Chapter 11 Magic Isn’t Real…
MAGIC ISN’T REAL…
ALICE
Harley walks me to my door. He doesn’t have to, but I’ve learned that’s simply who he is: a gentleman. He chooses to do the little things for those around him, not out of obligation or for optics, but because he wants to.
He’s entirely too considerate for his own good.
Our shoulders brush as our feet crunch over the gravel driveway. Well, his dress shoes crunch over the gravel—my bare feet make no noise as they tenderly pad over the rocks. If you go slow, it’s not terribly painful.
That piece of wisdom can be applied to other situations as well.
A moth flutters around the porchlight, unfazed as we stomp up the old wooden steps. My toes curl over the coarse fibers of the welcome mat as I unlock my deadbolt; I’m slow to fit the key in the lock, hesitant to twist the knob and push open the door. If I do, then I lose this warmth at my back.
Maybe the alcohol hasn’t left my system—despite the two hours that have passed since my last sip—because as I turn and lean back against chipped paint, a dangerous thought passes through my head.
What a terrible shame it would be, to have gotten all dolled up, and not end the night with a kiss.
Who am I and where has the half-sane Alice gone? Didn’t you tell this man about your dead husband an hour ago? Why would he try to kiss you after that?
“Thanks again,” I say, forcing a chipper smile on my cheeks. “I had fun, blips aside.”
“Blips?” Harley’s head cants to the side.
His white-blonde hair, which was tamed for the event, now sits in messy waves under the amber glow of the porchlight.
“Oh. Those,” he says, in casual realization.
He closes the distance between us, and I tilt my head back to keep holding his gaze.
“You’re good, Alice. As I said before you took your nap, you don’t have to thank me for being a decent person. ”
My lips twist. “Except for when you hold a door open for me, or pull out my chair, or put bandages on my blisters. Or when you walk me to my front door after a date.”
“Of course. Except for then.” A genuine grin shows off a row of straight teeth—his canines aren’t as pointy as Jessa’s—but it only lasts a second before it falls. His expression pinches as he asks, “Was this a date?”
My neck heats. “I’m not entirely opposed to the idea of it being one.”
Harley’s Adam’s apple bobs, and I hold my breath as I home in on those pillowy lips of his. There’s a sketch of them on my desk upstairs, but I can’t remember if I captured the precise angle of his cupid’s bow. Would it be considered research to request a first-hand account of their curve?
“Will you dance with me?” I ask, suddenly. His brow furrows. “These charity galas never have a dance floor, and I think that’s a shame, because I like to dance, and we’re all dressed up,” I add. “It seems like a waste.”
Harley considers me for a moment before his expression breaks back into a grin; it’s so easy for him, as if a smile is the natural resting place of his lips.
“We don’t have any music,” he says.
I shrug. “We have the katydids and the crickets. Can’t you hear them crooning for us?”
He hums, a matching sound to the buzzing as he gazes out at the night-shrouded trees that line my property. “They are fairly loud tonight.”
Harley bows slightly and offers me a lithe hand, the action in line with the strange formality he often embodies.
Our palms slide together as he pulls me flush against his chest. His other hand glides over my waist, and mine goes to his shoulder, fingers curling into his cotton button-down.
We sway, and after some time, Harley begins to hum.
It’s a languid melody, nothing like I’ve ever heard before, but reminds me of a Celtic lullaby.
With the backing of nature, his intonation creates a relaxing harmony.
I melt in his arms, lay my cheek on his chest, and fall into the sensation of his heartbeat thumping against my skin.
Too quickly, his humming stops.
“I really like you, Alice,” he whispers. “I don’t want to mess this up for us.”
I tilt my head to peer up at him. “You won’t.”
There’s a cosmic force at work here, pulling me to this man. He’s impossible to resist. It’s as if I’m a fish who was tempted by too-good-to-be-true bait and caught on a hook. Now, I’m being reeled in, whether I want to be or not.
To fight it would be to hurt myself, but to accept it would mean my end. It’s a lose-lose situation. And I have very little fight left in me, anyway.
The meager distance between us closes, and I swear time stops. The second it takes for his head to dip stretches out and my soul disconnects from my body, watching as his lips descend… and hit my cheek.
His lips are soft, if my freckles are to be believed.
“Sweet dreams, Alice,” Harley murmurs, his cheek nuzzling against mine.
I’m stunned still, but I can’t even be mad, because the respectful action is so fucking cute that my throat swells with emotion.
“Night,” I squeak out, gaze falling to my feet as I blindly grab for the doorknob. “I’ll see you at the library soon. I’ll text you.”
