I was standing barefoot in a garden.

  This was not unusual. Quite a lot of my time was happily spent in Marion Freth’s vegetable garden. I wasn’t usually barefoot, but I didn’t question that peculiarity at the moment.

  The dirt beneath me was soft and cool, dappled with dark moss and feather-soft blades of grass. I curled my toes, reveling in the feel of soil. Thick, dark, loose. Perfect.

  A gentle breeze and the soft coo of a bird drew my gaze upwards. My breath hitched and I swayed, gasping with delighted awe. Above me, stretching endlessly, was a kaleidoscope of twinkling silver stars. The night sky was cloudless. A full, pearl-hued moon, far larger and brighter than any I’d ever seen, cast everything in silver.

  I spent a long minute staring open-mouthed up at the immaculate sky. After a while I began to search the stars curiously, looking for familiar constellations. I found none.

  Leaves rustled from all around, stirred by the cool breeze. With those movements came the smells… sweet orchids and lilacs, fragrant jasmine, calming lavender and mint, delicate moonblossoms, spicy cinnamon. And beneath it all the damp, nutty smell of soil. The combination was ambrosial.

  I walked slowly, weaving in and out of the plants on the cool dirt path, savoring every sight and smell. I recognized a few of the plants, but many more were entirely foreign. I found myself pausing to kneel and examine them with curiosity.

  One such plant, a finger-thin green stem wreathed in what looked like tiny red daisies, smelled like fine perfume. I traced the flower petals, reveling in my charming discovery, and wondered if it would be wrong to pick some of the plants. If I found something to transport them in, and took my time digging up the roots, then I could probably get them back to Fellbrook. Marion would surely appreciate the additions to her garden, even if these didn’t bear edible fruit.

  I was pondering this when I noticed how very well-curated the unusual plant’s base was; there were no weeds or bits of snipped foliage anywhere nearby. In fact… I stood, looking around critically. None of the plants, recognizable or otherwise, had any weeds or fallen, pruned stems.

  Well. I’d done enough gardening in my life to know that just wasn’t possible. Unless there was a slew of devoted gardeners nearby, tirelessly trimming and tending to every plant and then cleaning up every fallen scrap, which seemed quite unlikely…

  I was dreaming. That was the only logical answer. I couldn’t help but think, with another upward glance at the impossibly luminous moon, that this was quite a bit more vivid that any dream I’d ever had.

  But, even so, it couldn’t possibly be real. I remembered the vicious shadow hound on my bed, and Royce’s blood at my feet, and the way Durst’s eyes had shone when he said goodbye.

  I let out a mournful sigh. This was a lovely dream, maybe the nicest one I’d ever had, but it was probably past time to wake up.

  I tried pinching myself. It hurt, but had no further impact. I tried telling myself to wake up, at first silently and then aloud, sternly. Nothing. The cool breeze continued to drift past, filling my nose with heavenly smells and ruffling the hem of my gray nightgown.

  Another pinch. Nothing, save a small pink mark on my arm and a throb from my fingers. The cuts were red and felt hot.

  “Hmm.” I pursed my lips.

  I’ve never had such trouble waking up. Then again, I don’t think I’ve ever gone to bed so thoroughly exhausted.

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  There was another unfamiliar plant nearby, something with spicy-smelling brown buds and, more importantly, stiff leaves with pointed tips. I heaved a resigned sigh, plucked a leaf, and jabbed my wrist.

  It hurt much more than I expected. A bright drop of blood swelled on my skin. I yelped and dropped the leaf.

  “There you are.”

  I whirled, heart pounding. I knew that voice, had heard it just last night, and I should run…

  This is a dream. I’m dreaming. He’s not real.

  The Fae was standing nearby. Watching me. One hand idly caressed the pearly petals of a moonblossom. His carved features practically glowed in the moonlight.

  Cool wind whispered at my throat. Blood rushed through my ears. He’s not real. He can’t hurt me. He’s not real.

  Whatever my mind claimed, my body refused to listen. My pulse thrummed. My legs trembled. Everything in me screamed to run.

  I sucked in impossibly fragrant air and declared fiercely, “You’re not real.”

  He chuckled.

  The breeze ruffled my hair. I caught the scent of roses.

  He regarded my wrist. Cocked one dark, elegantly arched eyebrow. “What were you doing, mortal?”

  “I… I was… trying to wake myself up.” I licked my lips nervously. He’s a figment of my tired mind. That’s all.

  “Ah.” He drew closer. “Are you not enjoying your stay?”

  I edged backwards. I’d like to wake up now. Would really, really like to wake up. “My ‘stay’? This… this is a dream.”

  His lips curled upwards and then he was right in front of me. “A good one?”

  My heart pounded, but I stood my ground. “Could… could be better,” I managed evenly, twisting my fingers into the hem of my thick gown. They throbbed in response. “Ow.”

  He tilted his chin downwards and, before I could quite comprehend what he was doing, had captured both of my hands with his own.

  I froze. Dread swelled in my stomach.

  A Fae was touching me. Holding on to me. Would he crush my bones to dust? Tear my hands off?

  Fear kept me paralyzed for one breathless second, and then I moved- or, tried to. I dug my heels into the soft loam and pulled back with a cry, trying to tear my hands away. They didn’t budge. If he even noticed my attempt to break free, he didn’t show it.

  He’s not real. This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

  “Poor thing,” he murmured, brushing his thumbs along my palms.

  I felt a distant spark of indignation at being referred to as a thing again, for the second time in one night, no less, but I was much too frightened to act on it. Instead I just trembled at the sensation of his hands caressing mine; at how gentle his touch was, as soft as flower petals drifting against my skin…

  I glanced down. Gasped. My hands were smooth. Uninjured. Free of pain.

  He released me. “There. Now. I believe you took something of mine, mortal. Something I worked very hard to get.”

  I stared down at my palms in disbelief, then looked back up at the Fae.

  He was so close, mere inches away, and once again I was being swallowed by those endless, starlit eyes. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, impossibly loud. It thrummed though the dirt beneath me, rattled the sky, shook me, and his handsome face twisted into a snarl-

  “Brin! Hey! Are you alive?!”

  I bolted upright. Gasped for air. I was clammy with sweat and tangled helplessly in a thin quilt atop a very uncomfortable straw mattress.

  The bedroom door practically shook with the force of Teela’s pounding.

  “Brin?” Genuine concern leaked into her high-pitched voice.

  “I’m here!” I called, shakily disentangling myself from the blanket. Salt, I’d never had such a vivid dream. Or perhaps nightmare was the more appropriate term, given whom it featured.

  The pounding abated. “Oh. Sorry.” She sounded a bit sheepish. “I didn’t mean to… um, it’s nearly midday. If we want to reach the next inn before dinner, we need to get going.”

  Nearly midday? Salt, I hadn’t slept in so long since I was a child! But perhaps it was forgivable, given the events of the previous day and night. My body had surely needed the rest.

  “I’m sorry.” I climbed to my feet. “I didn’t realize. I’ll be right out, okay?”

  She chirped a happy-sounding response. I was left in silence. My woolen gown was heavy with sweat and I began to peel it off, grimacing… with hands that didn’t hurt.

  Ice snaked through my insides. I looked down.

  My palms were smooth. Soft.

  There was no trace that I had ever been hurt.

  And there on my wrist, gleaming like the petals of a moonlit rose, was a fresh drop of blood.