The Wandering Kitchen's pantry was exactly as I'd left it three weeks ago. Which means it’s meticulously organized in a way that would make a dragon’s organizational sensibilities weep with joy. Rows of labeled jars and containers stretched across wooden shelving that would hav taken up the space of the entire tent if not for the dimensional modifications that made it much larger on the inside than the outside would suggest. Dried herbs hung from hooks on the ceiling, releasing faint aromas when I brushed past them. Fresh ingredients occupied climate-controlled sections that kept everything at just the right storage temperature.

  And in the back corner, on a shelf I'd specifically designated for "Fae emergency supplies," sat three glass jars containing exactly what I needed. Yep, you guessed it. This wasn’t my first time tangling with the Fae, but it was definitely my first time on their home turf. I’d have to make some modifications to my “Fae-Away” ointment, but this should work. In theory. I hoped. Otherwise we’d be running back and forth to the Wandering Kitchen to come back to our senses every half hour, if we made it in time.

  I pulled down the ironwort first, thin, silvery leaves that felt cool to the touch even through the glass of the jar. Next came the blessed thistle, purple flowers that still held a faint glow despite being dried and preserved. Sadly, this would use up most of my supply of those, and it’s hard to find a Celestial Hound willing to pee on a thistle for you (and not decide to eat you for lunch). And finally, the crystallized will, which looked like small chunks of quartz but hummed with an energy that made my fingers tingle when I touched the jar. That came from Garrick…staring at the jar very intently for two hours. In silence. That might actually be the hardest thing to get more of.

  "Found them," I called back to Garrick, who was sitting at one of the kitchen's prep stations looking slightly less aroused and significantly more embarrassed about what had almost happened outside.

  "Found what?" he asked, walking over to peer at the jars I was setting on the counter.

  "Protection," I said, already pulling out a mortar and pestle from one of the drawers. "The kind that doesn't involve prophylactics."

  Garrick snorted. "Mac, that was terrible."

  "I've been traveling with you for three years. Your influence is showing." I started measuring out the ironwort, consulting the mental recipe I'd memorized from E.W.'s guide. "We're making an ointment that'll protect us from the atmospheric enchantments. This should keep us from turning into willing participants in the next Fae orgy we stumble across."

  "That seems like a good plan," Garrick said, watching as I began grinding the ironwort leaves. "Though I have to say, for a moment there, it didn't seem like such a terrible—"

  "Garrick."

  "Right. Terrible idea. Very dangerous. Could have ended badly." He paused. "Though the one with the silver hair was very—"

  "Garrick."

  "I'm just saying, she had a nice—"

  "If you finish that sentence, I'm leaving you outside without protection and you can explain to Titania why you spent the night as a sex toy for her entire court."

  Garrick wisely shut up and watched me work, “No fun,” he sighed.

  The ironwort needed to be ground into a fine powder first, which took more effort than you'd think given how delicate the leaves looked. They don’t call it ironwort for nothing. Then came the blessed thistle, which released a faint purple smoke when crushed that made both of us sneeze.

  "What does the crystallized will do?" Garrick asked, eyeing the quartz-like chunks with professional curiosity. "It took me forever to make that, you know."

  "It's what makes the protection stick," I said, carefully adding small pieces to the mortar. "Ironwort blocks external magical influence, blessed thistle purifies intent, but crystallized will is what binds your own determination to resist. Without it, the ointment is just expensive moisturizer, by the way, I’ll need you to make more when we’re done with this little trip."

  "Huh." Garrick leaned closer. "Can I try grinding some?"

  I looked at him. He looked back with an expression of genuine interest.

  "Do you remember what you did when we were in Valoria?" I asked.

  Garrick's expression shifted from curious to defensive. "Oh, that place. All they ever did was fight and wrestle and break things over each other's heads. Violent culture, really. And seriously, why would someone make a giant red button if it's NOT meant to be pushed? And they had the gall to chase us out of town for that little incident—"

  "You blew up half a city block," I interrupted.

