Bluebirds (The Thorns Series 3): The Thorns Series

By Amanda M. Blake

Bring elements three to me, bluebirds,
My sweet blue witch and rose,
And I shall set them free,
As the story always goes.

With everything that's happened to her over the last year, Olivia is taking a well-deserved break from all things fairy tale. If she goes a whole day without thinking about rats, princesses, and hearts being ripped out of chests, she counts that as a success.

Then someone kidnaps Caspar and Tobin and enlists Adelaide and Olivia to rescue them in exchange for collecting a few magical items with no help from the Hunter Brotherhood.

A rhyming ransom note is bad enough, but Olivia hadn't exactly planned on any quests, and a scavenger hunt for a manticore tail, faerie fruit, and burned wood from a lost city promises to be as simple as it sounds.

Series Advisory: Adult content of violent and sexual nature

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda M. Blake
• Release date: Mar 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393342465

Book preview

1. Getting Along

If there was one thing Olivia could say about the last four months, it was that she was getting a ridiculous number of things done.

The fairy tale art series had stalled, but that was okay. She kept all of her series open indefinitely for inspiration to strike at any time, and she’d really gone all out to produce the first fairy tale collection. Quite a few originals had sold, and print sales were through the roof. A city-wide ratpocalypse was good for the happily-ever-after business—not that Olivia’s fairy tale series featured happily-ever-afters. Most people hadn’t noticed. They’d just filled in the ending for themselves.

Whatever floated their yachts. It meant she could ease some of her Art Nouveaux and Infernos into the empty spaces, reintegrating the rest of her other series into the gallery again.

Social media comments asked when she would tackle the next fairy tale and suggested which to twist. Angela Reyes, Olivia’s New York gallery manager, told her that walk-in guests and regulars often inquired about them as well. But they were all just going to have to wait, because as far as Olivia’s muse was concerned, the fairy tale section of her creativity was closed for repairs. She didn’t think it would be closed forever, but at least Tobin, her business partner, understood why she was a little burned out. He didn’t needle her about it, not even on Angela’s behalf, which was his usual role as mediator between the two.

Neither Angela nor Tobin could complain too much, though, because Olivia was still getting shit done, and a lot of it—shit that kept Angela paid with her gallery commission and salary and gave Tobin an extra boost in income from the percentage he took as well. Olivia’s latest forays into original paintings tended toward the less best-selling Infernos, but she was also up to her ears in commissions, which she’d opened up again after finishing the first fairy tale collection.

Digital paintings for prints, comic book covers, video game characters, and concept art for various media comprised most of the requests. She continued to add the usual eclectic, atypical bodies to her famous series of nudes, but then there were the private commissions that the rest of her audience didn’t get to see, meant for bedrooms and red rooms instead of living room walls.

She did receive a few official requests for fairy tales, which she couldn’t seem to get away from, but she gritted her teeth, made the money, and tried not to let roses or the color red get in her way.

A truly unique original, ladies and gentlemen, into which the artist has poured her blood, sweat, and tears. Literally.

Not that anyone could see the marks on Olivia’s body anymore, especially after her tattoo artist, Jeremy, had touched up where the rats had ruined the hibiscuses on her shoulder. And she didn’t let anyone see her cry. Foundation, concealer, and an extravagant eye were her best friends these days. Distracted by kohl and color—combined with her rainbow cartilage rings, blue hair, and bright lipstick—it was easy for those who didn’t know her to overlook the dark circles.

Olivia couldn’t help that she kept waking up at night, alone in the dark, reaching for something that was never there and running from something she couldn’t remember—and that wasn’t even getting into the actual nightmares that had nothing to do with the panic attacks. There was a reason she was giving the Infernos a lot of attention after midnight.

Sorry, Frankie V, can’t go to your party, still working out my inner turmoil. See you tomorrow afternoon.

Tobin walked out of his office into her public studio, where she painted her non-nudes during the day and passers-by could watch through the picture windows. Her Infernos didn’t receive a lot of dollar-shaped appreciation, but gawkers couldn’t get enough of them. She supposed six-by-eight-foot canvases of writhing monsters had that effect on people. No one liked dealing with their own demons, but they always loved seeing someone else’s.

Olivia, do I have to take away your black and white paint?

