Wicked Lovely (12 page)

Finally Grams wrote,
Stay away from them as much as you can. Remember the rules.

Aislinn nodded. She didn't often try to hide things from Grams, but she wasn't going to admit that she'd tried to follow them or tell her about Seth's research.

Grams had always insisted that avoidance was the best and only plan. Aislinn no longer thought that was a good answer—if she was honest, she'd never thought it was.

She simply said, "I'm being careful. I know what's out there."

Grams frowned and gripped Aislinn's wrist briefly. "Keep your cell phone in your pocket. I want to be able to reach you."

"Yes, Grams."

"And keep me updated on your schedule in case—" Her voice broke. She wrote,
We'll
try your way for a few days. Wait them out. No mistakes.
Then
she starting
tearing the paper into tiny pieces. "Go on. Get something to eat. You need to keep your wits about you."

"Sure," Aislinn murmured as she gave Grams a quick squeeze.

Wait them out?
Aislinn wasn't sure that was possible. If Grams knew they were court fey, Aislinn would be on lockdown. She'd bought herself a little time, but it wouldn't last.
I
need answers now.
Hiding wasn't the answer. Neither was running.

She wanted a normal life—college, a relationship, simple things. She didn't want all of her decisions to be based on the whims of faeries. Grams had lived that way, and she wasn't happy. Aislinn's mother hadn't even had a chance to find out if she could have a normal life. Aislinn didn't want to take either of their paths. But she didn't know how to make it any different, either.

Faeries—
court faeries
—didn't stalk a person for no reason. Unless she found out what they wanted, found out how to undo whatever had caught their attention, she doubted they'd be going away anytime soon. And if they didn't go away, Aislinn's freedom would. That wasn't an option she liked.
At all.

After grabbing a quick bite, Aislinn retreated to her room and closed the door. It wasn't a sanctuary. It didn't reflect her personality like Seth's house or Rianne's too-girly bedroom. It was just a room, a place to sleep.

Seth's feels more like home.
Seth
feels like home.

There were some things that mattered to her in her room, things that made her feel connected—a poetry book that was her mother's, black-and-white prints of photos from an exhibit in Pittsburgh. Grams had surprised her that day—authorized ditching school and taken her to the
Carnegie
Museum
. It was great.

Beside those prints were some of hers that Grams had blown up for her birthday one year. One shot of the railroad yard still made her smile. She'd started taking photos to see if faeries would show up on film: since she saw them when she looked through the lens, would they show on film? They didn't, but she enjoyed the process of taking photos enough that she was glad she'd tried the experiment.

It wasn't much, though, the proof of her personality in the room.
It's only glimpses.
Life felt like that sometimes— like everything she revealed or did had to be preplanned.
Focus.
Control.

She turned out the lights, crawled into bed, and pulled out her cell.

Seth answered on the first ring. "Miss me already?"

"Maybe."
She closed her eyes and stretched.

"Everything okay?"
He sounded tense, but she didn't ask why. She didn't want to talk about anything bad, any worries.

"Tell me a story," she whispered. He always made the bad things seem less awful.

"What kind of story?"

"One that'll make me
have
good dreams."

He laughed then, low and sexy.
"Better give me a rating for that dream."

"Surprise me." She bit her lip.
I know better.
She really needed to stop flirting with him before she crossed a line she couldn't back away from.

He didn't say anything for a minute, but she could hear him breathing.

"Seth?"

"I'm here." His voice was soft, hesitant. "Once upon a time, there was a girl…"

"Not a princess."

"No.
Definitely not.
She was too smart to be a princess.
Tough, too."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah.
Stronger than anyone realized."

"Does she live happily ever after?"

"Shouldn't there be something in the middle?"

"I like to read the ending first." She waited, curled up in her bed, to hear his assurances, to believe—for a minute at least—that everything could be okay. "So did she?"

He didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. She heard the sounds of traffic, of his breathing. She'd fallen asleep like that before—just holding the phone while he walked home, feeling that connection to him.

Finally he said, "Did I mention how sexy she was?"

She laughed.

"She was so unbelievably beautiful that—" He paused and she heard the unmistakable screech as he opened his door. "And this is the part where the rating changes."

"You're at home?" She could hear him moving around, door closing, keys clanking on the counter, his jacket dropping—probably on the table. "I'll let you go then."

"What if I don't want you to?" he asked.

She heard the music as he walked toward his room, some sort of jazz. Her heart sped up, thinking of him getting stretched out on his bed too, but her voice only sounded a little off when she said, "Good night, Seth."

"So you're running again, then?" One of his boots thudded on the floor.

"I'm not running."

The other boot hit the floor.
"Really?"

"Really.
It's just—" She stopped; she didn't have anything that would finish that sentence and be honest.

"Maybe you should slow down, so I can catch you." He paused, waiting. He seemed to do that more and more lately, make statements that invited her to admit something dangerous to their friendship. When she didn't answer he added, "Sweet dreams, Ash."

After they hung up, Aislinn held the phone in her hand, still thinking about Seth.
It would be a bad idea. A really, really bad idea…
She smiled.
He thinks I'm smart
and
sexy.

