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454 pages, ebook
First published April 7, 2026

He turned to her and said, “I’ll meet you down here at seven,” as though he was a completely normal person and not a smokestack fae prince with a sometimes-job who was also a surprisingly good dancer.
He said it like he had time for nothing but to rip out and hold in his hand the bloody, still-beating heart of any matter.
“Someone told me you’re a billionaire.”
He laughed.
He laughed.
A short laugh, but still: a huff of air out, a rasp of the lowest register of his voice escaping through the flash of his straight, white teeth, which Layla had never gotten a good look at. She felt, for a second, like one of the hideous, heavy chandeliers had fallen directly onto her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael’s face turn toward them—as though even from several steps away, with several sets of people milling between them, he could hear Griffin’s laugh, too.
”You’re . . .” She trailed off, temporarily stuck on the wrong completion of this sentence.
You’re even more handsome when you laugh. You’re like a secret door in the wall. You’re an electrical storm in my spine.
I’ll tell you however many times you need to hear it, he’d told her one night, a few months ago. I’ll keep pulling you back from whatever gate you’re thinking of going through.
He pretended it [Notre Dame] was still in ruins. That no one would ever come back to fix it. If that were true, he knew, he wouldn’t be able to stand this close to it; he knew it would be surrounded by barricades and warning signs and probably French policemen. But that little hurdle was no match for his apparently still-skilled pretending brain.
…His eyes drifted to the other bell tower, the one he hadn’t been looking at, and he pictured his wiry, hardy mother, brown-gray braid down her back, scrubbing its walls clean. Shouting out of one of her stone arches a few times a day, asking whether the monster across the way was up yet.
He would say it close enough for her to hear it loud and clear. “There shouldn’t be anything amicable about losing you,” he said. There should be a war, he thought. An army of stone gargoyles, ordered to be alive. All to come get you. All to show you that you should never shrug like that again.