by Layla Harper
Which means I might find an address.
Or I can just wait for him at the bar.
But that would generate a lot of attention I don’t want.
Besides, what would I say to my friends? “Hey, I’m alive. Don’t worry. Have a great life?” Todd and Sandy deserve so much more than a few quick words. They deserve an explanation, and if I can manage to let them know I’m okay, then I will. It just can’t be my primary focus.
I rub my head A desk piled with stacks of papers is pushed against the far rear wall near a window. The exit, a single steel door, is a few feet away. I drop onto the rolling chair and start rummaging through the stacks and stacks of papers on his desk. I find a billing invoice to a company named A Queen’s Triumph.
Queen’s triumph, my ass.
My jaw locks, and I probably lose a layer of enamel grinding my teeth. I scan the sheet. There’s no street address, but there is a PO box in Sharon, a town over. The desk’s middle drawer is filling with the standard junk: paperclips, staples, sticky notes, rubber bands, and a slew of business cards. The others are deeper and hold hanging file folders stuffed with purchase orders and miscellaneous paperwork, all referencing the same company and mailing address.
Dammit.
I don’t want to have to walk into MacNamara’s—my gaze drops to the blood-splattered across my tunic—like this. I need a change of clothing, but I didn’t see anything that could work among the relics. I quickly scan the room, searching for a coatrack. No luck.
I decide on a dusty sheet protecting a group of artifacts, give it a good shake, and wrap it around my shoulders like a shawl. It’ll have to do.
Back at the rear door, the knob turns easily in my hand.
“What the hell?” Is he so freaking arrogant that he thinks no one would attempt to steal his stuff? I mean, the store is clearly not alarmed or the police would have grabbed me by now.
Shaking my head, I step into the chill of the night, clutching the sheet to my chest. A fresh dusting of snow lines the asphalt.
My skin stings, goose bumps pebbling up my arms.
Magic.
The building is… warded?
I didn’t think it was possible to use magic on Earth. What other half-truths are the Fae living with?
I quickly close the door and back out into the small rear parking lot. Wild brush borders the four-foot chain-link fence separating the property from the mix of residential and commercial buildings behind the strip mall.
A slimy sensation crawls up my spine. I want to turn away. Actually, I want to run. A sense of doom hits next. And when I don’t move, my skin itches. Like crazy. Like millions of ants got their walking papers and decided to vacation on mount Kyra.
I shiver and look at the building I’ve driven by too many times to count. I have to give it to Rick. This is one kickass ward. At least now I’ve got my answer as to why he didn’t bother with standard security. No human in their right mind would willingly walk into this place.
I start to leave, but something catches my eye. I angle my head, trying to figure out what. The exterior looks identical to the ten other small strip plazas spread across town. Standard red brick. Beige architectural vinyl leading up to the roof line.
But on one corner of the exterior, just below the gutter, is a weird circle. I almost miss it. My eyes glaze over the center marking—a vertical line bisected by two diagonals. Concentrating hard on the building, I find the same symbol etched into the opposite corner.
Strange.
To get to MacNamara’s, I have to cross Route 106, a thirty-four-mile highway that runs west-east through town. From the sidewalk, I have a clear view of the parking lot, and I’m not thrilled by the lack of cars outside the pub. I have no idea of the time or day, but MacNamara’s is always busy. We close at 8:00 pm on weekdays, and it usually takes an hour or two to clear lingering patrons from the pub.
There’s no way around it. The pub is closed.
And I don’t have a plan B.
I manage to cross the highway without dying. I don’t bother with the main entrance, swinging around the side of the building instead. If anyone is still inside, they’ll be in the kitchen closing out. My boots leave tracks in the snow. As I round the corner of the building, I search the back parking lot for Rick’s SUV.
Where is he?
“Can I help you? We’re closed, but—”
I jump and whirl around.
My co-bartender’s expression stutters. His lips freeze mid-smile. Then his hazel eyes go wide. And wider still. “Kyra?”
I’ve always thought Todd looked like a really cute Jude Law. Well, right now, a really freaked-out Jude Law. I must look pretty bad.
“Hey.” I wave with the hand not clutching the sheet. “I need to see Rick. Is he inside?”
“What?” Todd doesn’t move. He stares at me like I’m about to disappear. Again. “You’re… You’re alive.” He hugs me. Hard.
I groan. I may have hit the floor harder than I thought.
“Shit, Kyra, we thought you were dead.” He stands back, creating a space between us. He grips the sides of my shoulders, a bag of takeout dangling from his wrist. “Where the hell have you been?”
I pull away. “It’s a long story.”
His gaze drops to the sheet. And then he takes in my appearance. The bruises. The damaged clothing. The tattoo on my right hand.
The blood.
He goes for his cell.
I throw my palm over his. “Please don’t.”
Todd’s light brown eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “Don’t? You’re covered in blood. You look like you haven’t eaten in days. I’m calling an ambulance.”
I grip his hand, scan the lot, and then yank him the ten feet to where his little black Prius is parked. “Put the phone away and open the door.”
He shoves the bag of food into my arms. “I’m getting you in, running the heater, and driving your ass to the hospital.”
