Chapter 37
CARWYNN
I think god might be a pillow. Specifically, the one on my bed. And I met him face-first the moment I stepped through my bedroom door.
I’d spent the rest of the day at David and Wyatt’s trying to get a grip on my Floramancy while also soaking up every unhinged Fecunditas fun fact Wyatt flung at me. His eyes twinkled like he was back in his glory days, reliving the thrill of the competition, one demented story at a time.
“Wait, he was buried alive in the burlap sack?” I’d blurted, swallowing hard.
Apparently, the Eostre Trials had their own barbaric version of the classic potato-sack races. Because nothing says family-fun like being planted in the ground like a sacrificial spring seedling.
Wyatt painted a beautifully grotesque picture of just how deranged the Trials could be, while David handled the prep work on local culture and politics.
“Are you listening, Carwynn?” David asked expectantly.
I nodded, but my mind was busy triggering my palms to sweat at the thought of being six feet under . . . alive.
“Here’s the rundown,” he began. “Fecunditas—”
“Can we call it Feck Fest for short?” I said, interrupting. “It sounds like a blessing you’d give after someone sneezes. Plus, Feck Fest seems more fitting for their questionable activities.” I huffed a laugh.
“That’s actually pretty accurate,” Wyatt said, chuckling.
David glared at us both, letting out a resigned breath.
“The Feck Fest celebrations,” he continued.
“Last an entire month and are held once every fifty years. The main event—the Eostre Trials—will take place during the final week. Each land sends a team of representative players. Loveland, of course, is excluded from this.” David briefly chewed on his lip, then cleared his throat.
“Still, the Eostre Queen granted Wyatt and I a rare honor of being advisors for Luckland. Probably for diplomacy.”
“Or for drama,” Wyatt scoffed under his breath.
“I believe Vinterland has declined to participate this time around. So there’ll only be Luckland, Hallow Land, and Eostre Land.
” David dipped his head slightly, a gesture to signal my focus.
“You can expect to see feasts, small-scale games, and fertility rituals the first three weeks. For the Trials themselves—there’ll be three events in total.
The winning player will receive a magical stone from the Ovum Tree.
And lastly, all participants should be aware and formally acknowledge the risk of—”
“Injury, trauma, death, humiliation, magical decapitation, blah, blah, blah . . .” I cut in, not-so-stealthily sneaking towards Huck to hitch a ride. “Got it—Satan’s Spring Break!” As my mouth went up in a smile, David’s flatlined, right before I rifted away.
My body was withering too fast to bother showering. My legs couldn’t be trusted to get me there anyway, and my face was already melding to the pillow.
Just as the warm haze of sleep was dragging me under, I heard something.
A faint squeak. So small I almost mistook it for the ringing in my ears. I really needed to drink more water.
But then—buzzing. Sharp, angry, and panicked.
A tiny, translucent Brownie launched itself from the hider-hole like a bat out of hell. It swarmed around me in frantic loops, spitting high-pitched sounds that made the muscles in my neck twitch. A sound only dogs should be able to hear.
“What the—” I muttered, propping myself up on one elbow, the other hand corking my ear.
The tiny beast was crazed, doing laps around the room like a distressed fire alarm. But then it froze, hovering inches from my face. Tiny arms waved wildly, as if trying to signal something. Did it need help? A warning, maybe?
A signal I was clearly too slow to catch as a mass of shadow poured through the cracks of my windowpane. Dark and thick, like a fountain of ink. It cascaded down the wall, pooling across the floor, slithering forward. I cringed, crawling backwards on the bed as if it were a serpent on the hunt.
Those black tendrils—something about them sent a razor-sharp chill up my spine. They looked like something pulled from the depths of my nightmares.
I shot off the bed, pulse quickening, pillow in hand like a shield.
The Brownie let out a yelp. In a blink, it hauled ass back to its little mouse hole, disappearing like it’d been exterminated.
What the hell was going on?
Maybe I was too exhausted because all survival instincts I’d practiced today fell into a coma.
The shadow moved again, reaching up like a hand. It gently placed a folded slip of paper on my bedside table. An ominous, yet delicate offering. It then retreated, gone as quickly as it came.
Well, that was creepy . . .
I hesitated before forcing my hand to grab the paper, unfolding it. Four lines:
Training tomorrow.
Sundown.
Emerald Falls.
-Pogue
Seriously? Asshole!
Of course, the tentacles of death were familiar—they were his shadows. And apparently, he had his own demonic postal service set up.
He couldn’t, ya know, deliver it like a normal person? Instead, had to send me some disturbing shadow courier. I was going to add breaking and entering to the ever-growing list of reasons why he was officially insufferable.
“Shady prick,” I cursed, then slammed my head back into the pillow, hoping the force would knock me clean out, skipping straight to unconsciousness.
“Good luck to all of you! Have a great break!” I dismissed the class with a wave.
Ugh. And good luck to me as well . . .
