Fairy Doctor Rest in Peace: 2-in-1 the Baron's route and Segundo route: Fairy Doctor, #3

By Ava Clary

The final book in the series is a set piece, a 2-in-1 deal. In Fairy Doctor Rest in Peace, will you romance the Baron? Scheming estranged husband, rich and powerful Magus. Or will you romance Marquez? Former bodyguard, Latino lover, and shapeshifter. Who do you prefer?

Whatever happens, Lillia can't let the fae catch her. They collect Fairy Doctors, and they will never let her leave Fairyland. Rest in Peace, dear Doctor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ava Clary Books
• Release date: Apr 30, 2025
• ISBN: 9798231461059

Ava Clary

Hi, I'm Ava Clary. I write romantic fantasy for adults and YA adventure stories for everyone. I've published five books in the Fairy Doctor series and a YA about Hawke Hunter's adventures in Changeling Fate. Coming soon: an epic novel about elves and an enchantress dealing with her ex. I'm currently living in Spokane, Washington.

Book preview

Prologue

The first contact. It began two years ago.

(Or possibly three, maybe five? Fairies aren't good with details.)

On that day, three young fairylings sneaked into the back of the small Irish cafe named Lilydew. They’d heard rumors that humans left delicious snacks overnight as a kind of bribe for them to help clean or something. The young ones did not want to clean stuff; they wanted the sugar. If anything, they’d be helpful enough to lick the plate clean.

When they arrived, they were very very disappointed to find a tea saucer with only one piece of wrapped candy, which they soon found out wasn’t candy at all, but a cherry coughdrop!

I’m going to be sick! The youngest one clutched his stomach.

I told you not to lick it!

They were nothing more than dim, hazy shadows not quite six inches tall yet, their bodies flimsy as cobwebs and the colors of an oil stain. They were so young, and this was their first time outside the Heartree, they hadn’t quite mastered the art of clothes or permanent hairstyles, and their wings hadn’t grown in yet, but they were working on it. Mastering your essence was harder than it sounded, and the elder who taught them gave the most deadly boring lectures!

Now what? the smallest of the three complained. We didn’t get our snacks.

Geez, don’t you remember, it's called trick or treat!

That’s Halloween dummie!

Nunuh, same concept. No treats, we play tricks.

Like what?

I’ma show you! The third and most aggressive one started to push at the saucer. Would you get off already! she complained.

Oops, sorry.

As soon as the others leaped out of the way, the saucer flew off the shelf, twirling in the air for a moment until it smashed on the floor. The cough drop bounced and landed a little further away from the shards. The noise was extra sharp and instantly recognizable.

The fairylings froze. Quick! Hide! one hissed, and they all flattened themselves on the wall just before a human came from the front of the shop, wiping her hands on an apron.

Wonder what happened here, she muttered as she saw the broken ceramics on the ground.

The fairylings grinned impishly.

Ten broken dishes and two hours later, they had the trick perfected. One of them remained on lookout, keeping an eye on the front of the cafe and the kitchen and wherever the humans were standing, if they were busy serving customers or at the till or coming towards the back, while the other two climbed up the shelves for a target. Then they let gravity do its job. They even managed to break a few cups in the sink and some dirty dishes, a few cases of spontaneous destruction. It was so much fun they were starting to sprout horns and long tails. And every time the humans picked up the pieces with a frown, the fairylings hid themselves and giggled.

Then they got caught.

I heard that giggling! Hey! Come out right now!

They covered their mouths and tried to think invisible thoughts, once again flattening themselves against the woodgrains at the back of a cupboard, but it wasn’t enough. A hand reached in, and fingers pinched the back of their necks and lifted them out, giving them a strong shake. This made their essence liquefy again, turning them back into shadowy shapes, vaguely human, but indistinct around the edges.

Why is it that Irish fairies are such troublemakers! Yesterday, it was that leprechaun, and today you three! A young woman with dark hair and dark eyes glared down at them. She dropped them on the table with a splat.

The trio cringed, puddling around the ankles, then stared in awe. The woman had an American accent, though the fairylings only had a vague idea what that meant. She wore a casual, well-traveled jacket, and had an underlying fierceness!

They’d never seen anyone like her before. She smelled indescribably amazing. Humans did not smell like that! Was she really human? They couldn’t speak. They couldn’t breathe. They could only stand slacked-jawed and mystified.

That first contact was like the snap of a rubber band, and it sent ripples through their essence. The next fairies several miles away felt it and shivered. And the next and next. Frozen, awe-struck fairies appeared all over the world. (It was quite the sight for those few Magus who could see such creatures.)

Soon enough, all the fairies in existence realized that someone very special stood about ten inches away from these three young fairylings in the backroom of an Irish cafe. Who is she? They all clamored to know. A celebrity like her in a tiny place like this? How did that happen? Where did she come from? How did they not notice her before? Was she hiding? Or was someone hiding her from them, and how dare they!

The fairylings had never been at the center of such focus or bombarded by so many questions. The weight made them tremble.

She was really angry too. That made it worse.

We’re sorry. We didn’t mean it! We’ll never never never do it again! They started blubbering, desperate to apologize.

Oh, does that mean you can fix everything you broke?

The fairylings hung their heads. Don’t know how.

Me neither.

Sorry.

You haven’t learned how to magic things? She wiggled her fingers like this was a key component for magicking things.

No.

Well then, she said. You shouldn’t have broken them in the first place! Honestly, what good is fairy magic if you can’t use it?

The youngest began to cry huge tears of iridescent colors that splashed at his feet. Waaa! Don’t hate us! Everyone will hate us!

No one hates you, she grumbled and reached over to pet the fairy’s tiny head.

The others were instantly jealous and began to wail and cry just as hard.

Stop that! she scolded. They did not. Although she tried to soothe them, they kept crying harder, so she continued to comfort them.

