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352 pages, Paperback
First published January 16, 2024
1910. Set about a year after the events of the first book, Emily is on the quest to find the hidden door to Wendell’s faerie realm, while still avoiding a commitment to him by agreeing to his marriage proposal, and also working on a new project: a map of the various faerie realms known to humans. But all plans go askew when some mysterious assassins invade Cambridge to attack Wendell. Emily decides that they need to travel to Austria immediately, not just to evade the dangerous attackers but also because she believes that the door to Wendell’s realm lies somewhere in the Austrian Alps. Will Emily be able to figure out the faerie doors in the Alps and find the right one before the danger to Wendell’s life looms even larger?
The story comes to us through the first-person journal entries written by Emily as a part of her research.
"I'm sorry," I said, self-conscious now. "Perhaps I shouldn't talk."
"Whyever not?" He drew back, examining me with a perplexed smile. "I like the way you talk. And everything else about you, in fact. Is that not clear by now?"
I felt laughter bubble up inside me, but I hid it behind a mock-serious expression. "I'm not sure."
There was something about Poe sitting there vibrating with fear and proud excitement that made me wish to hug him.
"I’m afraid I have not gotten over my resentment of him for saving me ... I shall be the one to rescue him from whatever faerie trouble we next find ourselves in."Emily Wilde is somewhat of a conundrum to most of the scholarly world.
Now that Emily Wilde finished her encyclopedia, the next step is to create a map of the faerie realms and considering Wendell is an ex-faerie king, that should be a boon in her pocket.
"Em, I must confess—I am in awe of you. I believe I am also a little frightened."
I was such a huge fan of the scary-fairies and the world that Heather Fawcett created that I was a bit nervous to pick up the sequel.
"I knew you were the real threat. Mortals always are, aren’t they?"
For the Folk are terrible indeed—monsters or tyrants or both—but are they not also ridiculous?
Nor did I think Wendell was different from other Folk, particularly—kinder, less enigmatic, or somehow more human. I simply didn’t care. I loved him.
Assassins are a monstrous breed. Either they attack when you are at your worst, or they are having a go at you on your birthday. I have never known a more dishonourable profession.
How I missed you.
“It was only a day!” I can hear you reply.
Well, a day is far too long.
But I am too pragmatic to be above flattering the common fae, even if they have recently dined on my friends.
“there is nothing trivial about good coffee.”