Not again.
She’d seen a lot of uncomfortable stuff that went away with a hard blink and firm shake of her head, so . . . there had to be a reasonable explanation for this. It was a wicked technological effect, that’s all. She’d be fine when she figured out how he did it.
She stepped closer herself, fingers ready to touch. She held up her hand against the screen, reached. Her hand—oh no—tingled and joined his on the other side. She felt him move closer, his hard chest at her shoulder as his free arm circled her waist. They were almost dancing, and she fit against him perfectly. Her skin tingled at his nearness, her blood warmed. This was starting to be a problem.
“Don’t pull away,” he said, then stepped them both through the surface.
The trees seemed real, but she only had a passing impression of them. A deep, layered scent, heady. A hurtful longing ripped at her heart. Whispering voices filled her head: Remember!
But the single step carried them into the middle of a city. New York. Across the street from Central Park.
They’d been in one place . . . and were now in another. Impossible.
Her knees gave, but Khan held her up and pulled her into a close embrace. This couldn’t be real, couldn’t be happening. This went beyond occasional hallucinations, maybe to a complete psychotic break.
She dropped her head on his chest to blank out the city street. He smelled good—dark and woodsy like those trees, and masculine, with something sharp and exotic besides. She smothered the impulse to put her arms around his neck and hold on tight. Wait, she was holding on to him tight. Maybe a little bit longer . . .
If she could just take a deep breath, everything would be okay.
“Magic,” he said into her ear.
Layla shook her head in denial. Couldn’t be.
“It is,” he said with that honey-dark voice. “I would have taken you directly to your residence, but I do not know where you live.”
She choked on a sarcastic laugh. “You can’t use magic to find out?”
“Would that it worked that way. I’d have found you sooner.”
Layla noticed the amused glance of a middle-aged man walking briskly with a paper under his arm, as if she and Khan were canoodling in public. She pulled away, straightening her clothes. Without his arms, she needed a coat. The city was freezing.
“So we teleported?” Maybe he had some superadvanced technology, like from an alien civilization. Maybe that was it.
“I would say we passed.” He held out a hand to invite her back to him. “Is it so hard to believe in magic?”
Kinda, yeah. Magic belonged to fairy tales. Life was based in reality. Growing up as a foster kid, she’d learned that the hard way. Shunted from home to facility, she’d been forced to abandon any and all daydreams, all hope for a bit of magic. It was too painful when those hopes were dashed over and over again. Things were what they were, and nothing more. Even her hallucinations were just a chemical imbalance, a defect probably caused by her addict mother during pregnancy. Reality was cruel, but she could trust it. How could she possibly believe in magic?
“Then you’re like, what—a wizard?” She took a step back. The space between them chilled her more than the winter weather. That she was already halfway home, in semifamiliar surroundings, helped her keep her composure.
“I warned you that your perceptions would be challenged.” He reached a little farther toward her. “This is just the beginning.”
Layla didn’t budge. Perceptions challenged?
No, no. It was way worse. More like . . . perceptions confirmed. Because if this guy had a magic mirror, then maybe all the weird shit she’d seen throughout her life was real, too.
Oh, God, she was going to be sick. She couldn’t think about that possibility.
“The wraiths—are they infected with a disease or . . . or . . . are they magic?”
“Magic.”
“And Talia Thorne?”
“Magic.”
Legs suddenly weak, Layla ignored his hand entirely and lowered herself slowly to the sidewalk. She wrapped her arms over her breasts to keep warm. This changed everything.
A young woman walking by gave her a wide berth, but her sweatered Shih Tzu yipped briefly before being yanked on its way.
“What about Adam Thorne?”
Khan towered over her, tall and dark and now very dangerous. “Not magic.”
Figured.
She focused across the street into the park, gazing at the break in the low stone wall where the sidewalk led into patchy November-stricken grass. Some guy stood at the edge, staring at Khan. Beautiful, dark haired, model perfect, the guy was positively glowering with his icepale eyes. He must have seen them come out of “magic” nowhere.
She had the urge to ask the stranger if what had happened was real. What it looked like from his perspective.
But Layla felt Khan’s hand under her arm and she followed his upward pull. He was returning the other man’s glare. “We go.”