There there. It’s okay. Really. I don’t hate you. Please don’t cry anymore. Wait, are those crocodile tears? Are you trying to get out of trouble!

The fairylings blubbered more. Crocodile tears! No way. These are genuine fairy tears!

You little brats — where are your wings? She demanded next.

Don’t have any. Haven’t grown in yet.

Hmm, how do you grow your wings?

They shrugged. Dunno.

Didn’t learn.

Teacher never taught us.

She wagged a finger at them. Then as punishment, I think you should go back to school until you have them. But before you go, promise me you won’t break any more dishes!

The fairylings sniffed. Of course, they’d promised. How could they ever refuse! They’d do anything she wanted if they could see her again.

Promise! they each echoed.

Pinkie swear! she ordered. One by one they shook her pinkie.

Who are you? the bravest fairyling asked. They all held their breath.

She looked surprised. Who? My name’s Lillia, she told them with a stunning 2000-watt smile. It knocked them down flat, and it wasn’t just the three, but hundreds of thousands of fairies all over the world were simultaneously smitten by the sight of that smile. They fell in love. They had to protect her! They had to know everything they could about her! Of course, the little ones had to go to school first!

Almost immediately after that, rumors began to fly among the fairy population. They spoke to the leprechauns, who bragged about her miraculous beer bucket cure. She was clearly brilliant! They heard from the storm furies, the seadragons, and the selkies that she was a frequent flier and appeared on beaches and seasides all over the world. The fae of London spoke of a rumor that her father had been a famous Fairy Doctor. Ahha, they finally understood. She must be a Fairy Doctor too! But it wasn’t enough. They needed to know more. And so, the obsession began.

Chapter 1

London, end of August

Everything had changed. Lillia didn’t know that could happen. One second you could be plotting revenge against your fiendish husband, and the next you were packing your bags and running for your life, or lives in this case.

Ha. Lillia would have laughed maniacally, except it wasn’t funny. She was not alone. It was her plus a second life no bigger than a teeny tiny beansprout, but it was enough to change everything.

We’re getting out of here, I have to go right now! she announced to the room.

No reply. Her fairies were there listening, but she didn’t see them and they didn’t answer her. It didn’t matter. It was time to go.

She stuffed the positive pregnancy test in her glittery iheartLondon tote, along with the pink wig she'd worn as a disguise when leaving Paris, her oval Hepburn sunglasses, the cheap hotel toiletries she wanted to keep, plus the lavender stuff she’d bought, and last, a perfume bottle filled with inky fairy essence — a reminder of what the Baron was capable of doing to her if he found out.

Should she keep her phone?

She wavered.

The Baron had provided a brand new phone as soon as they arrived in London. It was so new and shiny that she didn’t want to leave it behind, but then again, he might trace her with it. No, he definitely would trace her.

Nope.

It wasn’t worth the risk.

She wrote down her most important contacts and fried the phone with a bit of magic voodoo (which was about the limit of her magic skills these days.) She dumped it into the toilet tank, letting it sink into the grimy water.

It was time to let go of anything he had given her. Time to leave it all behind. The money. The clothes. The expensive macarons on the foyer table, with a note that said — when you’re feeling better. She did not need them. Okay, maybe just the lavender-blue one. But not the others.

With the taste of floral sweetness and sugary almonds on her tongue, Lillia ran down the worn red stairs of the Hotel Berdie's, taking the corners with reckless turns. She was going to twist her ankle at this rate but didn’t dare slow down. She wasn’t worried about appearances. Even if the hotel staff told the Baron she was seen leaving (fleeing), she’d be long gone from the neighborhood.

The Baron was touring the city with an old friend. That’d take most of the day and meant Lillia had a few hours at least before he checked in. When he found out her phone was kaput, maybe he’d call the hotel and have someone check on her, or maybe he would think she was hungover and sulking. She’d asked for a divorce, after all.

He didn’t know their contract was broken, and she wanted to keep it that way. Only two things still tied them together: their so-called marriage and the Brimclif beansprout. The marriage was a mistake, not Lillia’s biggest, but it easily ranked in her top five ‘How could I be so stupid!’

The Baron had saved her life once, and she promised him a year of hers in exchange. I’ll do anything. One year of service. Whatever you want from me. One year of my life, she told him in misguided bravado. It turned out to be a trick since he put her life in danger before saving it, and yet she didn’t leave him the moment she found out. She should have months ago. Instead, she stuck it out. She felt convinced that she still owed him that debt, despite the con, that she had to honor her word no matter the cost. Well, it didn’t matter now. She’d broken their agreement in the end, merely four months after she signed it, which happened to be the day she married him. It had included a straightforward prenup, so she would not be getting anything from him in the divorce, no money, no more title, no house on the beach in Aruba or the penthouse in Singapore. The contract had held his expectations, details on how she would serve off her debt, follow whatever schedule he gave her, and complete any job he wanted to the best of her magical abilities. There were non-disclosure agreements on his clients and locations of his offices, auctions, and other business associates, i.e. his shady criminal network. Most important of all was the big rule regarding the Brimclif bloodline. She was not to get pregnant. No kiddos. He was adamant. She was in agreement. They’d taken precautions and yet look what had happened. A positive test. A tiny life inside her.

The Baron couldn’t find out.

It had to stay a secret.

If he knew...

He wouldn’t hesitate. He’d hunt her down. Her and the baby. Then her friends. Her fairies. Her family. Her mother. (Her father, if he was still alive.) Everyone she ever loved.

As soon as Lillia found out the test results, she called her mother, who immediately offered Lillia a ticket out of Heathrow tonight. It was still tempting, but Lillia knew better. She couldn’t look like she was running away. He’d only find her and drag her back. She didn’t want to give him a chance. She needed to hide in plain sight. She had some pocket change and several hundred euros stuffed into her bra since yesterday. At some point, she’d need to exchange those, but there was no point taking an Uber or one of London's black cabs until she had a destination in mind. Where could she possibly go? London, better stay in London.