Olivia didn’t look up from the canvas. Only if you want me to steal all of your black pens and Wite-Out.

You’re scaring the toddlers.

Olivia glanced over her shoulder to check. No, I’m not. Besides, the kid’s probably imagined worse in his closet.

At least it’s not the one where the woman’s shedding her previous woman skin, Tobin muttered.

"Hey, don’t dis Lift. She’s my most popular Inferno."

Boobs will do that.

I’d say you were being shallow, but yeah. Lift was one of the few original Infernos that had sold—and the only one that had sold quickly. Olivia understood that being the only Inferno with a naked woman and the most popular in the series wasn’t a coincidence. Still, she was acquainted with the man who had bought it. He’d appreciated the breasts, but she knew for a fact that he’d appreciated the art, too. Any plans for the weekend that you’re willing to share? Some homemade cooking at the ranch again?

It’s on the schedule. Precedence suggests it’ll stay there. I’m not going to say that it’s been calm here for so long that nothing’s going to stop it, because then I’d just jinx myself—oops.

Olivia grinned. And you came out to ask if you could get a head start.

He shrugged sheepishly.

I’ll bet you never thought you’d be the one skipping out early and I’d be the one here without a life.

Just four months ago, she’d been taking a flight to and from Chicago every weekend to spend time with her magical boyfriend. Although ‘boyfriend’ was a bit of a weird way to describe a man over a thousand years old, a self-titled Beast in more ways than one. Long-distance relationships were hard, and long-distance relationships with ancient sorcerers transformed into monsters were even harder, but it turned out none of those things had actually been the problem.

I like the Kings, Tobin said. They reminded me to extend an invitation again. They said they don’t see enough of you.

I’ll bet Adelard didn’t say anything of the sort.

The corner of his lips twitched. No bet. But he probably wouldn’t throw you out on your ass. You did wake up his daughter. He’ll have five million dinners with you as long as you don’t ask for her hand in marriage before Caspar gets to her first.

Tobin had managed to conceal about ninety-eight percent of his bitterness under airy indifference that Olivia knew he never had. She was impressed.

Olivia set her palette down and peeled off her gloves. They made her hands all talcum-y, but the clean-up was a breeze. Then she slumped gracelessly onto her stool, her hands between her thighs. Adelard would be appalled at her unladylikeness, which was precisely why she did it, even though he wasn’t there.

Tobin, why do you do this to yourself?

Do what? This time, far more characteristic tension peeked through the airiness before he could stop it.

Fine, if he still wanted to play it that way… They both knew better, but he never wanted to talk about it, even if she did. Even if she needed to. They just kept pretending that city-boy Tobin was going to the ranch to learn how to appreciate nature and ride horses—not to moon longingly at Caspar over the dinner table or anything.

As far as Olivia was concerned, the sooner Tobin stopped lying to himself about what he wanted, the sooner he could start looking in a direction that wouldn’t be married to Adelaide in a few months. Caspar had been affianced to Adelaide since she was an infant, and any fool could see they were in love. They might have been the royalty of nowhere these days, with their kingdom nothing but rubble after the Hunter Brotherhood’s demolition, but they were still getting married for love, God, and country. The way things were going, Olivia was afraid that Caspar would ask Tobin to be his best man at the wedding. And Tobin would happily accept, emotional masochist that he was.

Olivia was eminently familiar with Tobin’s masochism. He worked for her, after all. Although lately she’d been a good little artist—business-like and prolific, not running off on some life-threatening fairy-tale quest. Truth be told, she’d had quite enough of them herself.

Things were mostly back to normal. And part of maintaining that normalcy was not going to a ranch owned and run by a Wiccan Hunter hosting the royal family of the Sleeping Kingdom. Olivia used to abhor normal, and anyone looking at her now would believe she still did. But wardrobe was one thing. Psychopathic sex sorcerers, Rat Kings, and Sylvaine—a.k.a. Snow White and Rose Red, go figure—eating hearts right in front of her were another. So she was giving normal a chance.

She couldn’t say things were excessively interesting, but she filled her days. That was all she could do—tire herself out so that maybe this was the night she could sleep the whole way through.

"Come on, Rowe. You might actually have a little fun. And considering I’m the one telling you to have some fun, you know you haven’t been having enough of it, Tobin said. You might even get to see me riding a horse."

