“Zee!” Ursula gripped Zee’s shoulders. She slapped her cheek again, but this time Zee didn’t wake up—didn’t even flinch.
Horror tightened around Ursula’s heart. “Driver! We have a situation.” She dug around in her purse until she found her mobile. With trembling fingers, she scrolled to Kester’s number. He picked up after a few rings.
“Kester?” she shouted, pulse racing.
“Is everything okay?” Apparently the cell phone had no trouble conveying the panic in her voice.
“Zee’s unconscious.” The words poured out of her. “And I think Hugo’s dead. Something called Abe kissed me and he sucked out my fire. And then he kissed Zee, but I stabbed him. I gave her an EpiPen—”
“Slow down. Hugo’s dead?”
Ursula took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I went to the men’s room to talk to Hugo. I didn’t think he was there at first, but then I found him in a stall in the back. He’s dead. I think. Abe was kissing him, and said he’d drunk too deeply.”
“What exactly did Abe look like?”
“Tall. Gorgeous. Golden skin. Grey eyes. His touch was like ice cubes. He made me feel—” Her stomach clenched. She wasn’t going to go into the whole arousal scenario. “Do vampires exist?”
There was a long pause. “He made you feel how?”
Ursula thought she detected a note of anger in his voice. “He made me think I wanted to kiss him.” That was both a euphemism and a secret she had no desire to share with Kester, but maybe it would help identify whatever the hell that thing was.
“Not a vampire,” he snarled. “Where are you?”
“In the Bentley. Outside the Met. Should I come back to the Plaza?”
“No. Tell Joe to take you to the Elysian. Tell him to floor it.” He hung up.
Ursula glanced at Joe. “Elysian. He said to floor it.”
Without responding, Joe stepped on the accelerator, cutting into traffic. They raced up 10th Avenue and turned onto West 66th street, weaving between taxis. She clung to Zee, trying to keep her from bouncing all over the car—there hadn’t been time to think about seatbelts. For a few moments, a city bus blocked their path, but Joe swerved around it like he was driving a Formula One race car, until—at last—he veered wildly into an empty parking lot by the Hudson River. Frantic thoughts ignited Ursula’s mind—Zee’s poisoned body, her own skin blackening in a fire.
The car skidded to a halt, and Joe popped the locks on doors.
“Where are we?” Ursula asked, shuddering at the sound of the wind howling and keening against the car windows.
Joe simply tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.
“Thanks, Joe. That’s really helpful.” She turned to scoop the diminutive fae into her arms, clumsily pulling her closer. As she grasped Zee’s waist and shoulders, someone yanked open the door behind her, and an icy wind rushed into the car.
Kester stood in the dim street lights, the wind tearing at him like a wild animal. Despite the cold, he remained perfectly still, oblivious to the frigid air. He stood barefoot, wearing only a pair of boxers, his strong chest covered in menacing tattoos. Wordlessly, Kester gathered Zee into his arms, eyes blazing.
“Will she be okay?” Ursula asked, stepping out of the car into the freezing air.
“Come with me,” he said, as Joe drove away.
So he’s not going to answer my questions. She was obviously in trouble—big trouble. He’d warned her that if she screwed up, he’d have to send her to Emerazel.
She rubbed her arms, trying to burn some warmth into her skin. “Is she okay?” she repeated, clutching her purse to her chest. Please wake up, Zee.
Silently, he pressed on over the icy pavement.
Ursula’s heels clacked over the asphalt as she followed him, and her body burned with fatigue. From the river, the wind whipped off the tops of the waves, blowing a freezing spray that coated everything in a thin layer of ice. Ursula hugged herself, shivering in her flimsy dress.
He led her toward a dock that jutted into the water. Despite his bare feet and state of undress, he navigated the slick planking with ease. Swirls of steam rose from the ground as his fiery body melted the icy ground. Ursula trailed behind, clutching a frozen rail.
At the end of the dock, a paint-chipped tugboat floated in the water, tied to a post. Its stern had been painted with gold lettering: ELYSIAN. Not exactly what she’d expected of a place with such a poetic name. It looked like a large, shabby version of a child’s bathtub toy. Is this where he lives?