Lillia raced through the hotel lobby. Her heels on the black and white tile sounded like the ticking of a clock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Or worse, a countdown to doom. The receptionist didn’t even glance in her direction. Good.

Once outside, she took a deep breath of the city fumes and began coughing. Her head began to pound. She always thought she would plan her escape, not just impulsively run out. This was the start of a reckless day. She had a feeling it was going to be one of those unbearable ones too.

She started walking, not entirely sure where to, but as long as it was away from the hotel in west London.

Keep going. Keep going, girl. You can figure this out.

Her thoughts kept whirling back around in circles around the same thought: get out get out get out. Somewhere safe. Where was safe? He had portals everywhere. Was London safe at all?

The streets were humming. It was the end of August, and the weather was muggy, hotter than a sauna outside. She felt this claustrophobic pressure from the air and saw heat waves rising off the asphalt. Urgent city sounds surrounded her: angry cars and construction trucks rumbled by. Someone shouted out a window. She kept racing down the street. The heat made her crave a minty iced cocktail. Except. Her footsteps faltered. Not anymore. She’d have to give up her mojitos and mint juleps for a while. Isn’t that what one did when pregnant, give up things?

She was trying hard not to panic. Really hard. Because the screams were right in her throat itching to be screamed. She was getting a stitch in her side, making it harder to breathe. This was all happening so fast, and it was taking all her effort just to keep going. Stay in control. She did not want a baby. It should not be happening! But it was.

Think, Lil, think.

Nini? No, Nini was out. She’d vanished. Not that Lillia blamed her, after what the Baron had done. He’d kidnapped, imprisoned, and nearly sold her in one of his infamous auctions. It was reason number six for why Lillia wanted that divorce. Nini had every right to disappear for a while, somewhere safe and far away from all the Brimclifs.

Violet was having a fling with her newest beau in Hawaii.

Kara was off on a snowy adventure in Tibet.

All her friends were missing or overseas. Tripe and crumpets!

Lillia clutched her bag and bit her thumb. As expected, the action caught the attention of the tiny sprinting shadows who followed her from the hotel. Her entourage buzzed with splintery wings, jumping from their hiding spots behind streetlights and car bumpers. They’d gotten better at staying incognito. She might not have even noticed them, but she was keeping track.

Several fairies appeared on her shoulder, wearing kaleidoscope cloaks that made them even harder to look at without going cross-eyed.

I need to send a message to my friend, Kara Youngcastle. She’s, um, well, in Tibet somewhere, I think. Can you get her a message? Ask if I can crash at her flat. I’m pretty sure she has one here in London.

Kara Youngcastle was a Magus, always traveling in remote places, and she wouldn’t always tell her friends why or what she was doing. Lillia, Kara, Nini and Violet. They had not been friends for long, but they always managed to meet up for a girl’s night out. The four of them against the world, or so Violet had claimed months ago during a Paris revue. Kara had rolled her eyes. Nini raised her eyebrows and then her glass of champagne. Lillia laughed, snorting bubbles up her nose. But the truth was, hearing that made her heart squish with surprise because, despite everything wrong in her life, she somehow managed to make four irreplaceable friends.

Think you can find her? she asked her fairies.

Of course! the fairies announced and leaped away, scattering like light from a prism. She had no idea how they transferred her messages, but somewhere in the Himalayas, the fairies would already be searching for Kara. Lillia imagined they dressed in yeti fur and had icicles in their hair.

Where are the others? Lillia asked the one remaining fairy, who perched on her shoulder.

What others?

Love Fifteen and the Louises? They were just upstairs with me when I found out about the— Her jaw clenched. Instead, Lillia waved her hand. Did they get out? I don’t want the Baron to find them.

They’re off duty. Some headed to Wimbledon to watch a game, but the rest went back to France. Said they had a kingdom to clean or something. Don’t worry, we made a rotation. Someone’ll be here, even if you don’t notice. We’re always watching.

Yeah, that’s what worries me. But it also made her feel better, knowing they’d be out there if she needed them. She’d never taken her role as a Fairy Doctor seriously. She didn’t really want to start now. That would give them the wrong idea. Being a Fairy Doctor wasn’t easy. It was the type of job you got by accident and could never really quit. If you have to stalk me, okay, but don’t make it obvious.

I never! The fairy managed to look offended, with sharp red colors flying through her black swallow-shaped wings.

Listen, the Baron is going to be really angry when he finds out what has happened. So it’s imperative, that means even more important than ever before, that you guys keep a low profile. We’ll both have to, until— she gulped, trying not to think about it. This was only the beginning. Everything had changed.

The fairy sensed her distress and flew up to kiss her nose. You’re right. Absolutely right. Don’t worry, we’ll get Kara the message, but you know there's someone else you could talk to instead.

Oh? Who?

The Fairy Queen, of course.

Chapter 2

N o, Lillia said. No fairy queens or any other kind of queen, I'd rather not. She was in no condition for visiting royalty, by invitation or by accident. Not happening. What about Kara? Haven’t you found her yet?

Minutes had passed since she gave the order. The fairies were quick but she needed them to be quicker. Impatience tugged at her, like finding a loose thread on a new sweater. She kept wanting to pull it out.

The fairies fluttered closer. They had a message from Kara.

(They were that good.)

She had an address in Southwark now, and the reply was simply: Stay here.

Short and to the point. Typical Kara. She was not one to embellish or pry with questions. It was a relief since Lillia couldn’t handle questions right now.