Really? Caspar finally coaxed you near one long enough to get your foot in a stirrup?

Turns out the whole horseback fear had to do with previous company and not the horses themselves. I still can’t go faster than a leisurely walk without Caspar laughing his butt off when I freak out, but it’s progress.

Okay, I’d pay to see that.

Tobin sighed. But you’re not coming.

Not this weekend.

Don’t make me sweat out there alone. Come on, it’s summer. Don’t you want fresh air and barbeque and all that picket-fence crap?

I didn’t know you sweat. I thought dew accumulated.

It’s my little secret. You can’t tell a soul.

She smiled, but it didn’t last. Not this weekend, Tobin.

He’s not going to be there, Rowe. There’s no reason for both of you to avoid the ranch. Adelaide is beginning to take it personally.

That got to Olivia. Adelaide hadn’t done anything to deserve her avoidance. Sylvaine was being rehabilitated by her mother in Middle-of-Nowhere, Canada, for the protection of all, so Adelaide was the only other member of the enchanted immortal trio they’d rescued from Bluebeard and Dianne who Olivia could still conceivably talk to.

And with the upcoming nuptials, Adelaide was eventually going to have to choose what to do with the rest of her life besides being Caspar’s wife. Her father had some definite ideas about that, but Olivia wanted to be there now and then so Adelaide could know that her father’s way wasn’t the only way.

Sure, Olivia had a few father issues, but who didn’t?

Maybe next weekend, she said. I’m having dinner with Rebecca tonight.

You totally made that up right this second. I manage your calendar.

I’m allowed to improvise.

Fine. Can I leave early, then? You can have your nice, quiet night, and I’ll just have to enjoy lemonade and horsy rides without you.

You crack me up. Yes, you can leave early, as long as you’ve gotten all your work done. And I know you have, because you wouldn’t have asked me if you hadn’t.

Olivia waved to the audience on the other side of the glass, many of whom waved back. Then she headed to her own office. It was smaller than Tobin’s, but Tobin was the executive type who took care of files. Olivia only needed an office for her computer, to manage her mail, and as a private place to make phone calls. She kicked her beautiful, hardcore, white boots—white because it was summer and too hot for black, but it was never too hot for hardcore boots, and paint flecks just added character—up onto her desk. Tobin would kill her if she did that to his desk, which was why she liked doing it to her own.

Olivia took out her phone, tapped speed dial, and leaned back in her chair when Rebecca picked up.

You free tonight, Becca? Olivia asked.

"I think the more important question is why you’re free. I mean, I know why I’m free. I appreciate that you think of your sister now and then, but I’m already sleeping at your place. It’s not like you don’t see enough of me."

In my defense, I didn’t see you at all after your wedding, and no matter how much I’d like the excuse, video-chatting doesn’t count. Besides, it’s not like I’m asking to take over your night. I was just wondering whether you wanted to get dinner. There will be drinks. That’s not optional.

Sure. Are jeans okay, or should I find the little black dress that I need to get dry-cleaned if you keep taking me out to nice places?

Becca, when you need something, I’ve told you to tell me.

I’m living in your home, eating your food, and wearing clothes you’ve bought me because I’m too much of a coward to go home. I feel like a kept woman.

I can afford it, and I’m not working you nearly enough for a kept woman. Wear the little black dress tonight. Just throw it in with my dry cleaning next Tuesday, and I probably won’t even notice. You can dig through my jewelry box, too, if you want.

You spoil me.

Love you, too.

Rebecca had taken Olivia’s advice and raided Olivia’s jewelry box—as well as her dresser, but only for a colorful scarf, of which Olivia had an extravagant excess that could fill up a corner boutique. As could the contents of her jewelry box, which was really more like a chest of elaborate or extravagant pieces—and instead of costume, hers were usually real.

Like the geometric patina copper statement necklace accenting Rebecca’s little black dress and the turquoise cuff bracelet around her more delicate wrist. Olivia liked that Rebecca had availed herself of some of Olivia’s accessories, even though she couldn’t imagine Rebecca taking anything from her main wardrobe. And she wouldn’t want Rebecca to, because the Rowe family only needed one outrageous rainbow child.