  "Okay, okay, large incident," Garrick amended, holding up his hands. "But in my defense, the button was very shiny and there were no warning signs."

  "There were seventeen warning signs. In five different languages. One of them was just a picture of a person pushing the button and then exploding."

  "Well, I didn't see that one."

  I pointed at the mortar and pestle with the kind of firm gesture I'd perfected over three years of keeping Garrick from accidentally ending the world. "In other words: don't touch it."

  "I wasn't going to touch anything," Garrick said, but he did take a step back from the counter.

  I continued grinding the ingredients, slowly adding them together in the precise ratios E.W.'s guide specified. The mixture turned from purple to a deep violet, then finally settled into a color that reminded me of fresh bruises. Not the most appealing aesthetic, but function over form.

  "So this will protect us from the... what did you call them? Living intoxicants?" Garrick asked.

  "Exactly. The air here is literally designed to lower inhibitions and increase desire. The flowers, the fruits, probably even the grass. All of it is releasing compounds that affect mortal and immortal nervous systems." I stirred the mixture, watching it thicken into an ointment-like consistency. "This won't make us immune, but it'll dampen the effects enough that we can think straight."

  "How long does it last?"

  "Four to six hours, depending on exposure level. Then we'll need to reapply." I reached for a small glass jar to store the finished product. "I made enough for several applications. We're going to be here for twelve days, so we'll need to be strategic about when we use it."

  Garrick was quiet for a moment, watching me work with the kind of focus he usually reserved for cosmic-level problems. "Mac?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Thank you. For... all of this. The reading, the preparation, the saving me from making a complete fool of myself out there." He gestured vaguely toward the tent entrance. "I know I dragged us into this mess."

  I looked up from the ointment jar and met his eyes. "Garrick, you drag us into a mess about once every two months. This one's actually kind of in the middle range of severity."

  "Still."

  "Still," I agreed, "you're welcome. Now help me figure out how we're going to complete this impossible Task before Titania decides we look better polishing squirrel ass."

  We moved to one of the small tables in the cantina area, and I pulled out my notebook (which now had "Fae Summer Court" written on the latest page in increasingly frantic handwriting).

  "Okay," I said, reviewing my notes from the court presentation. "We need to hold a feast that satisfies both Titania's court and Oberon's court. No favoritism, no perceived slights. Then present gifts of equal value to both rulers."

  "How hard can that be?" Garrick asked.

  I stared at him. "Did you see Titania today? Did you hear the way she talked about Oberon?"

  "Well, yes, but—"

  "She's jealous, petty, and convinced he's ignoring her on purpose. Anything we give to Oberon, she's going to assume is better than what she got. And anything we give to her, Oberon's going to ignore because he's too busy hunting and... other activities."

  Garrick slumped in his chair. "Oh. Right. That does make it harder."

  "For the feast, at least, I have some ideas." I flipped through E.W.'s guide to a heavily annotated section. "Summer Court loves sweets. Fruits—especially exotic ones from other realms—homemade ice creams, sour beverages to offset the sweetness, cakes, pastries, donuts. I can handle that."

  "What about Oberon's court?"

  "That's the problem. E.W. never got information on Oberon's preferences. He was away on one of his 'hunting trips' when E.W. visited the Fae Realm." I tapped my pen against the notebook. "We're going to have to ask around. Talk to people. Figure out what he actually likes."

  "Which means going back outside," Garrick said, glancing toward the tent entrance with visible apprehension.

  "Which means going back outside with protection," I corrected, holding up the jar of purple ointment. "Let's test this before we commit to any extended exposure."

  I opened the jar and the smell hit me immediately: earth and flowers and something sharp underneath that smelt like an old, stank cheese. "Okay, this is not going to smell great."

  "How bad can it be?" Garrick asked.