Within the hour, Lillia was halfway across the city of London in the district of Southwark, on the other side of the Thames. Lillia was waiting on a platform to change trains. Suddenly, the air whooshed and the wind blew down the tunnel. A crisp British voice warned, Mind the Gap. Without warning, doors appeared in midair from a train already at the platform. There came an exodus of strange and airy figures. She’d forgotten how many different indescribable creatures lived here in London. There was a Magus with a floating guard of puppets, a wolfman in a green kilt, and a humanoid wearing a deep-sea diving helmet full of water and tentacles. Of course, the fae were everywhere. They came in all flavors, shapes, and colors: olive oil skin and lemony hair, dancing on their toes. A fae with pink eyelashes and polka-dotted clothes walked arm in arm with another fae with hawk eyes and silver teeth. They clicked their shoes and slid away.

Lillia lowered her eyes and held her breath as they passed by. The last thing she wanted was to be noticed.

Once all the passengers departed, the train disappeared in a smokey vapor as if it had never existed at all. Lillia stared at the emptiness, wondering what the heck? Was that a fairy train?

By the time she reached Kara’s flat, she’d done more walking than possibly good for anyone in heels or newly pregnant. Her nerves were rattled, or else she was having coffee withdrawal, or going into shock, or this was a pregnant thing. Maybe all of them were hitting her at once, which didn’t seem fair. If her eye started twitching she was going to scream.

She wanted a bubble bath and a mocha with chocolate liquor and toffee drizzle, but no one cared to ask. Instead, she trudged toward the building.

It was called the Nines because it had nine floors. It was ordinary and blocklike, with heavily shaded windows, balconies full of bikes and dried-out plants. Kara lived here? It was nothing like Lillia expected.

She entered a cave-like underbelly with parked cars, a worn-out couch, and garbage bins that smelled oppressive in the heat. She almost didn't believe it was the right place, except the fairies told her the door code, and it worked. She stepped inside a dingy hallway with no windows. The old carpet crunched underfoot. She made her fairies scout in all directions, and they reported back about the people who lived here: the elderly and young families too. She could hear a baby fussing. But there was one place her scouts couldn't get in. Why not? she asked. Because of the wards, they complained. An annoying shock, not painful, just persistent, lay in wait. The spell chased after them like a static-charged hound dog. It was the only bit of magic in the entire building.

For some reason, Lillia had thought all Magus lived in exotic and eccentric homes; luxury was a given, conjured from their talented fingers, and on display for all their envious visitors. In Mexico City, the Magus who worked for the Baron making his perfumes, had owned a ridiculously large mansion. Nini's estranged family had an ancient castle in Japan's western mountains. Kara came from a long line of Magus. The Youngcastle family had a reputation for being skilled at obscure arcana, at least, that's what the Baron said. He could have been exaggerating, but Lillia knew he took notice of other powerful Magus families as possible clients. So, what was Kara doing in a place devoid of magic? There were no guardians, no invisible walls to duck through, and no highly active powerful shields anywhere. The wards at the flat might keep her fairies from snooping, but would they keep the Baron out?

Without extra protection was it safe? Lillia didn’t know. It was a gamble, and it was not just her own life who depended on it. Her lip was going to be a bloody mess if she kept biting it. She couldn't seem to stop.

She reached the door to Kara’s and stared at it. She had to make up her mind quick. She was here, but she could leave again. Find a hotel or a 24-hour cafe, maybe. Was this the right place to hide? Maybe she should try her luck with London's Fairy Queen.

There was a click from the door.

Lillia froze, paralyzed like a bunny.

Then the door snapped inward three inches, caught by a chain. The woman inside began to curse. What’s wrong with this freakin’ door, can’t it open? She had an American accent, a familiar East Coast one.

Lillia stumbled back as Violet Giovino flung the door back so hard it hit the wall inside, where there was already a recent dent.

LILLY! she shrieked as she rushed forward and pulled Lillia into a hug. What are you doing here?

Violet? How?

Violet was a good five inches shorter than Lillia, not that it ever stopped her from dominating the room, poker table, limo, poolside, bartop, or wherever she happened to be. She never hesitated to wear skyscraper high heels to make up for it. Today's were skinny black with bling. Violet was a socialite, known as the Italian Princess among the tabloids, and posts and not magically inclined at all. She was built like a curvy goddess, her New York Italian heritage, and wore a sparkly blue tube top to show off. Instead of her usual bombastic blonde, she'd chopped it down to a pixie cut and dyed it orange. Not the most flattering color, but she managed to pull it off, like a sexy stick of dynamite.

Get in here. Violet tugged Lillia off her feet. The neighbors already think I'm nutty and it's awful hot out. Like fried eggs hot. At least I got to buy an air conditioner. How Kara lived without, I don't want to know.

But what - what are you doing here? In London? Lillia stuttered. You were in Hawaii? You're not in Hawaii? It shouldn't have been surprising.

One of the reasons they all became fast friends was a tendency to travel and appear somewhere else around the world without warning. Milan one day, Milwaukee the next, and Machu Picchu on the weekend. Their group chats had constant updates. The last time she saw Violet was months ago after her text rolled onto Lillia’s phone like a thunderclap.

VIOLET: Anyone in Barcelona? Meet me at Jazzsi for sangria!

KARA: Not tapas?

VIOLET: Si tapas, always!!!

NINI: im in

LILLIA: don’t forget me!

Then Lillia had to convince the Baron to let her use his portals to get to Spain for a late night of tapas and wine with her girlfriends. She’d worked overtime as a trade. But that was months ago, or as Violet would say, three boyfriends ago. Lillia’s life had completely imploded, finding out about the pregnancy was just the cherry on top. Did something upend Violet’s too? A few days ago, she was still gushing like a champagne bottle, like nothing else mattered except her newest boy toy, her beau.

What happened? Lillia demanded.

Violet flung her arms up and wailed, LIIIIILLLY!! like she just remembered her world was collapsing. Tears leaked down her face, which Lillia realized was very sans makeup, and crying had made Violet’s eyes red and puffy around the edges. She became incoherent with tears and sniffles.

