"Where are the triplets?" Mum asks rhetorically as we stand down the very bottom of our sprawling grounds.
It is New Year’s Eve morning, and Ophelia has given us a ten-minute warning before her arrival.
Still unfair that she gets to travel by tree, I mutter to Calix.
They’re both fae. That is the only way it works now.
Fern and Olive need to hurry up and get their wings so I can ditch the car.
Really? And how exactly would you get anywhere without them? You think you’re ever taking Lyra on a date by asking her to hold hands with your fourteen-year-old faerie sisters?
My eyes widen at the mental image.
Also, at the date idea.
Oh. You haven't really thought that far ahead, have you?
Not even a little, I admit.
My mind has drifted a lot this past week. Only in small ways, mostly. No