  I dipped my fingers into the ointment and immediately understood why E.W. had described the application process as "regrettably pungent." It smelled like someone had mixed perfume with dirt and an egg, then left it in the sun for a week.

  "Oh god," Garrick said, recoiling. "That's awful."

  "It gets better," I lied, and started applying it to my temples, wrists, and behind my ears. This was the traditional application points E.W. had specified. The ointment went on smooth but left behind purple stains on my skin that looked almost like bruises.

  Garrick watched with growing horror. "That's going to be very obvious."

  "That's the point. It marks us as protected. Some Fae will see it as an insult—'you don't trust us?'—but most will recognize it as wise caution." I handed him the jar. "Your turn."

  He applied it with the kind of grimace usually reserved for bad medicine, and within minutes we both looked like we'd been in a bar fight that left us with symmetrical purple bruises on our faces and wrists.

  "How do I look?" Garrick asked.

  "Like you got punched by someone who really valued symmetry," I told him. "Come on. Let's see if this actually works."

  We approached the tent entrance together, and I could already hear the sounds from outside. There was music, laughter, and other sounds I was trying very hard not to identify. I pulled back the flap and stepped through into the Summer Court evening.

  The difference was immediate and noticeable. The intoxicating air was still there. I could smell the flowers and feel the warmth, but the overwhelming euphoria was... muted. Like someone had turned down the volume on my nervous system's response. I could think clearly. I could observe without being pulled into participation.

  "It's working," Garrick said with obvious relief.

  I looked around the guest grounds and immediately spotted the couple who'd been copulating in front of our tent. They were still there, now lying spent in the grass, tangled together in post-coital contentment. Instead of feeling aroused or compelled to join them, I just felt vaguely annoyed that they'd chosen to do that specifically in front of our entrance.

  "Get a room," I muttered under my breath.

  Garrick laughed. "That's how you know it's working. You sound like yourself again."

  We started walking away from the Wandering Kitchen, heading toward the main paths that led through the guest grounds. Several Fae were still watching us, though with the purple staining visible on our faces, most seemed content to observe from a distance rather than approach.

  "Where should we start asking questions?" Garrick wondered aloud. "The market seems like a bad idea given how many vendors want to kill us."

  "Agreed. Maybe we can find someone who—"

  A sudden shout made me jump. "Mac? Mac Sullivan, is that actually you?"

  I froze mid-step and turned toward the voice, which was coming from behind us, near a flowering oak tree.

  And there she was.

  Saoirse.

  She looked exactly as I remembered from Crosstown. Saoirse was athletic and dangerous and beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with Fae enchantment and everything to do with just... her. Her bright silver hair was cut short and pixie-like, making her look youthful and fierce. Her crystalline blue eyes caught the golden light of the Summer Court, and those distinctive cat-like pupils contracted slightly as she focused on me. She was wearing practical hunting leathers, dark brown and forest green, designed for movement rather than display. I could see the lean muscle in her arms and shoulders that came from years of actual combat training.

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  She was grinning at me like I was the best surprise she'd had all week.

  "Saoirse?" I managed, my brain temporarily forgetting how to form more complex sentences.

  "Of course it's me!" She crossed the distance between us in a few quick strides and pulled me into a hug that lifted me slightly off my feet. "What in the name of all the courts are you doing in the Summer Realm? I heard you were chasing some master thief through Paris but I didn't think—" She pulled back and looked at my face, noticing the purple stains. "Oh, you remembered my little story. Smart."

  "I also read E.W.'s guide that you gave me," I said, still trying to process that she was actually here, actually standing in front of me.

  "Of course you did. That's so perfectly you." She turned to Garrick and gave him a friendly nod. "Garrick the Gallant. Still getting Mac into trouble, I see."

  "Still trying not to," Garrick said with a self-deprecating smile. "Not always successfully."

  "I heard about the mess in the market," Saoirse said, her grin widening. "You two really know how to make an entrance. Half the Summer Court is placing bets on whether you'll complete Titania's Task or end up as permanent entertainment."

