Wicked Lovely (22 page)

She sat with her face against the cold porcelain until she was sure she could stand without vomiting again. Her whole body trembled, like she had the flu, but it wasn't the flu making her feel so awful. It was terror.
He knows I
see
them. He
knows.
They'll come for me, and Grams…
The thought of her Grams fighting faeries almost made her sick again.
I
need to get out of here.

After brushing her teeth and washing her face, Aislinn hurriedly slipped on jeans and a shirt, shoved her feet into boots, and grabbed her bag.

Grams was
in the kitchen, staring at the coffeepot, a bit less observant before her morning jolt.

Aislinn pointed at her ear.

Grams turned on her hearing aid and asked, "Everything okay?"

"Just running late, Grams.
Overslept."
Aislinn gave her a quick hug and turned to leave.

"But breakfast…"

"Sorry. I need to, umm, meet Seth. I thought I told you? We were to have a breakfast thing, date…" She tried to keep her voice steady.

Don't let her see how worried I am.

Grams was
already too fearful after their talk the other night; adding to that would be selfish.

"You know you aren't fooling me, Aislinn, dodging me so I don't ask about that
issue.
We're going to talk about it." Grams scowled. "It isn't any better, is it?"

Aislinn paused.
"Just a few more days, Grams.
Please?"

For a minute Grams looked like she was going to balk: she pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips. Then she sighed. "Not a few days.
Tomorrow
we'll talk. You understand?"

"Promise."
Aislinn kissed her good-bye, grateful to put it off even one day more. She wasn't sure she could handle that conversation, not now.

I
need Seth. I didn't even call him last night.

"I can't believe I did that." Aislinn put her head between her knees and concentrated on not vomiting on her feet. "I told him I knew they were faeries."

Seth sat on the floor beside her feet. He was patting her back, making small soothing circles. "It's okay. Come on. Breathe. Just breathe."

"It's not okay, Seth." Her voice was muffled by her decidedly uncomfortable posture. She lifted her head enough to scowl at him. "They used to
kill
people, gouge out their eyes for knowing what they were."

The nausea rose again. She closed her eyes.

"Shh." He moved closer, comforting her the way he'd always done when she fell apart. "Come on."

"What if they blind me? What if…"

"Stop.
We'll figure it out." He pulled her into his lap, cradling her like a child.

Just like Keenan did last night.

She tried to stand up, feeling guilty, like she'd betrayed Seth even though all she did was dance—she hoped.

What if I, Keenan, we…
She started to sob again.

"Shush." Seth rocked her, murmuring reassuring words.

And she let him—until she started to think about faeries again and dancing with Keenan and kissing him and not knowing what else might have happened.

She pulled away and stood.

Seth stayed on the floor. He propped his head up on one hand, his elbow on the seat of the chair where she'd been sitting.

She ducked her head, unable to look at him. "So what do we do about it?"

He came to stand beside her. "We improvise. He promised you a favor. If the books are right, vows are like laws."

She nodded.

He stepped in front of her and leaned forward until the longer strands of his hair fell like a web over her face. "The rest we'll deal with too."

Then he kissed her—softly, tenderly, lovingly—and said, "We'll get this figured out.
Together.
I'm here with you, Ash, even after you tell me what else happened."

"What do you mean?" Aislinn felt the world swim again.

"You drank something that messed you up, danced until dawn, and woke up in your bed sick." He cradled her face in his hands. "What else happened?"

"I don't know." She shivered.

"Okay, how did you get home?"

"I don't know." She remembered the taste of sunshine, the feel of sunbeams falling onto her as she stared up at Keenan's face, as he leaned toward her.
What happened?

"Did you go anywhere else?"

She whispered, "I don't know."

"Sleep with him?" He looked straight at her as he asked it, the question she'd been trying—and failing—to answer.

"I don't know." She looked away, feeling sicker with the words hanging there like something awful. I'd know, right? That's something I'd remember.
Right?"

He pulled her into his arms, tucking her under his chin, as if he could keep her safe from all the bad things by keeping her close enough. "I don't know. Are there any flashes of memories?
Anything?"

"I remember dancing, drinking, sitting on some strange chair, and then the carnival was gone. He kissed me." She shivered again. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault." He stroked his hand over her hair.

She tried to pull away.

He didn't force her to stay, but he kept his hands on her arms. He looked so serious, so adamant. "Listen to me. If something happened, it wasn't your fault. He gave you some drug, some faery booze. You were drunk, high, whatever, and what happened afterward isn't your fault."

"I remember laughing, having fun." She looked down at her hands, clenched tightly so they didn't shake. "I was having fun, Seth. What if I
did
do something? What if I said yes?"

"Doesn't matter.
If you're fucked up, you can't consent. It's that simple. He shouldn't have done anything, Ash. If he did, he's the one who's wrong. Not you." He sounded angry, but he didn't tell her that he had been right, that she shouldn't have gone. He didn't say anything awful to her. Instead he tucked her hair behind her ear and let his hand rest on her face, gently tilting her head so she looked at him. "And we don't know that anything did happen."

"I just wanted the first time to be with someone special, and if I, if we, it's just
wrong."
She felt half foolish for worrying about it—exposed to the wrath of a faery king and she worried about her virginity. He could take her life; he could take her eyes. Her virginity shouldn't matter so much.

But it does.