My stomach growls. MacNamara’s has the best fries.
And I’m starving.
“Fine.”
Todd waits until I’m buckled in before closing the door and jogging around the front of the car to get in. “Eat.” He reaches behind the driver seat and fits a bottle of water in the cup holder.
While I shove fries in my mouth, he starts the engine and blasts the heat, as promised.
“Don’t move,” I say between bites.
“You’re not thinking straight.”
“Don’t call anyone.”
“Have you lost your fucking mind? Kyra, you’ve been gone a year.”
I choke on a fry. “What? What did you say?” A year? “No, it’s been three weeks.” I think? Time’s kind of fuzzy.
He stares at me, and then he runs a hand down his face. He pulls his cell from his pocket, opens an app, and angles the screen. “Look at the date.”
“Okay.”
“Tell me what you see.”
“December 16th.” I shrug. “So I lost more than three weeks.”
“The year, Kyra.”
The red dot on the calendar doesn’t lie, but… “No, that can’t be right.” I take the phone and scroll through the months. One after the other.
A little over a year. Fifty-four weeks, to be exact.
How?
“I don’t understand.”
“You know, I covered your shift that Sunday. You didn’t call. I figured you’d overslept. I never knew how you juggled all those hats. Figured one day you’d crash. Figured that was the day.”
Insides quivering, I hand him the phone.
He wipes the grease from the screen and shoves his cell into his front pocket. “When you didn’t show for your interview, your professor called the bar.”
I can’t believe I forgot about my appointment with Professor Bradford. This life seems so… distant. So irrelevant to the life I’m moving toward.
“That’s when we knew something was wrong. A year working for that spot and then you no show?” He puts
his hands on the steering wheel. “Sandy tried to file a missing person’s report, but it hadn’t been twenty-four hours.” He runs another hand down his face. “Victoria disappeared a couple days later. Police thought—“
“What?” The food goes dry in my mouth. My roommate went missing after I was smuggled into Alfhemir? “Is Rick here?”
“No. He didn’t show tonight.”
“Do you have his address?”
Todd looks like the angel and devil on his shoulders are screaming conflicting advice. “You want to know where our asshole boss lives?”
“Yeah. Look, I know this—I look bad. I’m so sorry I scared you and Sandy. I’m sorry you had to go through all of it. And I’m sorry I never told either of you how much you mean to me.” Three weeks ago, old me would never say those words to anyone. But so much has changed. “I can’t tell you what happened. Honestly, you wouldn’t believe me anyway. I just… I need you to trust me, Todd. If you know Rick’s address, tell me. Please.”
A car starts up a few spots over. I shift my body so the waitress running to her car doesn’t recognize me.
“Whose blood?” His gaze rises to the missing chunks of my hair. “Were you held somewhere against your will? Who did this to you?”
“Rick.”
He sputters. “What?”
“Indirectly. He led me to the people who did this.”
Todd searches my expression as if he’s measuring what he’s thinking against what I said. “Fuck. You’re not kidding.” He stares through the windshield. The Tom’s Gas Station sign flickers on and off. “I always knew there was something rotten about that guy. Never liked the way he looked at you. At any of the girls.” His jaw works. “I’m not giving you that asshole’s address.” He goes for his phone.
I grab his arm. I’m about to play dirty. “I’ve been there for you. Countless times. No questions asked. I’m asking you to do the same for me. I’m asking you to give me the benefit of the doubt. I know how this looks, but it’s not what you think.”
“I don’t fucking know what to think. The girl who was the closest thing I had to a best friend disappears for a fucking year, then shows up covered in blood and wants our asshole boss’s address after she tells me he’s fucking responsible for her abduction.”
“Jesus, Todd. When you put it that way…”
He forces a breath through tight lips and then settles against the seat. His shoulders start to shake, and when the sound rolls from his mouth, it’s a soft rumble. His hazel eyes slide to mine. “You could always wrap me around your little finger, tall fry.”
I smile at the endearment.
“I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Me either.” A beat of silence. “You know where he lives.”
“Yeah. I do.” He sighs, his chest falling with the exhalation.
“Please tell me.”
“I’ll do you one better. I’m gonna take you. Probably the stupidest thing I’ve done to date, and you know I’ve done some stupid shit in my life.”
Relief washes over me and I smile. A real, genuine smile. “Thank you.”
He shifts the car into Reverse. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. We’re even after this. Eat the burger.”
If I weren’t madly in love with the sexiest orc alive, I’d reach over and give Todd a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
Instead, I reach into the bag and sink my teeth into the best burger this side of town.
15
Kyra
A half hour later, we pull into a quiet neighborhood. Stately colonials, some with farmer’s porches, some without, line each side of the manicured road. Architectural elements like diamond-paned windows or flared roofs differentiate what is basically the same house. That and the array of three- or four-car garages. And, of course, the competing landscape. A layer of snow hides what is most likely spectacular lawns and gorgeous flowerbeds sure to rival the town’s botanical garden come spring and summer.
Well-to-do but not over-the-top resplendent. Not where I imagined my slimy boss to live. “Which house is his?”