  "That's... not encouraging," I said.

  "Oh, you're pretty fucked," she agreed cheerfully. "Though not totally, thanks to the ointment I told you about last year."

  "I remembered every word," I said, which was absolutely true. I remembered everything about our time in Crosstown, including the quick kiss she'd given me before leaving, and the red everbloom begonia she'd sent me a month later, which was currently pressed between the pages of my notebook because I was apparently a romantic sap who couldn't throw away flowers.

  Her expression softened slightly, like she knew exactly what I was thinking. "The best way to approach this Task is to learn more about Titania and Oberon. You need to understand their relationship."

  "We met Titania," Garrick offered. "She was... intense."

  "She's frustrated," Saoirse said. "There's more to her and Oberon's relationship than meets the eye. They've been doing this separation thing for centuries. It's actually part of their dynamic. But you need to talk to her more, understand what she really wants." She paused. "More importantly, you need to meet Lord Oberon before he takes offense that you haven't paid him proper respects."

  "We'd love to," I said. "But he's not at court and we have no idea how to find him."

  Saoirse's grin returned, sharp and mischievous. "Well, you're in luck. I owe you one for saving my life during the Demon Freeze Tag Tournament. I'll take you to him."

  "Really?" Garrick asked hopefully.

  "Really. I'm actually going to join his hunting party—they're going after the Golden Stag tomorrow. Which means you'll have to join the hunt too, since you're my guests." She looked between us. "Think you can keep up with a Fae hunting party?"

  I thought about all the times Garrick and I had nearly died in situations that seemed straightforward and turned into nightmares. "Probably not, but we'll try anyway."

  "That's the spirit!" Saoirse started walking, gesturing for us to follow. "Come on, we'll cut through the market and—" She stopped abruptly as we rounded a corner and entered the marketplace.

  The vendors we'd destroyed were all still there, and every single one of them turned to glare at us with expressions that ranged from "mildly murderous" to "actively plotting revenge." The squirrel—Vendor Nutkin, apparently—actually bared his teeth and made a hissing sound that should not have been possible for a squirrel to make.

  "Okay," Saoirse said slowly, reassessing the situation. "That's... worse than I thought. They really hate you."

  "The pottery merchant has been making very specific gestures at me all day," Garrick said quietly. "I don't know what they mean but I'm pretty sure they're not friendly."

  Saoirse quickly steered us away from the main market path, taking us around the edge through a side route that was less populated. "Right. Let's avoid that particular disaster. You two really did piss them off spectacularly."

  "It's a gift," I muttered.

  "That's one word for it," she said, but she was smiling. "Now I understand why Titania gave you such a difficult Task. She's not onlu testing you—she wants to see you cause an international Fae-wide incident…Hah…that’s so her. She thinks this is hilarious."

  We walked through the gardens as twilight deepened into evening, and the paths became lit with floating lights that looked like captured fireflies. Saoirse led us away from the palace, toward the wilder parts of the Summer Realm where the cultivated gardens gave way to actual forest.

  As we walked, I noticed she kept glancing at me, and there was something in her expression that made my chest feel tight.

  "So," she said after a few minutes of comfortable silence, "I've been keeping track of your adventures. The situation in Amsterdam with the werewolf pack? Very impressive."

  "You heard about that?" I asked.

  "Mac, I'm a journalist. It's literally my job to hear about supernatural events across multiple realms." She smiled. "Plus, I might have been keeping a specific ear out for news about a certain mortal bartender and his disaster-prone cosmic companion."

  "We're not that disaster-prone," Garrick protested.

  Saoirse and I both looked at him.

  "Okay, fine, we're extremely disaster-prone," he admitted.

  The conversation drifted into easier territory as we walked—comparing notes about various supernatural communities, laughing about close calls and near-deaths, the kind of comfortable banter that came from shared experience and mutual respect. And maybe something more, though I was still too much of an idiot to be sure if she was just being friendly or if the flirting was intentional.

