure it out, especially if it will help us stop your friend. That’s only fair.”

“How long have you had the dreams?”

“About the last five years. You?”

“My whole life.” Niall’s long eyelashes blinked across his eyes. “What do we do in the dreams? Is there a shadowy figure?”

Aisling’s entire body surged with heat. “No shadow. We … lie like this,” she whispered. “Usually we’re on a beach, but sometimes we’re other places. Never inside the house.”

“What do we do?”

“We talk, and … other stuff.” Oh, that the floor would open up and swallow me now. In this house, that was at least a reasonable request.

Niall grinned. “We fuck?”

The way he said the word, so crass, so oddly human, and yet, so confident, a flicker of interest darting across his tongue. A shiver ran through her body that had nothing to do with the cold.

Niall placed his hand on her thigh, the thin material the only thing separating their skin. Energy surged through his fingers, darting through Aisling’s body. Everything in the world ceased to exist save that hand, those fingers, so close to her … to where she ached …

He’s fae he’s fae he’s fae he’s fae …

Aisling grabbed the bowl and gulped down a spoonful of porridge, barely tasting it. She had to change the subject, quick. “I’m sorry you’re trapped here. You might not see your family again.”

“I don’t have much of a family anymore.” A shadow passed over Niall’s face. “Besides, I forced my way inside. It’s my fault. I was so desperate to find a way to talk to you, to stop Odiana from hurting you, I didn’t really think. But that’s okay.”

“It is?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “We’ll find a way out.”

“Excuse me? We?”

“Sure.” Niall lifted his hand from Aisling’s thigh. She wished he’d put it back. Instead, he picked up his own bowl and scraped a ring of porridge from the sides. “I’m a fae. You’re a witch. This place is a literal powerhouse of atern, just ready to be channelled. Between the two of us, we should be able to find some way to stop the fae from getting in here and break whatever charm is locking the door.”

“What makes you so sure I’m a witch?” Aisling picked up her glass. The sickly sweet juice slid down Aisling’s throat. Niall hadn’t even watered it down.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” He gestured around the room. “Only witches got pulled into the fae realm when we opened the rift. There weren’t any humans left. Plus, you’re living in a magical mystery house that’s humming with atern. I’m simply using my powers of deduction. That, and you told me last night.”

“Okay. fine. You’re right. I’m a witch. But that isn’t going to help us.”

“Don’t be modest. It’s annoying, and a waste of time.”

“I’m not being modest. First of all, I’m not very good. I’ve practiced as much as I can, but without a coven to learn from, my magical abilities are pretty unimpressive. Second, I’ve been through every inch of this house, tried every spell I know to break the enchantment that holds it here, that keeps me inside. There’s no way out. You’re trapped here, just like me. And finally, even if I wasn’t trapped in here, I don’t think I’d want to go outside, not given what you fae do to us. I’m not walking out of one prison only to enter another.”

Niall had the decency to look mildly apologetic. “I guess that’s fair. So we’re stuck here for now. What do you do all day?”

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on trying to stop your friend? Isn’t that why you came?”

Niall waved a hand. “Oh, we have plenty of time for that. Go on, entertain me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you don’t just lounge around in diaphanous lace negligees, waiting for fae servants to bring you your every desire?” He grinned that wicked grin again. “Not that that’s a bad way to spend the day or anything …”

“You like lounging around in lace negligees yourself, do you?” she shot back, relieved she could use sarcasm to cover for the fact her body was flushing at the idea of a shirtless Niall giving her her “every desire.”

“Ah, she’s a quick one.” Niall moved the tray to the small table beside the bed, and sat up, leaning toward her. She breathed in the scent of him, heady and masculine and somehow woody, like the smell of the hardwood furniture that filled the house. “Go on, what’s fun in this house?”

I know what would be really fun …

“I don’t know,” she managed to choke out, shrugging her shoulders. “I read. I play with Widdershins. I walk around and make sure the house hasn’t lost another room. My sister and I would play games sometimes. We have chess and backgammon and—”

Niall wrinkled his nose. “That’s it? That’s what you’ve been doing your whole life?”