Before closing the door, Lillia gestured, and five shadows zipped in behind her, this time uninhibited by the wards. Lillia had noticed the spell retreat to let her enter, so she just extended the invitation to her sneaky minions. Kara couldn’t complain if she wasn’t here.

They headed to a small, worn-out couch tucked into the corner near the even tinier kitchenette. Violet dropped into the cushions and grabbed the tissue box, nearly emptying it. There was an overflowing wastebasket nearby. The air conditioner perched right over their heads, like a waterfall spewing cold at maximum. It made the room feel like Antarctica, which explained the leopard-print fleece on the couch, but the empty boxes of mint ice cream made Lillia think of one thing —  heartbreak?

Violet — Violet!

Beau was already married! she finally said. Married! To some hotshot reporter with a kung fu degree. I thought I was goin’ to die.

Your beau? His name was Beau?

Yeah. That was him, shoulda been called Dirty-Rotten-Beau. I mean, he coulda said something. Here I thought, he — he was the one. I was sure! Mister Forever, you know. I never checked if he was already married.

I’m so sorry.

Yeah me too. So, here I am. Hiding low at Kara’s ‘til things settle down and there’s not an arrest warrant waiting for me.

Arrested for what? They can’t arrest you for—

Mrs Reporter threatened. I don’t know what, slander, defamation, indecent exposure. She was sure screaming about it. And when they come at you with a set of steak knives and carving fork, it's scary. My cousin Teo, he’s my lawyer, I told him to deal with it. Next thing I know, she’s sending me death threats; Teo tells me to get the heck out of town — I was actually visiting friends in Cali — but before she found me, I jumped on a red eye. Kara said I’d be untraceable here. If she says so. At least it's quiet and not so hot inside. We’ll be roomies. Now spill! What is this? Violet had noticed Lillia clutching her iHeartLondon bag and caught a glimpse of the pink wig poking out of it.

Rather than say anything, Lillia squirmed and finally unloaded all the hundreds of euros she’d stashed in her bra. They’d gotten unbearably sticky. There was a surprising amount, all 500s, the largest bill she could get. Violet’s eyes popped a little, and she found an ice cream box not quite empty and stuck a spoonful in her mouth waiting for Lillia to explain. I’m on the run. Sorta. If the Baron finds out I’m — I’m — having his baby — he’ll kill me.

Violet nearly choked. You’re knocked up?

Yes.

His baby?

Yes. Lillia's hands shook. I only found out this morning. It could only be his.

Lilly!! Violet tossed aside the ice cream and smothered Lillia in another hug. Oh, honey, you poor thing! Oh, girl. Are you leaving him?

Already asked for a divorce!

Oh! You think he’ll kill you?

I really think so. Lillia bit her lip. Violet didn’t know about the magic contract. She didn’t know why Kara’s place was so quiet and secure. Violet was not savvy about the magical world, she was definitely muggled, to put it politely and Lillia wasn’t about to initiate her. Not today.

They commiserated. They ate more mint ice cream and ordered dumplings from an Asian restaurant nearby. Lillia lost the coin toss and got the couch, while Violet got the tiny twin bed in the closet-sized bedroom. Might as well be a cupboard, she complained with a peculiar little smile on her face. She moved her leopard fleece, dragged her luggage inside, and plopped them on the bed.

They spent the rest of the day unpacking, making themselves comfortable, and checking if anything in Kara’s actual closet fit them. Very little did. They realized they’d have to go shopping at some point. Just not today. Lillia borrowed Violet’s phone to let her Mom know she was somewhere safe. But the feeling didn’t last. Before midnight Violet’s phone buzzed.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Have Lillia call me.

Violet deleted it and blocked the number.

Immediately another arrived.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Have Lillia call me.

Delete. Block. Violet was quick and efficient, but worry lines appeared on her forehead. Lillia watched her without saying anything. The phone buzzed a third time.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Have Lillia call me.

Lillia took the phone.

She excused herself and sat in the water closet, with the tiny toilet seat. It was so small inside her knees brushed against the door. Her hands shook as she squeezed the phone, not quite ready to dial him yet.

Somehow he’d found out Violet’s new, highly secret number. Did he contact all her friends, figuring one of them would know where she was?

She wasn’t ready to deal with him yet.

LILLIA: I want a week off.

BARON: Come back to the hotel.

LILLIA: Seven days off!

BARON: Where are you? I need you where I can protect you.

He did not know her exact location, because if he did, he’d be knocking down the door. There was no sense of relief. Even if she wasn't in imminent danger, she still was in trouble. Violet was at risk too.

That night, Lillia lay on the couch, her head on the armrest, which felt a little sticky from dinner and their extravagant ice cream survival sundaes, topped with peanuts and popcorn, drizzled in caramel and chocolate sauce. She couldn't sleep, not with her stomach full of sugar, not with the phone resting on the counter. She kept turning over restlessly, worrying about things.

Lillia put her hand on her belly where there was a baby, which probably wasn’t even as big as a beansprout yet. (She’d looked it up on Violet’s phone.) But it didn't feel real. She didn’t feel like another life was forming inside her. But it was and that was freaking her out. She didn’t know what to do about it and thinking about it made her stomach hurt and she wondered how early was too early to call it morning sickness, or if that was even the problem. It also seemed like a bad habit to start blaming things on the beansprout. What was she going to do?

That was the question.

The hardest one.

She didn’t know how to face it either.

But face it she would. Somehow. Tomorrow though, Lillia thought as she felt her nerves begin to spin.

She dug through her bag and got out the lavender-scented eye mask and the bath salts. Kara didn’t even have a shower, let alone a bath, but smelling the lavender salts helped clear Lillia’s head. That’s the only reason she noticed. At some point, the bottle of fairy ink had lost its top and was no longer half empty. The fairy ink was gone!

Chapter 3

The fairy ink was missing .