She walked away, going over to curl up in the comfort of Seth's sofa. "I'm sorry. You were right, and I—"

He interrupted, "There's nothing for
you
to be sorry for. You're not wrong. I'm not upset with you. It's him—" He stopped. He didn't move, just stood there in the middle of the room, watching her. "You're what matters."

"Hold me? If you still want to, I mean." She looked away.

"Every day"—then he was there, lifting her into his arms, holding her like she was fragile and precious—"I want to hold you every day. Nothing will ever change that."

The Fairy then dropped three drops of a precious liquid on her companion's left eyelid, and she beheld a most delicious country…From this time she possessed the faculty of discerning the Fairy people as they went about invisibly.

—
The Fairy Mythology
by Thomas Keightley (1870)

Donia walked past the faeries outside Seth's home—a few familiar guards, the demi-succubus Cerise, and several Summer Girls. Without Keenan beside her, none of them smiled. They still bowed their heads, but there was no affection in their respect. To them she was the enemy—never mind that she'd risked everything for him, everything the girls hadn't been willing to risk. They conveniently forgot that.

At the door she braced herself for the inevitable weakness that such awful walls would bring about. She knocked. Pain seared her knuckles.

She didn't react when Aislinn opened the door, but it took effort. From the hollow look on her face, Donia was sure that her memories of the faire were far less clear than Keenan's. All he'd admitted was that he'd let her drink far too much summer wine, caught up in the moment, the revelry, the dancing. It was his way: too easy to rejoice, to believe. For him, it worked.

Aislinn looked awful.

Clutching her hand, looking both angry and wary, was her mortal, Seth. "What do you want?"

Aislinn's eyes widened. "Seth."

"No.
It's
fine, Ash." Donia smiled; for all her wishes of success to Keenan, she saw the look on Seth's face and couldn't help but respect him. A mortal stood against the considerable temptation of the Summer King, and it was the mortal holding Aislinn's hand.

Donia added, "I just want to talk."

Behind her Cerise came closer, announcing her approach by flapping her wings—as if she could frighten Donia.

"Maybe take a walk." She glanced back at Cerise and blew a breath of cold air at her, not enough to wound, but frigid enough to remind her to watch her step.

Cerise shrieked, the mere touch of cold sending her fluttering backward.

Donia started to smile: there weren't enough good moments lately. Then she realized that Aislinn had jumped at Cerise's outburst. Seth hadn't moved, hadn't heard it: faeries could raise such a cacophony that mortals' heads ached, but they didn't respond in any other way, didn't hear it.

The exclamations behind her confirmed that the others had seen Aislinn's reaction as well.

Donia looked at Aislinn. "You can see them."

Aislinn nodded.

Cerise trembled behind a rowan-man. The Summer Girls gaped.

"I see faeries. Lucky me," Aislinn added, sounding as weary as she looked. "Can you come in here or is there too much iron?"

Donia smiled at the girl's bravado. "I'd rather walk."

Nodding, Aislinn lifted her gaze to the head guard and told the rowan-man, "Keenan already knows, and now Donia does too, so if there's anyone else you need to scurry off and tell, now's your chance."

Donia winced.
Not bravado, recklessness.
She would be a good match for Keenan.

Before anyone could respond, Donia walked past the Summer Girls and stood before the rowan-man. "If anyone here tells Beira, I'll find you. If loyalty to Keenan isn't enough to keep your lips sealed, I'll seal them for you."

She stared at Cerise until the demi-succubus growled, "I would never betray the Summer King."

"Good." Donia nodded. Then she returned to Aislinn's side.

Only the sound of Cerise's wings flapping madly broke the silence until Donia asked, "Shall I tell you about Keenan's infidelity, about his lasciviousness, about how foolish it'd be to trust him?"

Blanching even more, Aislinn looked away. "I may already know."

Donia said softly to Seth, "You say you aren't her beau, but she needs you. Maybe we can talk about herbs as well?"

"Hold on." Seth pulled Aislinn back inside to talk for a moment, closing the door on Donia.

As she waited outside for their inevitable agreement, she gave the Summer Girls her coldest smile, hoping it was enough, hating the game she had to play.

I gave my vow.

From behind the rowan-man, Cerise hissed at her.

"Why?" one of the youngest Summer Girls—Tracey— asked, coming far closer to Donia than the others usually did. "He still cares for you. How can you do this to him?" Tracey looked genuinely confused, a familiar frown on her face.

With her reed-thin body and soft voice, Tracey was one of the ones Donia had tried hardest to convince not to risk the cold. She was too fragile, too easily confused,
too
gentle to be either Winter Girl or Summer Queen.

"I made a vow." Donia'd tried to explain it often enough, but Tracey's view was black and white. If Keenan was good, Donia must be bad.
Simple logic.

"It hurts Keenan." Tracey shook her head, as if she could make the troubles go away by saying no.

"It hurts me, too."

The other girls pulled Tracey back to them, trying to distract her before she began weeping. She never should've been chosen. Donia still felt guilty for it; she suspected Keenan did too. The Summer Girls were like plants needing the nutrients of the sun to thrive: they couldn't be away from the Summer King for long, or they'd fade. Tracey, however, never seemed to thrive, even though she stayed with Keenan year-round.

The door opened again. Seth stepped outside; Aislinn followed close behind him.

"We'll come." Aislinn's voice was stronger, but she still looked far from well. There were dark hollows under her eyes, and her face was almost as pale as Donia's. "Can you tell them they can't follow us?"