Prologue
EXCERPT FROM AVALON TOWER
Alix glances at the top floor of an apartment building, staring at the couple shagging against the window. Even from here, she can see the pleasure on the man’s face, his breath misting the glass.
That would be an infinitely better way to spend the day than the mission she has planned. She can imagine Agent Rein holding her like that, gripping her as he kisses her throat.
But it will never happen. Love is strictly forbidden for the spies of Avalon Tower.
The problem is, banning desire doesn’t douse the heat.
If anything, it fuels it. Sometimes, Alix thinks all the Avalon spies are unsatisfied, obsessed, lost in fantasies.
Today, especially, her head isn’t in the game—even though Fey soldiers probably lurk all around this place, waiting to run their swords through agents like her.
Distraction is death, she reminds herself.
She turns away, scanning the street for signs of her Fey enemies.
She doesn’t see anything amiss. In fact, it all looks perfectly calm, picturesque and quaint.
Wrought iron balconies overhang the cobbled alley.
Here, in the south of France, the scent of lavender mingles with the brine of the sea.
The streets of this coastal town are ancient, stony, labyrinthine.
At the bottom of the sloping road, wisps of fog curl over the Mediterranean.
A cafe overlooks the sea—Café de la Forêt Enchantée. The meeting point is by the back door.
She peers out across the outdoor tables, where a pretty woman with raven hair is eating cake and flirting with a waiter. Alix feels a pang of jealousy. For normal women—those who aren’t spies trying to save the world—love is always a possibility.
Focus, Alix.
Still a picture of serenity around her. No sign of the Fey soldiers. But no sign of Rein, either.
A church bell tolls, making her heart skip a beat. Rein should be here. He’s usually early.
She takes a slow, calming breath. She’s always thinking of him, which is exactly why love is forbidden in the first place.
It takes your mind off the mission and leads to stupid decisions.
She’s never told him how she feels, how she seems to always be looking for him.
Every time she sees a reflection, she checks the glass to see if he’s behind her, hoping to see his boyish smile instead of looking out for the enemy.
Whenever she walks into the dining hall at Avalon Tower, she scans the room for his slender form.
She’s always coming up with excuses to get close to him, but she can never quite tell if he feels the same about her.
The clouds slide over the sun, and she feels a chill. She should stay at the beach, alert for any sign of the Fey, those terrifying soldiers in royal blue. But she’s not going to leave here without Rein. He’s late for the rendezvous, and her mind spins in a million horrible directions.
Pulse racing, she climbs back up the hill.
Her skin tingles with the hum of the veil emanating from the streets nearby, the misty barrier that separates this world from that of the Fey.
In theory, it’s a boundary that keeps them on one side and humans on the other, but it’s not that simple.
For one thing, you can never be sure exactly where the veil is.
Sure, the Fey control it, but sometimes, it seems to have a mind of its own.
The magical boundary roams a bit, shifting its location ever so slightly.
It’s a hungry thing, and if it consumes you, you die.
Every few weeks, it leaves a curious tourist dead on the winding streets of southern France.
Alix is one of the few people alive who can actually control it, who can stop it from killing those passing through.
Casually, she checks her watch, and dread skitters up her spine. Rein was supposed to be here six minutes ago. He’s never late, especially not for an exfiltration operation. The fugitives should be just beyond the veil by now. She feels like she can hardly breathe.
Spies are taught to suppress emotion, to maintain complete control of themselves, even when danger lurks in the shadows of every alley.
But now, Alix feels her training fail as the terrifying possibilities race through her mind.
What if he was slaughtered already? What if the veil shifted location and killed him?
She’d lose her mind if anything happened to Rein, if she never got to see his brown eyes again or had the chance to wrap her arms around him.
She grits her teeth so hard that she nearly bites her tongue. Get it together.
She masks her feelings with a wistful smile as she crosses the road to the gold- and salmon-colored shops on the opposite side.
She pretends to look in the windows at the madeleines and croissants, the slices of cake.
Anyone watching her would think she’s just a hungry tourist on vacation, a cute blonde in a sundress.
Fog drifts across the street.
Eleven minutes late now. Alix’s blood roars. Something is definitely wrong. She starts to march back to Café de la Forêt Enchantée.