Still, a year or so ago, Rebecca wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing anything bolder or gaudier than her gold cross or wedding ring. She’d shifted the wedding ring to her right hand during the separation, though, and while Rebecca had been tentative about trying Olivia’s older clothes that might fit her, Olivia thought her sister had finally caught the color bug. Really, when she let herself wear more than her usual plain ensembles, she was quite glamorous, more elegant than Olivia could ever hope to be. Old Hollywood beautiful in a timeless little black dress and modern jewelry—much better than house skirts, adorable as Rebecca looked in them. If Olivia tried to wear those quilted skirts and loose shirts, it would come across less as comfortable hippie and more as rumpled bird lady.

I feel like the luckiest woman in the room. Olivia slid off the barstool to hug Rebecca, but she didn’t kiss her cheek because she didn’t want to leave a blueberry-purple lipstick mark. You’re the prettiest kept woman here.

Shut up. I don’t want to blush. Rebecca slipped onto the stool across from Olivia at the tall table for two.

Hey, you were the one who brought it up.

A fact that I’m now regretting. Oh, thank you, Rebecca said to the waiter who brought her a Lemon Drop. God, thank you.

Olivia accepted her Hurricane. You’re welcome, but I think ‘God’ is a bit much.

Rebecca kicked her under the table. The shoes were pointed at the toes, so it hurt.

Olivia’s version of nice clothing was a little different than Rebecca’s, and certainly more noticeable than the usual New York neutral. She wore a pair of soft, clay-colored skinny jeans—with enough light brown in the color to keep it from being the kind of red she avoided lately—a tawny suede halter, her dark purple trench, and she’d gathered her hair up in the sparkliest purple rhinestone comb she possessed. On the average person, these things might have clashed, especially with blue hair, but Olivia had been owning her preferred wardrobe since she was twenty years old. She could only imagine how frustrated she would have been if she’d gone down the path her Pre-Law undergraduate degree had prepared her for.

Still, the maître d’ wouldn’t dream of kicking her out for being a little atypical—not Olivia Rowe. She wasn’t a movie or TV star or anything, but Olivia certainly made herself known, and the restaurant had one of her Art Nouveau originals on the wall next to the bar—the decadent Absinthia. Besides, she might not affect the usual kind of elegance that the restaurant demanded, but her clothes were always of excellent quality. She was fairly certain she could walk in wearing full goth garb and they wouldn’t kick her out for it.

So, how was your day? Olivia asked with exaggerated cheeriness.

Pretty good.

Starting to enjoy yourself yet?

I’m still using way too much anti-bac, but yeah, I think I’m getting a handle on dealing with children. Between child logic and English not being their first language, it’s certainly brain exercise. It’s better than Sunday school, though, because I feel like I actually teach them something. I like the adult night school better, but I try to look at the children’s lessons as getting them young. It’s definitely an improvement on lounging around your apartment all day, getting lumpy on soap operas and bonbons. I haven’t had this much mental stimulation since college. I’m tired, but it’s a good kind of tired.

Four months ago, Rebecca had arrived at Olivia’s doorstep with a single suitcase and a bewildered expression—shocked, Olivia was sure, by the fact that the golden child of the two Rowe sisters had just walked out on her husband.

A few weeks after all the rats had been fished out of the harbor and the conspiracy theorists had been relegated to the Letters to the Editor section of the paper, Rebecca had finally left the apartment without feeling like she was going to get the bubonic plague. But she didn’t have many skills, only a bachelor’s degree in English with no teaching certificate, and she’d been out of the workplace for over three years, so trying to find a job hadn’t been fruitful.

Rebecca had wanted to do it on her own, but after weeks of getting more and more discouraged, Olivia had stepped in and talked to the Art to Heart administrators. Rebecca didn’t have an artistic bone in her body, so teaching city kids how to draw and paint definitely wasn’t a fit, but Sheila had a contact who worked with literacy programs. They hadn’t been able to take Rebecca on full-time, so no benefits, and non-profit pay meant it wasn’t even subsistence for New York City living. But since she was staying with Olivia and only paying for transportation and some of her own food—because Olivia insisted on taking out her credit card for the rest—Rebecca had thrown herself into the job offer like a puppy into a pool. She certainly slept well at night—or in the morning, depending on whether she was teaching the kids or the adults that particular day. On Fridays, though, she taught kids, which was perfect for Friday evening cocktails.