“Pretty much.”

“Fine.” Niall swung his muscular legs off the bed, and headed for the door. “Throw on some clothes and let’s go to the library.”

* * *

On the way to the library, Aisling happened to peer in at the kitchen, and got quite a shock.

She marveled at how he’d managed to use nearly every spoon and saucepan in the large kitchen in order to make two bowls of porridge. There were sticky globs of porridge stuck to the stovetop, the floor, even the ceiling.

Aisling helped Niall wash the breakfast dishes, although she made him chisel off the porridge. While they cleaned, Niall made jokes and asked an endless stream of questions. “How come you still have so much food left?” He threw open the pantry and gestured to the shelves of boxed and canned supplies. “I’ve never even heard of Frosted Flakes and KitKats. This is all food from the human realm. It should have run out years ago.”

“We’re witches, remember?” Aisling shut the door, not wanting him to take any more of her precious treats. “The pantry has a replicating enchantment on it – any item that’s removed and eaten will magically be replaced by a new box. It’s a very powerful piece of magic worked by my grandmother and mother when the Hollow was being pulled through to the fae realm. But since they’re both dead now and I have no idea how to fix it, it’s wearing down. It used to take minutes for a new box or can to appear. Now, it takes months. If I don’t ration carefully, we will run out of food.”

“And the water? Where’s that come from? The house can’t be hooked up to our city supply.”

“It wasn’t on city water back on Earth, either. The house collects its own rainwater. Lady Greymouth had the system installed when she built the house. My grandmother enchanted it to collect the water in the storm clouds outside, and to filter out the radiation.” Aisling ran the tap to wash her hands. “Thankfully, that system still works perfectly. If it broke down, I’d be dead before I knew it.”

When the kitchen was spick and span, they went to the library.

“This woman is everywhere.” Nail jabbed his finger at the gilded frame that hung on the wall beside the library door. Inside was one of Aisling’s favorite portraits of Lady Greymouth, wearing a beautiful pink gown and holding a matching feathered mask on a stick. Her face was rendered in soft brushstrokes, her hair cascading down her back in luscious curls, and she stared over her shoulder at someone outside the portrait, a half-smile playing across her lips. “She’s the woman in the entrance hall, and there’s a portrait of her in my room, as well.”

“She was my great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother, the Lady Greymouth I mentioned. She built this house. When you build a house like this, you get to stick your portrait everywhere.”

“That’s a lot of greats.”

“Well, she deserved them. She was an amazing woman.”

“You look a lot like her,” Niall observed. “I mean, she’s clearly older, and I can’t imagine you wearing quite such a frilly dress. But her eyes, her facial features … you could be sisters.”

Despite herself, Aisling beamed. Her family often told her she looked like Lady Greymouth. But hearing it from Niall made her feel warm all over.

“She was quite remarkable,” she babbled, desperate that he understand. “We don’t know a lot about her, but there’s this story of how she came upon the land for the house. She was on her horse, riding across the country to meet with her solicitor or something, when she decided to take a shortcut through the Wilcox estate. Unfortunately, the horse threw her and she fell and hit her head. In the middle of the day, in the hot sun, she could have died! Luckily, one of Wilcox’s slaves – a man named George – stumbled upon her, and woke her up. She was so smitten with the view that greeted her when she opened her eyes—”

“Oh, I bet she was.” Niall winked.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He face flushed. “I was talking about the view of the landscape, not George. Anyway, Lady Greymouth immediately demanded George take her to his master. She presented Wilcox with a proposal – he would sell her the field where she had fallen, as well as the eight fields surrounding it, and George as well, into the bargain.”

“See, she did fancy him.”

“Will you let me finish?”

He gave her a little bow, and she continued. “Wilcox hadn’t even intended to sell, but there was no arguing with Lady Greymouth. She gave him some gold she had on her person, got her land, built this house, and granted George his freedom for saving her life.”

“That’s a pretty cool story,” Niall said. “I think I would have liked her.”

“Even the setting her slave free part?”

“Sure. Slaves are annoying. You have to feed them, or they tend to fall over. Food is expensive. I’m anti-slavery, pro-sensible investing.”

