Faye

Emelda tucks my hand in the crook of her elbow as we walk through the fog. It’s drizzling, and the sky’s a deep gray in the faint early morning sunlight peeking through the mist.

“Does it always rain like this here?” I ask, turning to Emelda. She smiles down at me, her face shielded by the hood of her crimson cloak.

“It does, honestly. There’s a thunderstorm almost every night. I actually really enjoy it.”

“Does it ever snow?”

“Sometimes.” She smiles with a shrug. “Usually around the Winter Solstice. Queen Emory celebrates it–she goes all out. It’s something both vampires and shifters honor. The longest night of the...