I twist the brass, push open the door, and take a single step over the threshold. Except my foot doesn’t hit hardwood—I fall into open space. My arms windmill, trying to catch my balance, but there’s nothing to catch onto.
I scream.
There’s a frantic shout of my name, though it warps in the air before reaching my ears, both far away and close as I plumet through a disorienting version of darkness.
I land softly in a patch of grass, somehow cushioned by the air. I blink up at the night sky; except it’s not Meadowbrook’s night sky. This one is decidedly vibrant, unmarred by a single cloud, and full of too many twinkling stars.
Am I hallucinating right now?
I roll over with a groan, and nope—my fingers dig into the signature texture of dirt and weeds.
I’m in some kind of field, but I’m supposed to be in my house.
My chest goes tight, my breaths not filling my lungs.
Sitting back on my heels, I wipe my hands off on my dress and attempt to stop hyperventilating.
But then the smell hits me—sickeningly sweet florals that make my head spin and vision blur.
“What the hell?” I mutter.
A thump sounds next to me, and Harley’s body pops into existence. He’s quicker than me to roll over, scrambling to his knees and crawling to me.
“Shit, Alice, you landed in the poppies. Are you okay?” he asks. His head frantically swivels left and right, then locks onto something in the distance. His nostrils flare, and his skin adopts a terrifying pallor. “We need to leave.”
Harley’s hand wraps around my wrist to pull me up, but I rip it out of his grasp.
“Where the fuck are we?” I demand.
I scramble to standing, and the world tilts on its axis. Harley’s lean yet strong arms are there to steady me, though I push him away.
“I can explain as soon as we get—"
“No. Don’t touch me,” I snap. “Did you drug me or something?”
Oh my gosh, is that her?
No, it couldn’t possibly be.
It’s too dark to be sure. But it could be.
The high-pitched voices rush my head all at once. Vertigo tilts the world, and I stumble again. Harley catches me, and this time I let him.
So few humans fall into Arcadia. Why wouldn’t it be the prince’s Champion? Don’t be stupid.
I’m not stupid.
But you are doubting that it’s her.
I squint against the dizzy sensation, head panning to find those behind the incessant gossip ringing in my ear. But through slitted lids, I note that there’s only me and the man scooping me into his arms bridal-style present.
And flowers. A whole meadow bursting with them.
Who is that with her? The prince’s friend?
Surely not.
When’s the last time you saw him?
Usually, it’s only the prince that comes to visit.
Or the damned cat.
“Will you all shut up?” Harley growls at the flowers, tucking me tightly to his chest. “You’re overwhelming her.”
A deep and dreaded sense of déjà vu washes over me. As if I’ve been here, and have heard these voices before. But that’s not possible.
For one, flowers can’t talk.
And yet…
So, it is her.
See I told you.
This is terribly pleasant news!
The queen won’t be happy.
She may rule, but she isn’t the queen until she’s crowned. And there’s still time yet until the tourney.
That’s true. Do you think she plans to fight?
“Be quiet, or I will come back and prune all of you,” Harley snaps, and he picks up his pace, re-adjusting his hold as he carries me somewhere.
I don’t know where we’re going—I have no clue where the hell we even are.
One moment, we were on my front porch, and now, we’re in some kind of dream. Or a hallucination. Except his chest feels awfully real against my cheek.
A snort escapes me.
I’m going insane. Yep. This is it. The big one. The capital B-I-G breakdown. The one I don’t come back from.
I’ve gone completely mental.
My body starts to shake, not from the cold of midnight, or from fear, but from laughter. Cruel, exasperated laughter. Because I’m not scared—I’m fucking pissed.
This is what I get for trying to kiss a boy when I’m still in love with the last one.
“We’re almost there,” Harley says. “Don’t worry. Once we’re back in Meadowbrook I’ll explain everything—”
“It’s fine,” I mutter. Fatigue washes over me; it’s as if I’ve run a marathon. Even though I haven’t taken one step, my limbs ache. “You don’t have to explain.”
“What?” Harley’s steps falter, but when they resume, it’s gravel crunching under his shoes, not grass. I blink up at Harley, taking in his wild and panicked expression. “Do you remember now?”
“Huh?”
“Do you remember us? From before?”
“I don’t understand.” The words slur together, and Harley’s face blurs, crestfallen. We ascend stairs, his footsteps creaking over carpeted wood now. I think it’s my house, but I can’t be sure. My lids are too heavy, and darkness closes in. “Remember who?”
Harley curses, but it’s far away as sleep pulls me under. “I’ll explain everything when you wake up. Just trust me, okay? Please trust me when you wake up.”