At the very least, the work gave Rebecca something to do with her time. Olivia wasn’t used to entertaining people in her home this long. She’d had to find the TV she’d stored in the loft storage space like a postmodern relic, then find a place to plug it in. She’d bought the apartment for single living and a home studio. It wasn’t exactly configured for a roommate.

She loved her sister, but although Olivia was personable and engaging at the gallery and other social functions, she wasn’t so much so at her apartment. She mostly just wanted to strangle people by the time she got home to unwind in her studio with her stereo system, which she now had to listen to with noise-cancelling headphones to avoid waking Rebecca up.

Olivia was perfectly fine with Rebecca staying as long as she needed, because she knew firsthand what it was like to go down the path everyone else thought was wrong. But she was glad Rebecca had something else in her life to keep her occupied at least thirty hours a week.

Let’s just say I’m not as scared that I’ll hate kids after reading with them, Rebecca said with a lopsided smile. I even like some of the little nuggets more than a few adults I can think of.

Olivia clinked her glass with Rebecca’s. Now you understand why I do what I do with my Art to Heart kids.

What about you? What are you drinking to?

Tobin’s continued social life. I’m actually proud of him for getting out. I mean, I assume he had a social life before this, but not one that involved greenery, I can almost guarantee you that. And certainly not a social life he ever talked about with me. I can’t tell whether the other stuff was just that scandalous or if he’s finally opening up. Either way, good for him.

Since they hadn’t ordered an appetizer yet, the drink made Olivia wonderfully buzzy. And surrounded by people as they were, it was easier not to think about him. Not Tobin—she didn’t mind thinking about her partner in crime, work, and life, in a completely platonic sense. She just didn’t like thinking about Griffin anymore. The more white noise she surrounded herself with, the better. It got worse at home. In that respect, Rebecca staying with her actually helped. When Rebecca was there, Olivia didn’t have silence and empty space to fill.

That and, in spite of her coming to New York during the ratpocalypse, Rebecca hadn’t been there for any of the battles, hadn’t had to confront any sorcerers or sorceresses. Rebecca was safe. Rebecca was normal.

What about your social life? Other than your riveting Friday nights with your married-but-single sister? Rebecca asked.

I can live with that for a while. For Ishtar’s sake, I’m only twenty-five. How much hurry do I have to be in? Can’t a girl take a break from complication? Olivia swallowed down the rest of her drink.

Rebecca peered at Olivia over the rim of her glass, making it clear she wasn’t buying what Olivia was selling. It’s not about finding a man, and you know it, Liv. Frankie V’s still pushing you to come to performances and plays with her, and you keep brushing her off. You know, it never occurred to me that you, the social butterfly, didn’t have a lot of friends, just a lot of functions, but you’re not even going to those anymore. I don’t think Frankie V’s going to give up on you or anything, but it seems like she and her circle miss you.

I go to parties. Just not as many, Olivia said. I stay busy.

Yeah, painting.

That’s what I do. That’s what brings money in with adequate consistency to pay my people.

But doesn’t being an artist mean being part of the world?

I think I’ve got some good inspiration to work with. Olivia stared down at her empty glass and told herself not to have another. I can stand to be a little less part of the world for a while.

All the people she used to hang out with had shared her life and lifestyle before everything had so drastically changed for her. They couldn’t begin to understand what Olivia had been through in the last year. She’d have to lie far more than she was willing to with friends, and every lie would remind her of the truth. Right now wasn’t just about losing herself among people who didn’t know what intestines looked like on the outside of an abdomen. Right now was about keeping busy. Distraction and avoidance were her weapons against the oppressive darkness that followed her home and into her bed, and they were mostly working.

It wasn’t even just about Griffin. The fairy-tale music had stopped, and the rest was terrible, terrible silence—silence with meaning she couldn’t yet comprehend. And until she understood it, until she could stand the color red again, until she could look Eva in the eye without seeing her bound and unconscious, until she could look in the mirror and not see the holes in her mouth where it had been sewn shut—even though they weren’t even there anymore—things weren’t going to improve any time soon.

