“You want one?”
Logan shook his head.
“Nah. I don’t really like frosting.”
He might as well have told me he didn’t like puppies or kittens.
“How is that even possible? The frosting’s the best part of a cupcake!”
“No, the cake is the best part of a cupcake,” he argued with a grin. “The frosting’s just there to cover up a sub-par baking job.”
“No, the frosting is meant to complement the flavors of the cake.”
Logan peered into the box, then raised a skeptical brow.
“How do you figure, when there’s more frosting than there is cake? By your definition, that’s like adding a stick of butter to a cup of popcorn.”
“And?”
Logan rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning.
“Whatever. All I’m saying is that you can have a cupcake without the frosting, but you can’t have a cupcake without the cake. And I like cake more than I like frosting.”
I looked at him, then looked down at the box. Then I picked up a cupcake and used my finger to guillotine the massive heap of colorful, glittery frosting perched on top of it. More for me.
“Here,” I said, presenting the bald vanilla cupcake to him with a bit of a flourish. “This is me sharing.”
“Thank you,” he said, and started to carefully peel away the paper wrapper. “Were you able to get a new phone?”
“Shrrrr . . . mmm hmmm . . . ” I mumbled with my mouth full of frosting. With my free hand, I reached into my jeans pocket and waved the new phone at him. He snatched it out of my hand and studied the case briefly before giving me shit about it.
“You couldn’t find anything with a little less bling?” He looked down his nose at the sparkly holographic turquoise and purple case, then set it down beside me.
“They had one with rhinestones, but those always pop off and look like shit after a few weeks. This one should hold up a lot better.”
“Any chance you were able to recover that photo of the truck that ran us off the road today?”
“No,” I said, finishing my cupcake. “My phone backs up every night so there wasn’t enough time for it to upload to the cloud.”
Logan frowned a little. He was still peeling the paper off his cupcake, while I was licking frosting off my second one.
“Did McKinney at least get a statement from you?”
“No. I haven’t seen him since this morning in his office.”
“He didn’t call you while you were driving?”
“No, although Chief Harris called to say the judge approved of our wiretap request. He’s already got a crew monitoring every line going in and out of the station.”
“That’s good news. Nothing from Sheriff McKinney, though?”
“Nope. Didn’t even get so much as a text asking if I was okay,” I said, raising a single eyebrow as I swallowed more rainbow frosting. “But he’s been slammed lately. You saw what the station was like, between all the volunteers from neighboring towns and the media trucks. That’s probably why he’s not home yet.”
More curious frowning from Logan.
“McKinney isn’t home yet?”
“Nope. I talked to Martha when I got back and she said it wasn’t like him to be out so late. She made him supper and it’s still sitting on the table. Apparently, he always comes back for supper no matter what.”
“Interesting . . . ”
“Not really,” I said. “He’s a small-town sheriff with a serial kidnapper on his hands and a PR fiasco to manage. It’s not like Yarbrough has a comms person to deal with it. The man’s got his hands full. I’m sure collecting statements from us is on his to-do list. It’s kind of hard to forget about a car exploding.”
“Fair enough,” Logan said, and finally took a bite of the cupcake. “I just thought he’d want an official report or something.”
“Maybe the fire department took care of it?” I shrugged. “I don’t know what their protocol is out here for that kind of thing.”
I polished off my cupcake and put the box back on the bench, then kicked off my boots and flopped face down onto the bed.
“You don’t have to get up,” I said from where my face was mushed into the pillows. “I’ve just needed to do this all day. It feels so good, but it feels so wrong.”
“What feels wrong?”
“Lying down for five damn minutes. We should be out there finding those kids. Not binging on cupcakes and lying around in a treehouse.”
“Elena, this isn’t summer camp. We were in a major car crash today,” Logan pointed out. “I can’t believe neither of us broke a single bone.”
“I’ve never broken a bone,” I admitted. “Just other people’s bones.”