  The sound of music reached us first as we made our way through the forest. Carried on the wind along with whooping and celebratory shouts. As we got closer, other sounds became audible. We heard laughter, drinking chants of "chug chug chug!", and unmistakable moans of pleasure that suggested the hunting party's pre-hunt celebration was very much in full swing.

  "That's them," Saoirse said, leading us toward the source of the noise. "Oberon likes to start the festivities early."

  We emerged into a clearing that looked like a cross between a medieval hunting camp and a bacchanalian festival. Tents were scattered throughout, fires burned in stone pits, and Fae of every description were engaged in activities that ranged from "enthusiastic drinking" to "definitely not appropriate for public viewing."

  As we walked deeper into the camp, a male Pan that stood easily seven feet tall with massive curved horns and legs that ended in hooves…reached out and grabbed Saoirse's butt.

  She spun the second he touched her, grabbed him by the wrist with perfect form, and flipped him over her shoulder onto his back with a solid thud that I felt through the ground.

  The Pan started cackling immediately. "You got me again!"

  "No I didn't," Saoirse said sweetly, and then kicked him square in the nuts with devastating precision.

  The Pan's laughter turned to gasping, wheezing breaths, but he was still grinning. "Now... you did..."

  "That's what you get for not learning," Saoirse said, then kept walking like nothing had happened.

  I made a mental note never to grab Saoirse's butt (unless asked). Not that I was planning to. But if the thought ever crossed my mind, that mental note was now filed under "reasons to absolutely not do that."

  "NEWCOMERS!" a voice boomed across the camp, cutting through the celebration noise. "Come to join the hunt? Bring them to me!"

  Saoirse led us toward the voice, weaving through groups of celebrating Fae who watched us with varying degrees of interest and intoxication. The central area of the camp came into view, and there, lounging on a massive sofa covered in animal hides, was Lord Oberon.

  He looked exactly like the kind of person who'd choose a hunting trip over attending court with his wife. Ruggedly handsome in a way that suggested he'd been devastatingly beautiful in his youth and had aged into something more interesting. His chest was bare, showing bronze skin and the kind of build that came from actual activity rather than just magical enhancement. He had what humans would call a dad bod but what on him looked powerful and appealing. His hunting leathers hung loose on his hips like he'd hastily pulled them back on after some recent entertainment. Two small horns protruded from his forehead, blunted at the ends, and a small gold circlet crown sat slightly askew on his wild, curly, earthy brown hair.

  On one side of the sofa lounged a beautiful Sidhe male, his hand casually draped on Oberon's thigh. On the other side was an even more stunning selkie female, her long white hair flowing down over a voluptuous body that was only partially covered. A Sidhe female who'd been kneeling in front of Oberon rose and stepped away as he waved us over.

  Oberon's eyes tracked over all three of us, lingering on Garrick and me with open appreciation.

  "Saoirse!" he called out warmly. "Always a pleasure. And you've brought... friends." His gaze traveled up and down my body, then Garrick's, with the kind of assessment that made me very glad for the protection ointment. "I don't tend to lay with mortals these days—too fragile, most of them—but I'd make an exception for these two beauties. Which one wants to sit on my lap first?"

  "They're joining the hunt tomorrow, my lord," Saoirse said smoothly. "I wanted them to meet you properly first."

  "Well, now you've met me," Oberon said, his smile widening. "So... who's first?"

  "Thank you for the generous offer, Lord Oberon," I said with as much diplomatic politeness as I could manage, "but we're here on business, not pleasure."

  Oberon noticed the purple stains on my face and temples, and his expression shifted to something between amusement and disappointment. "Ah, playing hard to get. How delightfully frustrating." He gestured to the sofa. "At least sit with me. Tell me what business brings mortals to my hunting camp."