Rebecca was better than she’d been when she’d arrived at Olivia’s door, but Olivia couldn’t make herself better at the drop of a hat. She just had to survive until she was. And that meant keeping her head down, her mind on her art, and her heart carefully cradled in her hands to use for the worst of the Infernos before locking it soundly back in its cage so no one else could see too much of the truth.

But— Rebecca started.

I don’t want to fight. I’m handling it.

You’re ignoring it.

That’s how I handle it.

It’s not healthy handling.

"It’s always worked for me. I can only have one of these drinks, Rebecca, so can we please talk about something else? I don’t plan on falling apart at the seams any time soon, and I only give you permission to do an intervention with Tobin and Frankie V if I never leave the apartment at all. Considering everything that’s gone on this last year, I think I’m the picture of mental health. Okay?"

Okay.

Olivia flagged down the waiter for appetizers.

Midway through the entrée, while Rebecca was discussing one of her child students, her phone vibrated. After checking with Olivia, she pulled it out of her purse.

Now? Really? He couldn’t find anything better to do on a Friday night? Rebecca muttered. But she accepted the call. Hi, Daniel. It’s not a great time. What do you need?

She tried not to sound cold or short. Since the separation, Rebecca had been nothing but courteous—but only courteous.

Olivia twirled her pasta around the fork long after it had already spiraled on as her sister’s face went slack.

Oh. I see. No, I’m not ready, but…I thought we were taking a break. I thought that was what this separation was. No, that’s… If you think it will help. I can’t really stop you. No, I understand and I appreciate it. Well, yes, it upsets me. How would you feel if I told you I was seeing someone while still technically married to you?

Ouch. Olivia had never liked Daniel—especially since the last time she’d seen him, he’d called Olivia a silly cunt and threatened both her and Rebecca. Nothing Daniel had done since the separation had made Olivia amend her opinions on the man.

"Does she know? Does she care? Well, if she can wait, why can’t you? I think I was very clear about what it would take to get me home. That was literally my only demand. Yes, I guess it means I’m not happy about it, but I’ve told you what I need, and you’ve given me the list of things you need, and they haven’t matched up yet. I can’t go back to the way things were, and you won’t see a counselor with me, never mind that I was miserable the way things were, and everyone sees a counselor these days. What are you afraid of? That you’ll have to change, too? Damn it, Daniel!"

Olivia wanted to tell Rebecca to keep it down, but only because Rebecca would care that people around them could hear her. As far as Olivia was concerned, Daniel had this coming to him. She wanted nothing but the best for her sister. She couldn’t direct her toward the best, because she didn’t know what exactly that would be, but Daniel wasn’t it by a mile.

Honestly, if Olivia could just tell Rebecca to cut her losses and serve Daniel the papers before Daniel served her—whether divorce was a sin or not—she would. But Olivia hated it when her family told her what to do, and she tried to avoid doing the same thing to Rebecca, who had been the only member of Olivia’s immediate family who had ever supported her.

Also, when Rebecca started swearing, however mild it was in comparison to Olivia, she knew to keep her mouth shut.

You know what? Do whatever you want. I’m going to have a fun evening. Good night.

Ending a smartphone call wasn’t as satisfying as the old landlines, or even cellphones that snapped closed. It was clearly all Rebecca could do not to throw her phone across the room. And she could do it, too. Olivia had been a pitcher on her softball team as a teen, but Rebecca had played catcher. She’d been instrumental in teaching Olivia deadly accuracy during practice.

I’m almost afraid to ask, Olivia said. Do you want to keep it to yourself, or—

Rebecca stabbed her pasta with her fork.

Okay, moving on, then. Olivia had heard what Rebecca had done to the rats that had invaded Daniel’s hotel room. Rebecca might have embraced any number of traditional traits that Olivia would personally despise embracing, but Olivia respected a woman who knew how to stab.

He called to tell me he wants to go out with someone else. The annoying thing is that he’s being all reasonable about it, like saying he’s not going to sleep with her, but we’re separated on a trial basis, so he’s effectively single and alone, and he’s lonely. As though I’m not lonely. Rebecca sawed a meatball in half. She’s a new woman in his Sunday school. They hit it off and want to go out for coffee, maybe dinner. She knows he’s married. He still wears his ring, because of course, to him, we’re still married and I’m the one who’s going to crawl back to him on my hands and knees. Not that he’d know what to do with me there.