Figures a fae would be anti-slavery because of the benefit it would give to him. “Lady Greymouth also fought to keep the fae out of the human realm. I’m certain many of your kind would have died by her hand.”

“I like her even more,” Niall insisted, grinning wickedly. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” Despite herself, Aisling couldn’t help but be swept up with Niall’s enthusiasm and curiosity. Leading him around the house made her see it through fresh eyes, to catch the beauty and mystery of the place, amidst the horror of what it was becoming.

She swung open the door to the library, inviting him inside. As Niall’s gaze swept around the room, taking in the shelves piled with books, Aisling gauged his reaction. He’d seen a glimpse of it yesterday, but today she’d told him it was her favorite place in the house, so now he was seeing it in a different light. He drank in the drafting table by the window where the blueprints of the house were pinned in place, the chintz chairs by the heavily-draped bay window – the stuffing tumbling from the gashes made by Widdershins’ claws, the dusty scientific instruments lined up above the fireplace, the old-fashioned bright-red dial phone still sitting on the corner of the desk. His icy eyes danced, the corners of his lips turned up in delight, and she knew she had him.

He really was the boy in her dreams, for the boy in her dreams loved this room just as much as Aisling did.

“I usually sit here.” Suddenly nervous, Aisling patted the less-battered of the two chairs.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you,” Niall murmured, as he moved along the shelves, his finger rubbing along the spines of the books. His lips moved as he read the titles to himself, his eyes widening as he gorged on the knowledge to be found within.

“We don't have many books in Scitis,” he said.

“That makes no sense. Is it not a city of scientists?”

“Exactly. The university controls all reading material. They believe knowledge should only be given to the correct sect. That’s why the Quaesitors have access to all the scientific knowledge, while the only book I was allowed was a manual on weaponry.”

“You had no books in your home? No stories?”

“Fae do not tell stories, we are the stories,” Niall said, his voice hard. His hand dropped off the shelf, and flopped to his side. Aisling wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what, so she let the silence drape awkwardly over the room.

Aisling picked up the first of her books from the table, where she had placed it on top of her ledger, and opened it in her lap. The words danced in front of her eyes, but she couldn’t discern any meaning from them. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Niall moved around the shelves, his eyes darting over the titles. His thick shoulders strained against his shirt as he reached up to inspect a title on the highest shelf. What book will he choose?

You shouldn’t care, she reminded herself. She turned the page, starting from the top, moving her lips over the words, reading them without comprehending them.

“Where are the magic books?” Niall interrupted her.

Aisling dropped the book in her lap. “Why?”

Niall shrugged. “I’m sure a family of witches has an interesting collection of spellbooks. I want to read them.”

“Again, why?”

“Because I’m interested in your family, and this house. Because I’ll find some clue to stop Odiana and help us both get out of here.”

“There’s nothing, trust me. I’ve pored over all those books, and so did my mother and grandmother.”

“I’d like to read them, anyway.”

Aisling stood up, and led him to a shelf in the corner. She indicated the two rows of leather-bound books on the bottom shelves. “By all means, knock yourself out. Here they all are.”

Niall selected an old grimoire that had belonged to her great-grandmother Ama, who had been an experienced herbalist. The pages were filled with complex diagrams of plants and flowers, along with recipes scrawled in Ama’s loopy, unreadable script. He settled himself on a chair by the window, and opened the book, his eyes darting hungrily over the pages. Aisling peered at him from over the top of her book. It almost seemed as though he was looking for something …

Niall’s eyes flicked up, and he grinned at her. Aisling snapped her chin down toward her book. I’m just reading, nothing else, she told herself, but her pounding heart and quickened pulse betrayed her. How am I going to be able to live in the same house as this fae? How will I resist him?

As Aisling found her page again, her eyes darted back to Niall. He had turned the page, his finger running over one of the diagrams, engrossed in the magical notations. A flicker of doubt passed through her.

Why does he want to see books on magic? Is there something he’s not telling me?

* * *

“I’m bored,” Niall announced, throwing down his book.

