“You ready?” I call up the stairs, glancing down once more at my watch. How long can it take to throw on a cloak? Blasted woman. It’s not like these are formal affairs. Clothing choices don’t matter since the cloak covers it anyway.
“Coming, coming!” The tapping of shoes tells me she is, indeed, following her own words, and within seconds, she appears at the top of the stairs. The black cloak dances at her ankles, its long arms covering up to her wrists. The hood is up, obscuring the top of her hair.
In a blink, she’s at the bottom of the steps beside me.
“Finally,” I grumble, trying to ignore the way my heart speeds up at her nearness. “Grab hold of my clothing and I’ll get us there. I don’t feel like losing you in the abyss.”
She does and I transport us into the clearing Fortuna uses