Becca! It was cruel and unusual for her sister to say that to someone with such a vivid imagination.

So she knows about it, and he’s calling me to say that they’re going out in a non-physical capacity.

I’d say he’s lying his cheating little heart out. He’s going out with her because he wants her.

Maybe, but he’s not going to do anything. After mauling half of the rest of her meal, Rebecca still hadn’t eaten any of it, just poked at its dead carcass. He wouldn’t.

He was also a teetotaler when he visited my apartment smelling of scotch, remember?

He was distressed.

He’s distressed again, now that you aren’t ‘trying for a baby,’ Olivia said with air quotes.

Rebecca shook her head. "No. I can see him having this emotional affair. But, I mean, the man called me to let me know he was doing it. I don’t think he’s going to sleep with her."

If you think for one second that a woman who would intentionally have an affair with a married—albeit separated—man is going to keep it at a non-physical level, you’ve got another thing coming. Once one of them opens the door, it’s all going to just spill out. You think either of them care, especially if they’re willing to let the wife know that it’s happening whether she likes it or not?

He’ll probably call me to let me know about it before it happens, Rebecca said miserably.

The man won’t go to a marriage counselor to change, but he’ll gladly accept a woman who wants him just the way he is. I think he’s made his position clear.

"How am I supposed to go back, knowing that he found someone he wants more than me? Now he has comparison. She’s newer and more exciting, maybe prettier, maybe younger, and she makes him feel special, wanted. She’s never left him because of some hysterical, womanly vapors."

The obvious answer was that she should never go back, but Rebecca already knew how Olivia felt. She just needed to talk.

Well, I’ve had my comparison, too, Rebecca said. "I was depressed out of my gourd when I walked out. I know how bad it was, because it’s been that much better since I left, even if everything isn’t perfect. Now he knows it, because I’ve explained everything to him multiple times. And he still blames me. Not for the walking out. I mean, he blames me for that, too, but I did it, so… It’s that he blames me for being depressed and not doing the right things to get out of it. Instead of taking some fucking responsibility, he just wants me to come back and be depressed again, as long as it doesn’t get in the way of being the wife he married. He doesn’t care if I’m miserable, because that’s up to me to fix in my free time. Geez, why am I still stuck on being married to him?"

Olivia didn’t know, so once again, she refrained from answering.

Every time I think about getting rid of this ring and taking someone up on a coffee date… I mean, the closest I got to getting rid of it was putting it on the other hand, but it’s still very much a wedding ring. Any fool can tell. For all someone knows, it doesn’t fit my ring finger anymore and I haven’t gotten it resized yet. But I just can’t let it go. I can’t let him go.

You hope that one of these days, he’s going to see what he’s lost and be willing to do anything to get it back, Olivia said. After all, you aren’t asking for much, but obviously you must not be enough if he can’t even give you that.

Yeah. Oh, Olivia, I’m sorry. I know I’m not the only one—

Becca, if you tiptoe around me about that, I’m going to stuff these noodles up your nose.

Make up your mind. Do you want to talk about it or not?

I don’t want to talk about it, but you don’t have to apologize. I wasn’t even talking about me. I was talking about you and Daniel.

What do you think I should do? Rebecca asked.

Olivia raised her eyebrows. "Seriously? You want to know what I think you should do? If you could, I’d tell you to find a time machine and stop yourself from marrying him in the first place. But that’s because I don’t like him and never have. I don’t know what to tell you that would be specific to you and not me."

You think I should get a divorce.

I think you deserve so much more if Daniel isn’t willing to try to be enough. I think you’re entitled to change as a person without getting vilified for it. However, I know you’re not thrilled with the concept of divorce. I get it, okay?

It’s just… He never hurt me. I don’t think he’s done enough to earn a divorce.

Like ignoring your pain? Like not seeing marriage as something both partners need to work at? Like cheating? Look, I’m biased. I love you and intensely dislike him, so if you’re looking for validation for your fidelity, you’re not going to find it from me. However, whatever you do, I will always support your choice, and I’ll support you. I’ll help you move back in with Daniel if that’s what you want. I’ll hold your hand if you want to talk to an attorney that Tobin finds for you. I’ll do whatever you need me to do. You know that, right?