  I glanced at Saoirse, who nodded encouragingly, so Garrick and I sat on cushions near the sofa while Saoirse perched on one of the arms.

  "We're in a bit of a spot with the Summer Court," I began carefully.

  Oberon rolled his eyes dramatically. "What is that woman up to this time? I'm not coming home. I haven't had this much fun in years." He gestured around the camp. "It took being away from my darling Titania to show me all the fun I was missing. Court this, politics that, responsibility constantly, time to go bang, babe. Here? Here I can just hunt and drink and fuck whoever catches my fancy. It's liberating!"

  "Your Majesty," I tried, "she seems to think that you're avoiding her specifically because—"

  "Because all she wants to do is bed me all day and never does anything fun anymore!" Oberon interrupted. "It's always 'Oberon, come to court.' 'Oberon, we need to address this petition.' 'Oberon, stop hunting and pay attention to me.' Well, I'm paying attention to myself for once, and it's marvelous!"

  I opened my mouth to dig deeper, to try to understand the actual dynamics of their relationship beyond the surface complaints, but Oberon waved a hand dismissively.

  "Enough talk of my wife. You're here for the hunt, yes? Then eat!" He gestured to tables laden with roasted meats and fruits. "Drink!" Servants appeared with skins of wine. "And do whatever your heart desires until sunrise!"

  It was clear we weren't going to get more information tonight. Oberon's attention had already drifted to the Sidhe male at his side, who was whispering something in his ear that made him laugh.

  Saoirse caught my eye and jerked her head toward a quieter area at the edge of the camp. We excused ourselves—though I wasn't sure Oberon noticed—and found a spot under an enormous oak tree where the noise was more manageable.

  She returned with skins of wine and plates of food—roasted venison that smelled incredible and several different fruits, some apples, cantaloupes, and a straight golden fruit shaped like a diamond that I didn't recognize but looked safe enough. We settled onto the grass, and for the first time since arriving in the Fae Realm, I felt like I could actually breathe.

  "He's always like this during the separations," Saoirse said, taking a drink from her wine skin. "All enthusiasm and freedom and 'I don't need my wife.' Give him another few weeks and he'll be moping around camp wondering why she hasn't come to drag him home."

  "They do this often?" I asked.

  "Every few decades. It's their pattern. She gets frustrated that he won't stay at court, he gets frustrated that she won't come hunt with him, they separate dramatically, they both act like it's permanent, and then something happens that reminds them why they actually love each other." She smiled. "It's very dramatic. Very Fae."

  Garrick took a long drink of wine and settled back against the oak tree. "Mac, how long does that protection last again?"

  I smirked and patted my backpack, which was resting beside me. "Don't worry, I brought plenty more. We've got a good six more hours yet."

  "Good," Garrick said. "Because I'm planning to enjoy this wine without worrying about accidentally joining an orgy."

  Saoirse laughed, and the sound made something warm bloom in my chest. We sat there drinking and talking, and I found myself watching her several times until she noticed me and smiled. My cheeks flushed, and I’d turn my head. I can really be a dingus when it comes to this stuff. But the way her cat-like pupils caught the firelight. The way she gestured when she was telling a story. The way she looked at me sometimes, it always felt like she was seeing something beyond just the mortal bartender who'd stumbled into her world.

  "So," she said after we'd made our way through most of a wine skin, "how's the everbloom begonia doing? Still alive?"

  I felt my face heat up, and it had nothing to do with the wine. "It's, uh, pressed in my notebook. I didn't want it to... I wanted to preserve it."

  Her expression softened into something that made my heart do complicated things. "You kept it."

  "Of course I kept it. Nobody's ever given me flowers before."

  "I remember you saying that." She was quiet for a moment, and there was something in her eyes—hope, maybe, or hesitation. "Mac, I—"

  "Look at you two," Garrick interrupted as he stumbled to sit down, grinning in a way that suggested the wine was definitely working. "All meaningful looks and unfinished sentences. Mac, she obviously likes you. Saoirse, he's been half in love with you since Crosstown. Could you both just acknowledge that and move on so I don't have to watch this painful dance?"

