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I release the spell building inside of me. The magic catches us immediately, pulling us through to the foyer of a place I thought I'd never see again.

And yet it stretches beneath my feet: the black-and-white marble underneath an inch of dust and grime, the chandelier overhead covered in countless cobwebs, dried leaves piled in the corners of the old house.

Shame, a familiar friend, tightens my throat at the sight.

"Well, darlin," I say, "I'm about to be your new best friend. Welcome home. Welcome to the Midnight House."

I’m not sure I deserve to be here, not sure I deserve the look of gratitude the small woman is giving me as she stares up into my face. Not sure I deserve anything about this moment at all. But by the Gods old and new, I'm smart enough to know that I've been given a second chance.

Three

VIVIENNE

I'm starting to think that the cheap bottle of red wine I bought was a bad idea. More than that, I'm starting to wonder if it was just red wine or if I unintentionally bought one of those THC-laced drinks.

"Were you a bear?" I ask, blinking at the bearded man holding me tight to his body and staring at me with an unnerving focus I'm not sure I've ever been the recipient of before in my life.

"Aye, lassie, I was," he tells me.

I push my hands against his chest—which I'm surprised to find is a solid, thick wall of muscle—until he sets me down on the floor gently. A floor that is neither the stone of where I seemed to be just a moment ago nor the damp tunnels beneath the city.

The artifact is still in my hands, and I look from it to the strange man's face and wobble slightly, unsteady on my feet. Unsteady everywhere.

"I don't do well with THC," I tell him.

"Well, it's good you haven't had any," he says, his voice a gravelly Scottish accent—the kind I thought was only possible on TV shows.

"What is happening?" I ask him. "What do you mean I haven't had any?" The words tumble out, questions butting up against each other fast enough to give me vertigo all over again. "I threw up," I say, pressing a hand to my stomach.

"It was a well-aimed sickness," the man says easily, his eyes glinting with humor.

I swallow hard against a wave of nausea as I take him in—a neatly trimmed beard, black with hints of silver throughout; longish, silver-flecked black hair with a few braids in the tousled mane clipped in dark silver; and on one ear, several bands of what looks like more silver, edged with what at first glance seems to be Celtic knots.

Nothing he’s wearing makes sense, like he was dragged straight out of some historical Highland romance novel into downtown Philadelphia. A heavy wool kilt in dark greens and charcoal shows off muscled legs, and the thick forearms are wrapped in leather vambraces, if my knowledge of random armor serves me correctly… and then there’s no ignoring the huge fucking broadsword strapped to his back.

Still, there’s no doubt he's beautiful, this very strangely dressed man.

"I wish you were a hallucination," I tell him. "Seriously."

A laugh bursts out of him, and I tilt my head back as the enormity of his physical presence washes over me with that sound. He's huge—probably the biggest man I've ever seen in my life. Easily over six feet, probably closer to seven. Broad shoulders, trim waist, and of course, that block of solid muscle where I pushed off his chest.

I clear my throat. "I have no idea what's going on. I don't know how I'm here, and I'm starting to think that the wine I had had a lot more than just alcohol in it."

"It's fair for you to think that, darling," he says. "But I'm afraid you've stumbled into something that can't be explained by anything as mundane as what mere humans would put in a bottle, no matter how cheap."

"How did you know it was cheap?" I ask him, jutting my chin out and feeling slightly belligerent.

He nods his chin at the bottle poking out the zipper of my backpack. "If you didn't smell like cheap wine, I'd know just by the sight of it."

"What do you mean, 'smell like cheap wine?’" I say, sniffing myself delicately. "And you said you couldn't smell any marijuana on me because..."

"You asked if I was a bear, and there you have the right of it. The name's Lachlan MacTavish of Clan MacTavish. From the Scottish Highlands, though spent lots of time in Dundee when I was a young man. I claim the Highlands and they claim me back, just as you and House Midnight have claimed my service."

It's all delivered in a lilting voice that's as charming as it is deep and unexpected.

"I think I'm gonna be sick again," I say.

"That's all right, lassie. House'll clean it up for you."