Rebecca inspected the small but intensely bright diamond on her right forefinger, set in polished gold—modest, but still an investment in their love, a down payment on her devotion, a security deposit against marital turmoil. Olivia was pretty sure Daniel wasn’t getting that deposit back.

After everything you’ve done, Rebecca said, how could I not know that? I can never repay you, not when everyone else just wanted to talk behind my back about what a bad wife and bad woman I am.

I’m your sister. That means you never have to repay.

And when he was coming toward me, I called the cat a… How did you put it, Adelaide? A chunky bit?

Ice clinked against the glass and condensation dampened Tobin’s fingertips as he tried not to snort lemonade out of his nose. More than half of the humor during these weekends came from Adelard getting the Internet wrong for the thousandth time, but the former king was really trying, which was a huge step and important to encourage.

Tobin liked dinners at the ranch because he didn’t have to make or pay for them. Also, it had been forever since he’d eaten with a group as often as this. The last family dinner he’d been a part of hadn’t gone well, which was why he avoided his family as stringently as Olivia avoided hers.

The royal family—now creatively called the Kings, while Caspar’s last name was now Prince—was the closest thing Tobin had had to a family in a long time. They weren’t the best family in the world, but aside from having woken up after over a thousand years of sleep into a society quite different from their own, they were surprisingly normal.

Adelaide and Caspar, for instance, were like any other engaged couple still stupidly in love, to the point of birds singing and flowers opening every time they looked into each other’s eyes.

Sure, it took some getting used to the fact that Adelaide wasn’t even old enough to smoke, while Caspar was older than Tobin. But in her time, she’d actually been a little old to be getting married. Spindle curses with late expiration dates had a tendency to get in the way of nuptial plans. In deference to the social mores of the era in which they’d found themselves, they were saving the wedding for after Adelaide’s eighteenth birthday. They’d waited seventeen years, plus a thousand, so what was one more? The Hunters were even taking care of the guest list and any expense, within reason.

Adelard and Enide were still having some trouble adjusting to not being royalty, but Adelard was finally getting into the ranching business, which Eva had explained was a common trade that the Hunters taught to those cursed through time, since horses were a more universal language than computers. She and Adelard had already made an arrangement wherein the Hunter Brotherhood would eventually buy out half her cattle and some of her horses—although not the best—plus some land near Eva’s ranch on behalf of the Kings, so that they could stay in touch while remaining independent.

But that was still a long way off while the Hunters continued to educate their royal charges. The rest of the kingdom wasn’t afforded all of these same privileges, of course. The Kings would have to adjust to democracy, but they probably wouldn’t have reacted very well to being treated as rubes right out of the gate. And the truth is, they weren’t rubes, even now. Adelaide and Caspar might have taken to modern clothing and technology more quickly, but they shared carriage with Adelaide’s parents, confidence and poise that Tobin had seen on very few people in his everyday life—certainly not in any mirror.

Adelard continued pushing back against the flood of modernity, but not as hard as he once had. Maybe he understood now how futile it was to pretend that things would eventually go back to the way they used to be. If they’d slept for only a hundred years, like all the stories had said, maybe Adelard could have fooled himself into thinking that they didn’t have to change. But this was the twenty-first century, which wasn’t even close. The tighter he tried to hold on to his economic and sociopolitical truths, the more the present washed it between his clenching fingers.

Enide wasn’t quite as set in her ways as Adelard, but the modern world overwhelmed her, and she struggled like hell to keep her chin above the waves. She managed to keep her husband’s fires quenched most of the time, though—a diplomatic whisper when he and Eva clashed because of Eva’s modernity and magic, both evils in Adelard’s eyes.

He was getting better. Over the last few months, the tension between Adelard and Eva had vastly improved. The only compromise he’d refused to make was in insisting that Adelaide and Caspar marry as soon as Adelaide turned eighteen, to solidify the diplomatic arrangement between the two royal families, even though Caspar’s was long gone.

Eva, Tobin, and especially Olivia would have preferred for Adelaide to have the opportunity to attend community college or university before marriage, especially since she’d adapted to her new world much faster than the other three and was taking to high school equivalency education like oil and sand. But as long as Adelaide eagerly anticipated the marriage and was more than willing to agree with her father on