“The gray one. On the left.” Todd’s attention is firmly planted on the road.
“It’s…” My gaze skips past the house to the cul-de-sac at the end of the road. Todd’s Prius is going to stick out like a sore thumb on this street.
He passes what I assume is Rick’s house.
Smart thinking. Wouldn’t want to tip him off by pulling into the driveway. “Let me out anywhere.”
Todd’s right eyebrow arches, and then he gives me a yeah-right look.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You are not getting involved.”
“Too late, tall fry.”
Shit, he’s right. But I can’t have him wait for me outside, especially if I portal back to Alfhemir. He’ll grow tired of waiting and head to the house. And if Rick suspects Todd has any knowledge of Faerie, who knows what he’ll do to him.
“Fine. But stay in the car. If I’m not out in an hour, call the police. Don’t go inside. It could be dangerous.”
“Sure.”
“I’m serious, Todd.” I’m not liking the undertones of his answer. I shouldn’t have dragged him into this. I crumple the food bag and look around for a place to dump it. “This was a bad idea.
“Don’t I know it.” He parks behind a pickup on the street in front of a house with a driveway full of cars and shuts off the engine.
“Your Prius is going to stand out in this neighborhood.”
He takes the trash from my hands and stuffs it into a bag behind his seat. “No shit, Sherlock. Nothing we can do about it now, but they better not tow my car.” He scans both sides of the road. “So, you going to explain any of this to me?”
“I really don’t want to.”
He snorts. “I’m not going to give you much of a choice.” He turns to face me, the vinyl seat squeaking in the small space. “You should call Sandy. What happened to you really messed with her head.”
Guilt twists my stomach. “I know.” A light switches off in the house across the street. “Maybe tomorrow,” I lie. “It’s a school night. The kids are sleeping, and this probably isn’t something I should do over the phone.”
“No. Probably not.”
“She okay?”
His mouth kicks up. “Yeah. She’s dating some dude, an engineer. Seems like a nice guy.”
Sandy lost her husband to cancer several years ago. “That’s awesome. I found someone too. He’s…” The missing piece of my soul. “You’d like him. Everything I’m doing is about getting back to him. If I don’t get the chance to talk to Sandy face-to-face, tell her I finally understand. She’ll know what I mean.”
Todd stabs his fingers through his hair, the light ends sticking up, giving him a just-rolled=out-of-bed look. “I can’t change your mind, can I?”
I pat his hand. “Nope.” I undo my seat belt and open the door. “Thanks for this. I’ll never forget how you helped me. Be happy, okay?” I’m out of the car and hustling down the road, fighting to stop my emotions from overwhelming me when I hear his door click.
I roll my eyes, but the gesture is empty. “What are you doing?”
“Going with you. Every hero needs a sidekick.” He holds his hands out at his sides. “I’m that guy. Besides.” He lowers his voice so only I can hear him. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you out of my sight.”
I don’t bother fighting him. One, he’s not going to listen. And two, if it were me, I’d do the same.
At the edge of Rick’s property, I eye the houses across the street. People who typically live in these affluent communities pay attention—loads of attention—to the goings-on in their neighborhoods, especially when two suspicious-looking individuals encroach property lines under the cover of darkness.
But I don’t see a single curtain flinch.
Weird.
I turn back to the house. I’m a planner. I always have a plan, yet I’m about to walk into Rick’s shooting from the hip. Not the brightest idea I’ve had, but it fe
els right.
“We should turn back,” Todd whispers in my ear. “I don’t feel good about this. He’ll have an alarm system. Or dogs.”
“Highly doubt it.” I peer at the corners of the house and spot the circular symbols. How did I miss it on the drive by? My vision blurs over the marking, and I have to force myself to focus. “Look away. Look away,” the wind seems to sing.
I shake off the sentiment and step onto Rick’s lawn. The first wave of dread hits.
Todd grabs my hand. “We really need to rethink this plan.”
I grit my teeth. “There’s no security system. The house is warded. He’s using magic to make us feel like we don’t want to be here.” Stronger magic than what I’d experienced at the plaza.
Todd looks pale.
“You can push through it or head back to the car. Your choice, but I’m not turning back.”
His phone is in his hand, thumb hovering over the Call button.
“You’ll feel dread first. Then a prickling over your skin. Imagine having your body encased by creepy crawlies. Then multiply the sensation times a hundred.” Or more. “The closer we get to the house, the stronger the effect.”
“You’re serious about this.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely. Now shh.” I put my finger to my lip in the universal shush signal, which he ignores.
“You’re just going to walk up to the front door,” he asks in a loud whisper.
“No. I was thinking about going in through the patio. All of these lovely houses have really nice decks. The door won’t be locked.”
“How do you know that?”
“I woke up in the strip plaza across from MacNamara’s. Where Rick stores all his magic-related paraphernalia. He didn’t bother locking those doors. My gut tells me he won’t here either.”
“Because he spelled his house,” Todd retorts, his voice thick with sarcasm.
“Exactly. The wards are stronger here. He’s not worried about people like you and me breaking in.”