She was still smiling when she fell asleep.

[The Sidhe] are shape-changers; they can grow small or grow large, they can take what shape they choose
;…
they are as many as the blades of grass. They are everywhere.

—
Visions and Beliefs m the West of Ireland

by
Lady Augusta Gregory (1920)

When Aislinn walked up the steps to Bishop O.C. the next morning, she saw them: fey things lingering outside the door, watching everyone, and seeming strangely serious.

Inside more faeries clustered at the doorway to the principal's office.
WTF?
They usually avoided the school— whether from the rows of steel lockers or the abundance of religious artifacts, she didn't know.
Both, maybe.

By the time she reached her locker, the presence of faeries overwhelmed her. They weren't to come here. There were rules: this was supposed to be a safe space.

"Miss Foy?"

She turned. Standing beside Father Myers was the one faery she was supremely unprepared to face.

"Keenan," she whispered.

"You know one another?" Father Myers nodded, beaming now. "Good. Good."

He turned to the two other—equally visible—faeries standing beside him. If she glanced at them quickly, they looked like they weren't much older than her, but the taller of the two had a strange solemnity that made Aislinn suspect that he was
old.
He had unusually long hair for such a serious demeanor; under his glamour it glittered like thick silver cords. A smallish black sun tattoo was visible on the side of his throat, exposed by his tightly plaited hair. The second faery had almost shorn wood-brown
hair,
and a face that would be somehow forgettable but for the long scar that ran from his temple to the corner of his mouth.

Father Myers assured the faeries, "Aislinn's an honor student, and her schedule is the same as your nephews. She'll help him get caught up."

She stood there, trying not to bolt, refusing to look at Keenan—even though he watched her expectantly—while several more faeries walked up behind Father Myers.

One of the ones whose skin looked like bark—crackled and grayish—caught Keenan's gaze. He gestured at the others who were fanned out at the entrance and said, "All clear."

"Miss Foy?
Aislinn?"
Father Myers cleared his throat.

She looked away from the retinue of faeries that had invaded Bishop O'Connell. "I'm sorry, Father. What?"

"Can you show Keenan to Calculus?"

Keenan waited, a battered leather bag over his shoulder, looking at her attentively. His "uncles" and Father Myers watched her.

She had no choice. She forced her fear away and said, "Sure."

Wait them out?
Not likely. Every rule she'd lived with, that'd kept her safe,
they
were
all
failing her.

By midday, Aislinn's control of her temper was steadily being worn away by Keenan's false humanity. He followed her, talking, acting like he was safe, like he was real.

He isn't.

She shoved her books into her locker, scraping her knuckles in the process. Keenan stayed beside her, an unwanted shadow she couldn't shake.

They watched each other, and she wondered again if it would hurt to touch his metallic hair. The copper strands glistened under his glamour, compelling her attention despite her best efforts.

Rianne stopped and leaned hard against the row of closed lockers. The clang made people pause to stare.

"I heard he was edible, but"—Rianne put a hand on her chest as if she was having trouble breathing and looked at Keenan—slowly and appraisingly—"damn.
Definite finesse."

"I wouldn't know." Aislinn blushed.
And I'm not going to, either.
Whatever the weird compulsion to touch him was, she was stronger than any instinct.
Just focus.

Leslie and Carla joined them as Rianne pushed off the wall of lockers. She stepped closer to Keenan and examined him as if he were a slab of meat on a plate. "Bet you could."

Carla patted his arm. "She's harmless."

Aislinn grabbed her books for the afternoon classes. Her friends shouldn't be talking to him; he shouldn't be in her space. And he definitely shouldn't radiate that inviting heat, making her think of lazy days, of closing her eyes, of relaxing…
Control. Focus.
She could do this. She
had
to.

She sorted her things, so what she'd need to take home was on top of the stack in the locker. When the day ended, she'd be ready to make a quick getaway.

With a forced smile, she shooed her friends away. "I'll catch up. Save me a seat."

"We'll save two. You can't let that"—Rianne waved her hand at Keenan—"morsel wander around unsupervised."

"One seat, Ri, just
one."

None of them turned around. Rianne waved her hand over her shoulder, dismissively.

After a steadying breath, Aislinn turned to Keenan. "I'm sure you can figure out lunch without help. So, umm, go make friends or whatever."

And she walked away.

He sped up to stay beside her as they entered the cafeteria. "May I join you?"

"No."

He stepped in front of her. "Please?"

"No." She dropped her bag into a chair next to Rianne's things. Ignoring him—and the stares they were attracting—she opened her bag.

He hadn't moved.

With a shaky gesture, she pointed. "The line's over there."

He looked at the throng slowly progressing to the vats of food. "Can I get you something?"

"A little space?"

A flare of anger flashed over his too-beautiful face, but he said nothing. He just walked away.

She wanted to believe she'd get rid of him by her refusal to be drawn in by his attention.
I can hope.
Because if not, she didn't know what she would do. He was compelling, pulling her attention away from all that she knew as wise and good.

At the far side of the cafeteria, Rianne had left her spot in line and was talking to him. They both looked over at her: Rianne smiling conspiratorially, Keenan looking pleased.