It was the final week at the Institute, so my schedule and mind were both out of sorts. I had the honors of taking exams and grading them.
Sunlight spilled through the upper windows, glittering across the stone floor as I glanced around.
This classroom had become my happy place. I’d miss it, at least until the academic break was over. Teaching, even just for one class, had been unexpectedly fun. Or some good craic, as the students would often say.
Usually I was the quiet, faceless body in the crowd.
The student version of me was a wallflower specter in the back row.
But here, I was front and center, forced to wear every insecurity like an ugly sweater at a party.
But after a while, you start to get over it.
So what if they stare the whole class? So what if no one laughs at my dumb jokes?
In the end, I was still here . . . still me.
So I learned to be numb to the intrusive thoughts and doubts.
Because, may as well enjoy it a little, right?
Shuffling echoed across the dome as students gathered their belongings. After a few students stopped over to say goodbye, I shoved my papers into my bag. The room quieted enough to cue my exit.
“I have to say,” Finley drawled, the sound snapping my head up.
That smug grin overtook his face. “Not to be cocky or anything—but I think I aced that.” He leaned forward, eyes dropping to my mouth.
“I’ve had an insane level of focus this semester when it comes to those lips—and anything that falls out of them. ” A shadow of dimple drew in.
Heat prickled up my cheeks like a traitor.
Get your shit together.
Finley glanced over his shoulder, scanning the room to ensure we were the last ones left. Then, he rounded the table and placed a hand beneath my chin, tilting it up.
Adorable. Why’d he have to be so goddamn adorable?
I had a sudden, irrational urge to mess up that perfectly combed blonde hair.
His casual outfit—jeans and a crew neck sweater—didn’t help.
Dressing down only seemed to enhance his appeal.
And before I could gain even a shred of control over my own body, his mouth found mine.
So warm and inviting. Dangerously easy to fall into.
The kiss was novocaine, numbing all the reasons I should end it.
Okay, so technically, he may no longer be my student.
But I still had a few pressing issues that outranked a relationship.
Like, oh—I don’t know, the upcoming Easter death games, my new erratic ability, being hunted by the Skell King, helping David research ways to relight Loveland’s Candela. You know, just normal things.
Shit.
I gently pressed a hand against his chest and pulled away.
“I—” My brain hiccuped. “We—we shouldn’t,” I said, my body hating each word. “With Feck Fest around the corner, and everything else going on, a relationship would just complicate things.”
An eyebrow ticked up. “Feck Fest?” Finley huffed out a small laugh. But then his eyes fell like a beaten puppy’s as he let out a slow breath.
“I know,” he murmured, planting a gentle kiss to my forehead. “That kiss was selfishly for me.” A small smile tugged at his lips, and he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“I’m sorry,” I rasped. I meant it.
I didn’t want to hurt him. But right now, I was baggage. Baggage packed with confused emotions, razor--blade issues, and most likely explosive outcomes. He didn’t deserve that.
Finley shifted on his feet, a smile returning to his face. He almost looked sheepish, rubbing a hand over his mouth.
“I wanted to ask ya something,” he said, face sparking with that irritatingly cute mix of amusement and nerves.
I narrowed mine. “What?”
“Go to the Fortuna Ball with me?” For a moment, his grin faltered . . . but those hopeful eyes stayed locked on mine. “As friends, of course,” he added, wincing at the word.
The way he looked anxious, I expected the question to be something foreboding like digging into my past or dropping an unexpected bombshell. But no, this was his priority. Leave it to Finley to turn on his charm even after I rejected him . . . yet again.
I shook my head, giggling.
He really was the epitome of sunshine and rainbows. All wrapped up in cheeky smiles and toned biceps.
“Fine.” I said, letting out a dramatic sigh.
My eyes rolled, then landed on his. If his grin grew any wider, it’d border on maniacal.
“As friends,” I reminded. My lip tugged into a slow, inevitable smile.
Goddamn it.
Heading toward Emerald Falls, I took a different route through The Mounds than usual. This part of town felt more refined, quieter. The boisterous, beer-clanking chaos of the lower shops were closer to the Institute. Here, things had a bit more class.
My eyes caught on a rounded storefront window. Dresses, sparkly and elegant, displayed like jewels on a royal crown at the forefront of the glass.
One stood out in particular—a beautiful blood-red ballgown with a delicate sweetheart neckline. The skirt parted at one side, revealing rippling layers of gold silk beneath, a rose unfurling around its own buried gilded star.
The fabric didn’t need glittery beads or gemstone embroidery—it was exquisite on its own.
It stole my breath away, calling to me as if the fabric itself were woven in a secret language only my soul could hear.
Standing there, frozen, felt like looking up at a twinkling sky in the depths of winter, and finding a star sparkling.
The one that if you stared at it long enough, flickered hues of red and gold just for you.
I was already late. But that dress needed to be mine.
“Fuck Pogue,” I spat. “He can wait.”
I could feel a smile growing as my hand gripped the door, ready to claim my North Star.