At last, she hears the whistle that is their signal, and she heaves a sigh of relief. It’s coming from behind her. Did she miss him somehow?
The signal is coming from a narrow lane, and Alix hurries over to it.
She turns the corner, and the world tilts beneath her feet.
Now, she’s face-to-face with a towering Fey.
Silver hair flows down his back, and he wears the dark blue velvet of a Fey soldier.
There’s something about his eerie stillness, about the sharpness of his gaze that sends fear ringing through Alix’s bones.
It’s the metallic sheen in his green eyes that’s so disorienting, otherworldly.
His lip curls, exposing one of his sharpened canines.
Alix reads nothing in his eyes except loathing.
We’ve been compromised. Alix’s heart slams, and she turns to run.
But her path is blocked by a second Fey soldier, and Alix is caught between them. She reaches for her dagger, but it’s too late.
A blade plunges into Alix’s stomach, and pain rushes through her. Her training takes over, and she tries to pull her dagger, to dodge, to parry, to run, but her limbs don’t obey her for some reason. She falls to her knees.
Strange. Her wound doesn’t hurt that much. She hardly feels it at all.
Thoughts of Rein flicker through her mind as she bleeds onto the stones.
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
Seven minutes earlier.
I breathe in the scent of the ocean, a fragrance tinged with cypress, and sip my coffee. It’s hot for early spring, and it almost looks like steam is rising from the sea. From my spot at Café de la Forêt Enchantée, I see the cloud of shimmering mist shearing across the landscape.
My vacation has been heaven so far. The breeze rushes off the water and leaves a faint taste of salt on my lips. This place is good for my asthma, I think.
The atmosphere in the south of France feels different than California. Here, the light is soft, honeyed, not the glaring, overwhelming harshness of the LA sun.
Nearby, the magical veil rises to the sky like a wall of fog. It’s eerie and undeniably beautiful. It moves sometimes, but I’m at a safe distance here. Just beyond the tables of the outdoor café, waves crash over the white rocks. This might just be my favorite place in the world.
I manifested this trip with positive thoughts and vision boards. Also, many hours of minimum-wage labor and eating cereal for dinner instead of going out to bars. This two-week vacation is my destiny.
Sure, I feel a twinge of guilt at leaving Mom behind, but there’s no way I could pay for us both.
And it would be better to have my friend Leila with me, but she’s scared of going anywhere near the Fey border.
She thinks they might still leap out of the veil and murder you at any moment, even if the guidebooks from our bookshop and the U.S. State Department clearly say it’s safe.
I pick up a sprig of lavender from the vase on the table and inhale.
I’m still enjoying the lovely scent when a dark-haired waiter slides a slice of a blackberry cake onto the lace tablecloth before me. “Bon appétit.”
I definitely ordered the lavender cake, but cake is cake. “Thank you.”
As I take a bite, the fruity flavor bursts on my tongue.
This slice costs the equivalent of three hours of work at the bookshop, but I try not to think about it.
Fifteen years ago, the war made prices soar, and they never went down again.
Luxuries like cake are stupidly expensive. Vacation, I remind myself.
Another bite. The sugary, tart flavors coat my tongue. Mom would be horrified. So many carbs, darling. She lives on vodka and boiled eggs.
The waiter watches me take a bite and smiles. With his bright blue eyes and square jaw, he reminds me of someone, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“Is delicious, yes?” he asks. He must have pegged me as a tourist because he’s speaking in heavily accented English.
I nod. “C’est délicieux.”
His shoulders relax as he shifts to French himself. “I’m glad. Are you here on holiday?” He wears a flat cap over wavy brown hair.
“I arrived a week ago. Only one week left.” My chest clenches at the realization that my trip is already half over. For five years, I’ve looked forward to this, but I can’t spend the other half of my vacation mourning the end of it, can I? “I wish I could stay.”
Sure, it’s a teensy bit lonely having my birthday cake at a table for one, but it’s probably better than what I’d be doing at home.
“Where are you from?” he asks.
“The U.S. west coast. LA.”
“LA, as in Hollywood? Are you an actress? A model?” He lowers his eyelashes, then looks up again. “Your hair is very striking. So unusually dark.”
Is he flirting with me? “Thank you. No, I’m not an actress.”
I glance at the veil again. I can’t seem to keep my gaze off it. What’s happening on the other side?