“How can you be bored?” AIsling looked up from the page she’d read twenty times already. It was so hard to focus with him sitting across from her. “We’ve only been reading for half an hour.”

Maybe I was wrong to doubt him. Maybe he was just curious about my family magic. If he was really planning something devious, he wouldn’t give up so easily.

Unless he was trying to trick you. Her mother’s voice drummed against her skull. Maybe the whole story is a trick.

It can’t be. He dreams about me. He couldn’t have made that up.

“Half an hour? Really? It feels like longer.” Niall swung his muscular body out of the chair. “Let’s do something fun.”

“What?”

Niall tapped his chin for a moment, his head tilted as he thought. Aisling’s heart skipped a beat as she wondered what Niall’s version of “fun” might be. Would he put her in another position like he had last night and this morning, where she’d have to summon all of her resolve to resist him?

“I’ve got it!” Niall grabbed her hand and yanked her into the hall. “Let’s go!”

“What are you doing? Let go of me!” Aisling yelped. Niall laughed as he dragged her down the hall, and she couldn’t help but laugh, too. The energy spread up her arm and through her body, making her feel giddy.

They stopped in front of Niall’s room. Aisling readied herself to refuse another invitation to go to bed with him, but to her surprise, Niall dropped her hand. He ducked inside and returned with his bow and quiver.

“What are we doing with that?”

“Target practice.”

“You’re going to teach me how to fire a bow?” Aisling looked at the weapon in concern. How many people have these arrows killed?

“It’s a useful skill to have, you know. In case something one day comes through the doors that’s from your nightmares, instead of your dreams.”

“But we’ll have to go outside, and it’s freezing. The arrows won’t even penetrate the garden wall—”

“We’re not shooting at the garden wall, and we’re not going outside.” Niall gestured to a shelf of dog ornaments on the side table in the hall. “You’re telling me that none of these creepy statues deserves to die a horrible death.”

Aisling stared down at the ugly dogs, with their huge eyes and dopey faces and comically large bones. Aisling’s great-great-grandmother Celeste loved dogs. She’d owned seven fox-terriers, which had left their own mark on the house in the form of several small dog-flaps between rooms, and a wall of canine portraits in the east bedroom wing.

Grandmother June also collected ceramics, and she had tables and shelves filled with gilded otters and garishly-painted teddy bears scattered all over the house. The dog ornaments were some of Aisling’s least favorite.

She couldn’t believe she was considering it. These statues had been in her family for generations, and many of them were cast in gold and inlaid with precious stones. They could be worth a fortune. Never mind that when she was small, Aisling once spent the whole day hiding in the closet to escape their creepy faces. Come to think of it, why did she still keep them out? This was her house now. When Grandmother June inherited the house, she’d installed a popcorn machine in the portrait gallery, and added a foot spa to her bathroom. If Aisling hated the dogs, then why did she still keep them?

She grabbed the tallest, ugliest dog, and thrust him at Niall. “Let’s do it!”

* * *

Aisling darted through the house, picking out her least favorite ornaments – a leering monkey holding a banana in a suggestive way, a fat fairy with garish pink wings, and several of the worst dog figurines. Niall set up a small potting bench at the end of the hallway, just in front of the boarded-up dining room door. They lined up all the figurines along the bench, and backed up until they were standing in the entrance to the grand hall.

“Have you ever used one of these before?” Niall asked, handing the bow to Aisling. She marveled at how light it felt in her hand. It was hard to believe something so flimsy could be so deadly. She ran her fingers along the sinews, over the smooth limbs inlaid with precious woods.

“No. I’ve never held any kind of weapon. It looks complicated.”

“It’s really not. I’ll show you.” Niall stepped behind her, and placed his arms around her waist. Her back rested against his hard stomach. Energy sizzled around them, wrapping Aisling in shimmering cocoon. Don’t think about it, she told herself. Concentrate on the bow.

Niall laced his fingers between hers, placing her fingers against the string. “Do you feel this little bump in the string? This is the nock point. You hold the string between these fingers.” He adjusted her hand, his breath brushing against her ear. Aisling’s body stood rigid, too afraid to move and spoil the moment.