She had no idea when or how it happened. She didn’t see any stains in the bag, on the couch, or the fuzzy carpet under Kara’s coffee table. Of course, it wasn’t really ink. It was the essence of a fairy, one who’d gotten in the Baron’s way. Reason number two she was leaving him. Lillia checked under the couch. Nothing. She tiptoed into the kitchenette to investigate, trying her best not to make any noise or wake up Violet. She banged her head into one of the hanging plants. She opened the cupboards and found one of her fairies sleeping in a teacup.

No luck.

She sat on the couch, head in her hands, trying to figure out where it could have gone. It's not like it could escape, right? How was she supposed to care for a baby, if she couldn’t even keep track of a bit of fairy ink?

She lay down but kept listening for any unusual sounds. At some point, she must have fallen asleep because she woke up to the sound of a coffee pot bubbling, a pip pip pip in the darkness, and the smell trickling into her nose like a perfume. Someone moved around the kitchen banging pans, and a spoon clattered inside a cup. She was half asleep but got the impression they were trying not to make so much noise, which only made the noises louder.

Lillia tried to wake up. She struggled to lift her head, but it felt heavier than a bowling ball. By the time she sat up, pushed back the lavender face mask, and looked around, there wasn’t anybody in the kitchen. She thought she’d heard a door shut, and couldn’t figure out why Violet would make breakfast and coffee and go eat in her tiny room.

Violet? she whispered. Is that you? She moved toward the kitchenette and nearly stepped on a large black puddle. She had to stifle a scream. It appeared in the middle of the floor, with wiggly legs like a squished cartoon spider, and was oozing across the tiles. You! Where do you think you’re going? she demanded of her fairy ink in a harsh whisper.

The inky essence kept going, slow as a snail.

She poked at it, and it jumped out of reach.

Seconds later, it was trying to disappear under the refrigerator, and Lillia had pinched a wiggling arm, leg or was it a tail? It was squishy and nearly impossible to grip. She lost hold and it vanished into the void. Out came the soup spoons, which she tried to poke under the frig. You can’t stay under there. Come back, little one, she said in a sing-songy voice, hoping to coax and possibly scoop it up. She caught a tiny wiggling arm, and it stretched like spaghetti. She kept pulling, and it kept extending so that she felt like she was unraveling a sweater. She soon had a stringy mess, more like squid ink pasta. Why are you doing this to me? she said on the verge of tears.

It took forever, but she squished it back into its bottle just seconds before Violet came out of her room muttering: Mornin’. She headed straight for the coffee pot. Thanks, I needed some. Can’t put two words without a cuppa, as they say here. Cuppa Joe.

Lillia stared at her.

Violet kept mumbling into her cuppa, taken black apparently, no sugar or cream at first or it’d give her a stomach ache. Lillia’s eyes moved from the coffee and then back to Violet. The words stuck in her throat: I didn’t make it. I thought you did.

But she couldn’t say that aloud. That would beg the question, who did make it?

Violet squinted at her phone as she took another sip. Little early though. She made a face.

What time is it? Lillia croaked.

2:30. Violet thumped the cup on the table and they both went back to bed.

When they woke up properly, Violet warmed up her coffee in the microwave. Lillia was feeling off and still confused.

Did Kara have an instant-breakfast-maker or a magic-coffee spell that might have accidentally activated in the middle of the night? It was hard to know.

Lillia had never considered herself a Magus since she could only cast the most basic of spells; no protective wards, shields, or barriers of her own. Borrowing magic didn't count, because that particular talent had failed her. She couldn’t anymore. Not since she misused it. She'd been too preoccupied dealing with the Baron's schemes to sit down and figure out exactly what was wrong and how to fix it. So, her magical knowledge was limited enough, and facing Kara’s sophisticated spells was very intimidating.

All Lillia could see around the flat was a lot of interference from the wards and a complexity of magic inside the walls, word lattices, and Celtic knots overlapping in labyrinthine arrangements. Magic was once explained to her as the embodiment of spirit and mind within the realm of the arcana. Which means what exactly? she demanded. Well, it came down to two camps. You had the Logica, the ones who took a logical approach to spellwork, sometimes calling themselves mathemagicians these days. They used number equations and diagrams and had many rules. Or there was the Mystica, Magus who could explain nothing about their way of doing things without being vague and smug about it. They did magic by magic. Lillia fit that category. Although, she also had a formula to explain. Magic = mystery of the universe.

Kara appeared to take a more logical approach, which made Lillia's attempts to read her spellwork sorta like trying to understand calculus without knowing how to multiply. Plus, staring at the wallpaper too closely was going to confuse Violet.

They both tried somewhat unsuccessfully to ignore the pings from Violet’s phone. Lillia promised to buy a cheap pay-as-you-go phone, and the frig was now empty of actual food. They needed to go shopping for milk and chocolate syrup and more ice cream, among other things. We’ll go together, safer that way, Violet said, writing up a long list of necessities.

Before they left, Lillia noticed her fairy ink inching up the wall toward the air conditioner. She snatched it and stuffed it under a pillow before Violet saw it.

Lillia told her fairies to watch the ink while they went out.

They shopped for food at the closest Marks and Spencer and spent way too long picking out chocolate bars and biscuits. They bought tacky tourist shirts at a street kiosk before heading back. It was a relief to get out of the heat into Kara's building.

Who's that?

Lillia was instantly on guard. Someone tall and slender stood in front of Kara's door. Not the Baron. Violet would have known him from Lillia's photos. This man wore a casual striped shirt and a white Caribbean hat set at a jaunty angle like he was on a holiday and got his locations mixed up.

Wow, and I thought it was hawt outside. Violet fanned herself. If Kara is keeping this kinda sugar on the side, then she needs to share. I mean, come on!

Lillia recognized him. Matthews? Her eyes widened. The color drained out of her face.

Wait, you know him? He’s one of yours? Introduce me, please! Violet demanded.

