KDBookOnline
Share Us
Ciara’s soft hand patted my arm soothingly. “Lach said you had too much to drink. He should have warned you.”
“He did,” I moaned. “I didn’t listen.”
“The first time I was allowed to go to a Midnight Feast, I was so nervous that I kept drinking ambrosia, and then I puked in bed with three sentries from the Astral Court.”
I poked my head out from under the pillow. “Three?”
A happy smile slid across her face, and she repeated dreamily, “Three.” Then she cringed. “Don’t tell Bain that story.”
“My lips are sealed,” I promised and tried to push up in bed, which proved to be the cherry on top of the mistake sundae I had been making since midnight. “I don’t think I can go shopping. Unless we’re shopping for caskets.”
Ciara bolted up and reached for something on the nightstand so quickly that my head spun. “I almost forgot.” She passed me a small cup of red liquid. “This will help.”
I stared at the contents suspiciously. “I’m not sure that hair of the dog is the direction I want to take right now.”
Nope. I needed Prohibition era–level sobriety. I rarely drank, and this was one of the many reasons why. I suspected that Lachlan had figured out the other reason and greenlit letting loose. He’d said he would take care of me, but his concern had ended the moment my ass hit the floor.
I took a cautious sip, deciding that even if it was poison, I’d probably rather drink it than continue to endure this headache, and swallowed the rest. The room contracted around me like it was giving me a warm hug, and then the pounding ceased in my brain.
“Better?” Ciara chirped.
I stared at the cup, then sniffed it. “Where has this been all my life?”
I felt fine. Better than fine, really.
“It always works,” Ciara said. “It’s an old witch’s brew they make in London. Unfortunately, the Infernal Court refuses to share the secret. They brought some along with the ambrosia. If I ever tracked down whatever grimoire they stole this from, I would be very rich.”
I opted not to point out that she was already very rich. Mostly because I couldn’t blame her aspirations. This stuff was magic. I couldn’t decide if I should send the Infernal Court a thank-you card for this or a fuck-you card for the ambrosia.
“Now that you’re all better, can we get going?”
“I don’t think Chanel is going to sell out.” I threw off my covers and swung my feet over the bed, relieved that I didn’t feel the slightest dizziness or slosh in my stomach. “Let me get dressed.”
“Hurry up.” Ciara smacked the mattress. “Lach made me wait hours before waking you up. It’s already noon.”
He had made her wait? It wasn’t much of a gesture, but it softened me a little. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“I can always glamour you,” she called after me.
“You can’t use the toilet for me.” I paused to pull a few things out of a drawer that was full of my own clothes instead of ball gowns. “What does the Infernal Court have planned next? A ritual sacrifice of virgins accompanied by a string quartet?”
Ciara gripped the foot board. “Today, they issue the first banns. I can’t decide if I want someone to object to my engagement or not. I know I agreed to this, but…”
Shit. We were going to need shopping and beignets and probably a box of tissues. “I’ll be right out.”
Swinging the bathroom door shut behind me, I turned to drop my bag on the counter before using the facilities and found a small cup sitting by the sink. My heart stumbled as I picked it up. I already recognized the red liquid in the glass as Ciara’s miracle cure.
Drink this.
The words were written in crisp, bold strokes, and although I’d never seen an example of it, I knew it was Lachlan’s handwriting. As was his typical fashion, there were no pleasantries. No “please.” No concern. And yet, he’d known how I would be feeling when I woke up. He had not just dropped me on the floor last night and forgotten about me. He had cared, even if only a very little.
I told myself it was nothing, but I drank the second glass for good measure. It settled warm and comforting in my belly, and I couldn’t help but wonder why nothing felt like something.
…
Shopping with Ciara Gage should have been listed as an Olympic sport. She approached it with a competitiveness usually only exhibited by professional athletes.
Within two hours of our arrival at Canal Place, she had purchased the entire season’s line from Alexander McQueen, a dizzying collection of dangerously high shoes, and not one but two calfskin bags from Chanel. By the time we reached the lingerie that she needed, my feet hurt and I was mildly afraid of her. I had never seen such focus dedicated to anything, and I had done a surgical rotation in college.