Harry reflexively sneered at the mental invasion, but he was starting to get a little better about it. Phaedra didn't read his thoughts unless he was projecting them, and she never went looking on her own without permission. It wasn't ideal, but it was acceptable.
Not that he would be saying so.
Tunnel of... Harry swore under his breath, the word arriving like an undercurrent of thought. I've seen something like that before. Let's check it out. And check the damn seats for any reagents. He'd been whammied by a love spell before, but that had been with Murphy, and it had been triggered by the definite kinship they had for one another. He could still remember the euphoria of that gentle, sweet love, and the bitterness he'd felt once it had crumbled.
There was a lot about this fair that wasn't sitting right with him, but there was too much emotion around, too much lingering power from the damned Gates for him to get a fix on anything. The Tunnel was a start, at least.