Lillia hadn't seen the fae butler since she left Brimclif Island weeks ago. Matthews was not human, but in disguise as a very handsome one, like he should be on a beach modeling. His long ash-blond hair was tossed over one shoulder making her think of Legolas in Cancun, the pointy ears included, of course. But Matthews was fae, or to be specific, one of the elfren from Anglo Saxon times, who had lived in England since the tenth century, as it turned out. Though he'd left the UK to work for the Baron, under contract.

The Baron. Did he know?? Then did Matthews?

Violet tried to drag Lillia closer. Vi wait! Violet, I can’t just.... I have to... She needed to run.

Violet said something, but even though Lillia saw her lips move, she couldn't hear what Violet was saying. Someone must have hit the mute button. The hallway got narrower. Panic flooded her body, sending her arms and legs into a jittery mess. Like some kind of flight or fight response, but she wasn't fighting or flighting. She couldn’t move how she wanted.

Easy there, m’lady. Matthews swooped forward before she fainted. He lay his cheek against hers and whispered. He doesn't know. Helda sent me.

Helda did?

Helda was the guardian of the Brimclif family. But — but —  you’ll tell him.

I will not tell the Baron your current location. I give you my word. I may serve him, but I do you as well. And your well-being takes precedence.

This sent a shot of relief directly into Lillia’s whirling brain, but it made her knees buckle, and he had to catch her again. She stared at him and his silvery eyes and wondered if she could trust him. He couldn’t lie. The fae couldn’t. Something in their essence prevented it. But they could trick people with their words by bending the truth or leaving out details. So he could deceive her. Could she trust him? She didn’t know.

Next to her, Violet was dancing on her toes. Milady? My gawd. He calls you, Milady? I want someone to call me that!

Matthews turned with a simper. And you might be, m’lady?

Violet pretended to swoon. Then she introduced herself. Violetta, at your service.

He took her hand and kissed the back of it. No, I am at yours. And Lady Brimclif’s, of course.

How French, and gawd that accent!

Matthews, I’m fine now. I can stand up.

Of course, do try to be careful.

Such a gentleman. I love that accent. Don’t you love it? No wait, you probably hear it all the time. I’ve never been jealous before, but now.

Lillia was still trying to wrap her head around the fact Matthews was here. But why would Helda... she whispered.

Matthews bowed his head. I would love nothing more than to explain, but we shouldn’t remain out here m’lady. It seems your refuge is currently on fire. I suggest we find somewhere that is more secure.

It took a moment for that to sink in. What’s on fire, you mean Kara’s apartment?

Wait whaaaaat? Violet and Lillia both turned around in alarm.

Chapter 4

Typical for Matthews to drop that information as if he were offering them tea. ‘Oh, by the way, the parlor is on fire. Tea shall be served out to the terrace if you don’t mind.’

We need to leave, Matthews insisted, his hand tight around Lillia’s elbow.

Um? What do you mean there’s a fire?

No alarm? Violet cocked her head, listening.

There wasn’t any.

Not even warmth on the door. Lillia reached out and found it was the opposite. The door was cold to the touch, like the inside of a freezer and she recoiled as if bitten.

She stared at the door as Violet demanded how Matthews knew there was a fire inside if he hadn’t been in and couldn’t have since he didn’t have a key (did he want one?) and there wasn’t any sign of smoke or any alarm.

It’s hard to explain. Matthews’ eyes flickered to Lillia, changing briefly from uncertain human eyes to more fae-like, dusty white eyelashes and iridescent pupils like a cat’s.

We can’t just leave. My — my things are inside. My fairies. Lillia surged toward the door.

Matthews tried to restrain her. It isn’t safe, m’lady.

Violet started shouting. We should call the police — the bobbies — or at least the landlord — do they call them landlords here?

Lillia ignored them both. The doorknob was bone-chilling cold, and it ripped at her skin sending a zing of icy pain through her hands and up her arm. She forced the key into the deadbolt lock and wrenched it open.

A blast of arctic air hit her.

The air conditioner’s still on? It exploded? No! Not Mister Freeze! Violet cried.

Lillia braced herself against the cold, while Matthews stood just behind her. He reached for her hands and dulled the pain on them with a magic glow.

COLD FIRE! he shouted, which seemed rather obvious now. You’ll burn if you approach it. Please, stay back.

I can’t leave them. The fairies couldn’t escape the flat because of the wards and since they didn’t appear when she opened the door, she had no choice but to stumble inside.

Matthews grimaced and came with her, with Violet clutching his back and using it as a shield.

The air was a million degrees colder inside. The furniture had frozen over. The floor and walls had a crust of ice. Lillia didn’t dare look at the air conditioner, since it was bright white like a furnace and appeared to be in the middle of a nuclear meltdown — or whatever you call the opposite since the cold fire radiated with extreme cold. The bright burning spread more cold throughout the room turning it into an icebox.

Ice crystals spread like translucent fingers from the air conditioner vents, making her think the air itself was beginning to freeze. She gasped as she saw the fairies frozen in mid-leap with popsicle wings. They looked as if they’d tried to escape, but a sudden icy explosion caught them. She counted five fairies and a very large icicle blob, a frozen sea anemone in their midst. They stayed to watch the fairy ink.

Violet shouted from behind. CAN YOU TURN IT OFF?

Matthews replied. TOO DANGEROUS!

Let me get them out. But no one heard Lillia in the wind.

She let the cold air blow her toward the kitchen, where she found Kara’s strawberry-patterned oven mitts. With her hands covered, she pushed back into the wind, bracing herself and feeling like a mountain climber without the right equipment or clothes. Violet gave her a shove and Matthews tried to break the ice crystals with his hat.

Reaching in between the ice shards, Lillia grabbed a frozen fairy in each hand and began to extract them. Her skin brushed against the ice and instantly went numb, a pattern of frost grew along her bare arms. She couldn’t feel her nose and both Violet’s and Matthews’ faces were bright red. Their breath puffed in clouds and then froze into little pellets.

