Tempt the Stars

“
You’re as crazy as she is,”
Pritkin had told him.
    And maybe he was. And maybe I was. Because the eyes in the mirror looked different tonight. Not in color or shape or anything I could put a finger on. Just different. Like maybe they’d seen things that had changed the mind behind them a little.
    I fingered the fabric of the trousers, what there was of it, and realized that it wasn’t silk. It wasn’t from an insect or an animal I’d ever seen before. It wasn’t from this
planet
. Like the dirt clinging to my temple.
    I brushed it away, and it didn’t feel any different under my fingertips.
    But it was.
    Three months. That’s all it had been, since Agnes left me that heads-up on my computer, starting all of this. I wondered what that Cassie would think, what she’d say, if I told her what I’d seen today. If I described driving a chariot through—what had Caleb called it? A rose red city, half as old as time? Or riding a carpet high above an alien world, while spells exploded around me like fireworks. Or watching three moons rise in a deep blue twilight, under a canopy of stars I couldn’t name . . 
    Or being chased by a demon lord, or targeted by a bunch of bad-tempered guards, or almost eviscerated by a mass of vengeful golems.
    I didn’t have to guess; I knew what the old Cassie would have told me. In a word:
run.
Get out, get lost, go somewhere else, go somewhere safe. But that was the real trick, wasn’t it? There was no place safe anymore. And once, quite recently, that thought would have terrified me.
    It still did. Of course it did. It wasn’t like I
enjoyed
getting chased or beaten up or almost killed. . . 
    But there were things, about this new life . . . things I had sort of enjoyed. Or been in awe of. Or, like Caleb, wished I’d had longer to explore . . 
    Or something. I frowned at my reflection and swallowed my pills. I didn’t understand myself and I was starting to think in circles. I went back to bed.
    It was soft and the room kept gently swirling underneath me, to the point that I closed my eyes, just to get it to stop. I’d get up in a minute. I’d go try to wring some more answers out of Casanova, like what a summons from the demon high council was supposed to look like. I’d get a bath, because I could certainly use one. I’d try to figure out what I was going to tell everyone about the whole thing on the drag. I’d . . . I’d . . 

Chapter Twenty-one
    I woke up the second time to the most wonderful smell ever being wafted around under my nose.
    “That’s it,” somebody said as I instinctively followed it. “Just a couple . . . more . . . there!”
    And before I knew it, some bastard had plopped a pillow behind my back, preventing me from reattaching myself to my lovely soft bed. But since whoever it was also slid a tray full of bacon and flapjacks and maple syrup and OJ and coffee and fresh fruit and toast under my nose, I didn’t complain too much. I also didn’t answer, because I was already stuffing my face.
    God, this one-meal-a-day thing had to go. But it was a hell of a meal. I was halfway through with it before I looked up, to see Fred eyeing my plate jealously.
    “You know, I’ve never really seen the reason for pancakes and toast,” he commented, sidling up next to the latter. “Not in the same meal, anyway. I mean, they’re both basically bread—”
    “My bread,” I said, around a mouthful. And quickly slopped butter and strawberry jam all over the measly two pieces I’d been provided, because licking them would probably have been rude.
    “There’s more downstairs,” Marco pointed out, earning him a grin. Had my back.
    “Yeah, but I need ’em up here. You could have said you were ordering breakfast,” Fred pointed out.
    “I didn’t whisper.”
    “But I was out on the balcony, making a call. I didn’t hear—”
    “Not my problem.”
    “—and who orders breakfast at seven p.m., anyway?”
    “Seven p.m.?” I asked, confused. Because it sure felt like I’d slept longer than that.
    “You’ve almost slept the clock around,” Marco told me.
    I stared at him a moment. And then—
    “You’re not going anywhere,” he told me, which didn’t impress. Unfortunately, he also had a hand on the shoulder I was trying to leverage out of bed, and I guess that did. Because I wasn’t making any headway.
    “I have to talk to Caleb, to Casanova—” I said, struggling. ’Cause despite the sleep, it didn’t