  I wanted to die. Just sink into the ground and cease existing.

  Saoirse, however, was laughing. "Three years with him and he still surprises you, doesn't he?"

  "Constantly," I managed, shooting Garrick a look that promised retribution later.

  "For what it's worth," Saoirse said, her crystalline blue eyes meeting mine, "he's not wrong."

  My brain temporarily stopped functioning.

  "I'll, uh, go get more wine," Garrick said, standing up with exaggerated casualness. "Take my time. Maybe chat with some of the other hunters. You two just... continue this conversation without me."

  He walked (more like half stumbled) away, and I was left sitting under an oak tree in the Fae Realm with a woman who'd just nonchalantly said she liked me. Look, I know how stupid that sounds. Maybe it’s from my years tending bar. Everyone loves the guy getting the drinks, right? I’ve always been an idiot with these kinds of things, though. I suddenly realize Saoirse was looking right at me, smiling with a raised eyebrow.

  "Mac," Saoirse said gently, "breathe, you dolt."

  I breathed. And laughed. That made me feel better.

  "Look, I get it Mac. There's a lot of reasons that something like this can be…complicated," she continued. "You're mortal, I'm Fae. You travel with Garrick constantly, I'm all over the realms for work. And I'm not even sure what we'd be doing. Dating? Courting? I’m not sure if you noticed but,” she waved a hand indicating the debauchery over at the camp, “Fae don't really do relationships the way humans do."

  "I know," I said, finding my voice. "And I'm just a bartender and chef who got pulled into this life because I was curious and stupid."

  "You're not stupid," she said firmly. "You're brilliant and brave and you see people. I know this sounds silly, but you really see them. Including me." She shifted closer, and I could see gold flecks in her blue eyes. "I don't know what this is or what it could be. Maybe this is forward, but I'd like to find out. If you would."

  "Yes," I said, because what else could I say? The logical part of my brain was all, maybe we need more ointment. My heart called the brain an asshole and told me to loosen up. I really did like Saoirse. I’ve always been someone that thinks ahead, that plans ahead. This was something unplannable. But…that didn’t have to mean that it was a bad thing.

  "I'd like that too," and found myself disintegrating into a chuckle. Laugh through the embarrassment, you dingus.

  She smiled so genuinely, it made this entire chaotic disaster of a trip to the Summer Court worth it. She reached out her hand and then took hold of mine. Heat went through my whole body, starting with my chest and radiating from there. Was this magic? This feeling that went through me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. I mean, sure, I’ve been with people before in my life but…I don’t remember a feeling quite like this. I didn’t even realize how much I was smiling until I heard her laugh, “You’re adorable, Mac.”

  In the distance, I could hear Garrick laughing with some of the hunters, his voice carrying across the camp as he performed some small cosmic trick that made them cheer. The fires burned bright, the music played on, and for just this moment, everything felt possible.

  Tomorrow we'd hunt the Golden Stag, chase down this crazy task for Titania, and hopefully avoid raging market squirrels. Really, all of it, it could all just wait until tomorrow. Despite all the things stacked against us? Potentially polishing an anthropomorphic squirrel’s ass for seven years didn’t even seem to matter at this moment.

  Tonight, I sat under an oak tree with Saoirse, drinking wine and talking about everything and nothing, while Garrick entertained a hunting party and the Summer Court celebrated around us.

  I took a deep breath, soaking in the moment. You know…not everything has to fit into a plan, I guess. Looking over at Saoirse, I realized right there? Sometimes, incredible moments are the ones where you just let go, and let the moment happen. So I did. I let go of the wheel, and talked, and laughed, and drank, and thought nothing of the future for the rest of the night…and just lived a wonderful moment.