Suddenly the air conditioner stopped blowing and began to suck inward. The door slammed shut. Violet moved toward it and grabbed at the door handle, but Lillia could see it already freezing closed. Violet banged on it. LET US OUT! LET US OUT! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME!

Matthews’ eyes flickered around the room. We have to get out of here. He checked the bedroom, but couldn’t open that door either.

There was only a tiny window in the kitchen — covered in a thick sheet of ice.

Lillia kept reaching into the crystals to extract her fairies. More ice covered her arm and she started slipping on the floor. It was getting harder to breathe and the vicious air dragged her closer to the cold fire burning along the wall, but not through the wall. It couldn’t get through Kara’s wards.

LEAVE THEM! Matthews came to pull her away.

I WON’T. She stuffed the frozen fairies into her bag. She struggled to grip the frozen ink. It was too spiky. Violet had given up on the door and moved into the kitchen. MATCHES? BLOW TORCH? She banged open the cupboards.

WHY WOULD I HAVE A BLOW TORCH? a stricken voice shouted back at Violet.

FOR TORCHING MARSHMALLOWS 'N SMORES! Violet said.

HOW VERY AMERICAN!

Lillia glanced over her shoulder to see a figure in a thick coat with fur around the hood and snow goggles over their eyes.  WHY IS MY FLAT ANTARCTICA? WHAT DID YOU DO?

KARA? Violet was first to realize it. WHUT?

How’d she get inside?

But there was no time to figure it out.

WE CAN’T STAY ANY LONGER. IT’S GOING TO IMPLODE. Matthews waved his hand at the cold fire, which had grown bigger and blindingly white. Kara blinked at it. BLOODY HELL! LET’S MOVE PEOPLE!

Lillia gave up on the mitts, the strawberries had frozen solid, and there wasn’t time for fumbling. The ice crystals were being sucked inside now, splintering as they hit the cold fire, sending out plumes of misty smoke. Lillia grabbed the frozen ink with her bare hands, the cold like a distant pain. That couldn’t be good. She was falling inwards. Matthews jerked her away from the cold fire, at the last second.

Kara held out a thick gloved hand to each of them. She threw back her hood, and her ski goggles glinted with a growing inferno of white fire. THIS WAY!

They struggled into the kitchen.

Behind them, the cold fire hissed and spit out a radius of more cold, if that was possible. It was beginning to sizzle, and the couch had caught fire, a white-blue bonfire. Vibrations shook the ice off the walls. The cupboards flew open, and dishes fell, only to freeze midair, rather than shatter. Lillia didn’t know how they could save themselves, but Kara moved toward the pantry. The smaller door was hidden on the other side of the frig. It had been locked, but now it hung open with an odd mist inside. Kara pushed Violet, and everyone followed, crowding inside.

Lillia heard the pantry door click shut, and all of a sudden, there was only the thick fog around them, no sound of the cold fire crackling. Kara dragged Violet deeper inside the pantry, and Lillia came, guarded from behind by Matthews. Lillia couldn’t see anything behind him; it was just a blanket of white and freezing cold. His arm tightened around her and his face leaned forward in a determined, handsome scowl. Violet was somewhere ahead of them, and Kara blended into the cold mist, making her only an outline. Blinking didn’t help. It made Lillia feel dizzy for some reason. This pantry was much larger than it should have been. Lillia heard a sudden crack, like ice breaking. She jumped in alarm. Was the cold fire exploding inside Kara’s flat? She braced herself for the impact. But the air thickened strangely, and Lillia’s teeth began chattering. She realized it was slightly warmer than it had been, but it was somehow harder to breathe. She felt like no matter how much air she sucked into her lungs, she wasn’t getting enough oxygen. Her arms shook, and her head began spinning. It was like stepping into a fun house floor, which became a tilt-a-whirl, and now she was sliding out of control, her equilibrium thrown off balance. Her feet slipped, and she nearly fell with Matthews. She was just going to close her eyes for a minute.

In here. Kara’s voice was muffled. She gestured them under a beam into a space with a low ceiling and thick wooden columns. The floor here was dirt and covered in musty straw mats. The room stored thick barrels, like the kind in a vineyard. The fog smelled like old sour vinegar and cheap wine.

Where.. did you ...come from, Kara? Lillia asked as Kara turned up a camping lamp on a nearby table. The fog around them turned into yellow soup. Kara dug through a drawer and took out a lacquered medicine box.

Violet turned to Lillia, her eyes wide and teeth chattering. Where is this? What happened? Am I dreamin’?

Kara? Lillia asked again. Where are we?

Tibet.

Ha! Violet laughed.

Well, a little south of Tibet near Butan and a little bit higher in elevation. I’ve been acclimatizing for weeks, but take these, or you’ll be sick. She handed over green pills and then found a mug of cold coffee for them to wash it down. Violet took them dubiously, and Matthews made sure Lillia took hers right away. He waved away the ones Kara offered him. Not necessary.

Lillia felt the magic sliding down her throat. It sizzled as it worked its way into her system, and the dizziness faded, leaving her weary. Matthews plopped a stool down for her. It wobbled, but Lillia needed it. He placed his hands on her shoulders and rubbed along her back. The warmth of his hands was soothing. He healed the ice burns on her arm.

This can’t be good for your condition, but I’ll try to help with the discomfort, he murmured.

Thank goodness he was here. That Helda sent him. The Brimclif guardian was known for meddling, usually not in a good way.

The fog was clearing up, or rather was blowing away, and gave them a view outside. They were in a sort of lean-to hut, with thick wood beams of weathered wood and an alarming rockface nearby. The old hut was built alongside the stone, and nearby was a stone staircase, no handrails, only a bit of frayed rope to help lead up from a precipice. The clouds parted to reveal