“You notice the V-shape carved into the arrow? To nock an arrow, you rest the arrow against this wooden peg, then shove the string into the V, just above the nock point.” She did this, and he patted her arm. “Now, draw the arrow back. If you find it difficult, it can help to push the bow forward while you pull.”

Aisling drew the string back toward her ear. The bow creaked as it tightened. Her arms ached from the pull of the string.

“That’s good,” Niall said. “Is the weight okay?”

“It’s okay if I can let it go really soon,” Aisling said through gritted teeth. Her arm wobbled.

“Line the arrow and the sight up with your target, and let her go.”

Aisling let the string go. The arrow flew from the bow, zipping down the hall before embedding itself deep into the wooden panel of the door.

“Not bad,” Niall grinned, handing her another arrow.

“Not bad? I missed completely.”

“Hey, at least you got in the general vicinity of the targets.” Niall grinned. “The first time I tried to shoot, I ended up with six arrows in the ground about ten feet in front of the targets. It took me ages to get the hang of it. My instructor was so frustrated with me, he threatened to post me to the Ignisti.”

“The what?”

“The army’s explosives division.” Niall grinned. “They have a pretty high mortality rate. Go on, try again.”

Aisling nocked her second arrow, pulled back the string, and let it next arrow fly. It smashed into the dog statue, shattering it and scattering broken porcelain across the hall.

“I got it!” Aisling jumped with excitement. Niall grabbed her arm, causing another wave of heat to course through her.

She fired the next four arrows, managing to shatter the fat lady statue. Her enormous head rolled across the floor, and Aisling kicked it against the dining room door with glee. It bounced against the wood and came to rest against the foot of the bench.

“How do we get the arrows back?” she asked, staring at the shafts sticking from the wood like porcupine quills, the red fletchings gleaming in the low light like droplets of blood.

“Just grab them at the base of the shaft, and pull. They’ll come out eventually.”

She tweaked the nearest shaft. It seemed pretty stuck in there. “But … have they penetrated the door? What if the tips are inside the void?”

“It’s fine.” Niall drew up beside her, and with a flick of his wrist, dropped all the arrows on to the floor.

“You’re strong.” She couldn’t believe the way he just dropped those arrows out of the wood. He’d scattered wood chips over the thick carpet from where the wood had splintered. She couldn’t describe what staring at those wood chips made her feel, kind of giddy and lightheaded.

“These arrows are fae arrows,” Niall said, his icy eyes meeting hers. “They’re enchanted to return to me. But yes, I am strong. Maybe that will come in handy in this house.”

“Oh yeah? You going to move furniture for me?”

“Honey, I can move worlds for you.”

Aisling snorted. Niall frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“You are.” She grinned, and thrust the bow into his hands. “Your turn, Super Fae.”

“Watch, and learn from the master.” Niall’s fingers moved lightning fast, as he nocked an arrow and drew back the bow. Just as he let the arrow fly, Widdershins careened around the corner of the entrance and scampered across the hall. Aisling screamed as the cat darted into the bathroom just as the arrow flicked past his tail, missing him by a few hairs.

Niall sank against the wall, his face stricken. “I’m so sorry.”

Aisling darted into the bathroom and scooped up her cat, but he was too freaked out to accept a hug. He drew a deep scratch across her arm, and jumped down, disappearing into the bathroom again. Aisling sank to her knees, clutching her chest as her heart rate returned to normal. From on top of the bathroom vanity, Widdershins yowled with rage, his tail puffed up in agitation.

“He must be terrified,” Aisling said, staring up at her cat with trepidation. “I’d better go get him a treat.”

“Yeah.” Niall gulped. “Aisling … I’m … really sorry.”

I know, she thought, as she looked over his face. But I don’t understand why.

Niall is fae. His race take great pride in their cruelty, their remoteness. Any other fae would have deliberately aimed the arrow at Widdershins, and then skinned him and made him into a delicious stew. But Niall jerked the arrow away. And he looks genuinely upset. It’s the second time he’s apologized to me in as many days.

Is he different? Is the dream boy really the boy of my dreams?