Grave Visions (Alex Craft, #4)(95)

Again a tight nod. “After the queen is dethroned, at least. Before that it will revert back to her. A fail-safe to help her protect her seat of power. And as to passing it off, I can only do that with the queen’s blessing.”

And no queen, no blessing. Great. So there was a higher than average chance any change in power would involve Falin’s death.

Reaching out, I squeezed his hand. He glanced down at where my gloved hand touched his, and the smallest smile tipped the edges of his lips as he squeezed back.

Behind me, the fake Death began screaming again. “Are your emotions so fickle, Alex Craft? I’ve proven willing to sacrifice my everlasting soul for you, and your heart still wanders?”

I jerked my hand out of Falin’s as if a snake had lunged at me. Then I whirled on the fake Death.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” I yelled at him. “You aren’t real.”

The fake Death smiled his very un-Death-like mocking grin. Anger washed through me, tinged with guilt. A second fake Death appeared, this one spouting off rhetoric about my inability to commit as the other returned to goading me about how little I knew about my own lover.

Dizziness crashed over me with the second hallucination’s appearance, and I swayed. Only Falin’s hands steadying my shoulders kept me from falling to the sleet-encrusted floor. That gave the Deaths even more fuel to work with.

“Alex, stay calm,” Falin whispered. “The drug is triggered by your anxiety and fear and it’s feeding off your energy. You don’t have much to spare. So try to stay calm.”

I nodded, knowing he was right. But even knowing something was true or for my own good didn’t make it easy.

Taking a deep breath, I turned my back on the two fake Deaths and tried to ignore them. Falin watched me a moment longer, as if afraid I’d collapse if he looked away. Then he also turned, striding through the slush once more.

We’d rounded two corners in the seemingly never-ending corridors when I drew up short. Falin stopped, studying me with one cocked eyebrow. The question in his expression was clear, as was a hint of irritation. Me and my hallucinations were slowing us down and Ryese was out there. Somewhere.

Still, I waved him off, trying to concentrate. I felt . . . something. A kind of change in the space around me. It was similar to the magic trail I’d followed when I’d found the amaranthine tree. But that trail had felt warm, good. The disturbance I felt this time was . . . wrong.

Like a wound cut into the very fabric of Faerie.

I glanced around. There were doors on either side of the corridor. I’d stepped into the trail, and it led forward, so whoever or whatever had caused the disturbance in reality had originated from behind one of the two doors.

“Where do these go?” I asked, pointing from one to the other door.

Falin frowned at me. “Currently?”

Right. Faerie and its shifting doors. I sighed. Then I started forward again, motioning Falin to lead on. There was no telling if the disturbance I felt was even real.

The sleet fell harder and faster as we walked. I balled my fists and tucked them under my armpits, trying to get some warmth back into my fingers. The disturbance also seemed to grow rawer the farther we walked. I wasn’t sure if we were actually following a trail or if my hallucinations were damaging Faerie. Or maybe it was another symptom of the queen’s loss of control.

Maybe the queen is also hallucinating.

If Ryese had been dosing her with Glitter, and he got an opportunity to slip more to her, he may well have given her the critical amount to reach hallucinations.

The sleet-slush had built up to ankle-deep by the time we turned the next corner, but soggy paths had been trod through it already. Falin frowned at the indistinct footprints, but I tried to keep my steps in line with those who’d cut the path—my boots were water resistant only up to the point the laces started, and as my feet were the only part of me still dry, I wanted to keep them that way.

Falin paused in front of one door. Based on the runnels in the sleet, a lot of fae had passed this way, and recently. The trail dragging across realities was stronger here as well. Sharper, almost, and deeper.

And oh so very wrong.

If it had been something I could see, I would have expected an infected wound, open and dripping with pus. The trail led directly into the doorway Falin was about to step through. I grabbed his arm, making him hesitate.

“If Faerie rejects the queen’s right to rule the court, would that cause a wound in the fabric of Faerie?”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze moving over my face as if he’d find the answer there. “What kind of wound?” he asked, his voice low, cautious.

I tried to think of a way to describe the raw sensation, but I was cold and exhausted, and I wasn’t even sure it was real and not another Glitter effect. Instead of answering, I shook my head and dropped my hand from Falin’s arm. He studied my face one more moment before his gaze shifted to the screaming Deaths behind me and then back. Reaching out, he pressed a hand to my forehead.

“You’re burning up.”

“I promise you, I’m freezing,” I told him, wrapping my arms around my middle in an effort to slow my trembling.

Falin didn’t argue, he just gave me a look—a sad, knowing look—and said, “Let’s get you your tie to Faerie.”

Then he stepped through the doorway.