“Me either,” Logan said with a chuckle. “I mean, minus that last bit. You’d think after playing football throughout high school and college that I would’ve had at least a few significant injuries, but I was always really lucky that way. It’s nice to see that luck carried over to the OCD. We’re lucky we only walked away with a few scratches.”
“I know.” I adjusted my pillow and stared out the window at the twilight sky beyond the trees. “But I can’t help feeling like I should be out there. I know you said I can’t pour from an empty cup, but I feel so useless lying here.”
“Maybe you could answer some questions I have,” he suggested and picked up his laptop. “I’ve been researching ever since I got back from Scruggsville.”
“Researching what?”
“Paranormal stuff like remote viewing and demons and faeries.”
Aww, Logan was doing his homework! And I hadn’t even asked him to! I felt warm and fuzzy at the thought of him finally accepting more of what the Occult Crimes Division was all about.
“Impressive. What questions do you have?”
“First thing I need to clarify is what’s the difference between faeries and fae? Or are they the same thing?”
“Fae is a general term for any magical creature that originates in the realm directly below this one.”
“You mean The Hollows?”
“Right. So demons have magic, but they come from Hell, so they’re not fae. They’re demons. And ghosts and poltergeists can have some magic abilities too, like moving through walls, but they’re human souls that are stuck on earth. So, not fae.”
“Okay, then what’s the difference between a faerie and a fae?”
“You know how bobcats and leopards and lions and tigers are all felines?”
“Sure.”
“It’s the same concept. Some fae are faeries like me, and some are goblins or nymphs or kitsune or elves.”
“Elves?” Logan took off his hat, ran his fingers through his clean hair, then put it back on. He was clearly trying his best to stay open-minded. “Are they like Santa’s elves or like Lord of the Rings elves?”
“Santa’s elves are actually brownies,” I explained. “It used to be common for them to help humans with their work as long as they were taken care of. The elves I’m talking about are more like Lord of the Rings. I’ve met a few. Most of them are dicks.”
“Huh. Okay. What about wings?”
“What about them?”
“For example, do all faeries have them? Can you actually fly?”
“Ha! I wish! I’d love to be able to fly.” I stretched and rolled onto my side, still snuggled into my pillow. “Not all faeries have wings, and some have wings but can’t fly very far. Some of my ancient ancestors had them, but that trait died out a long time ago. We still have the bone spurs on our shoulder blades from where we would’ve had wings. It’s kind of like how people used to have tails, but they’ve evolved to the point where they don’t need them anymore. Now they only have teeny tiny tailbones.”
Logan blinked as if he’d misunderstood me. He narrowed his eyes in confusion and sat up slightly to see me better.
“Wait—you mean you’ve got little baby wings? Is that why you’re always wearing a jacket? I know y
ou’re not wearing it because of any dress code.”
“I don’t have actual wings . . . ” I clarified, feeling a little uncomfortable. “I . . . I have bone spurs where they would’ve been. Wing spurs. They make my back look all bumpy. But you’re right. That’s why I always keep my back covered up.”
Logan sat up even straighter, his eyes moving down my side, searching for some sign of them through my jacket. There was still a hint of suspicion in his eyes. It wasn’t intense enough to call it skepticism, but it was definitely there. His lips were parted, hinting that he had a thousand questions dancing on his tongue but was afraid to ask.
“You wanna see them, don’t you?”
He gave a little laugh.
“I mean, yeah. But don’t feel obligated.”
“That’s just it—I do feel obligated.” I sat up and wound my loose hair into a bun on top of my head. “You’re in the OCD and you’re not even sure if it’s completely real or not. You’re my partner and I want you to be able to trust me. I wouldn’t show you my back if I didn’t trust you. Maybe it has something to do with you saving my life today.”
His face grew serious as he thought about what his next words would be.
“I couldn’t have saved you if you hadn’t woken me up and gotten me out of the car. Look—you’re my partner. You might drive me crazy sometimes, but I swore an oath to always have your back. And speaking of backs, you don’t have to show me yours if you don’t want to. It’s not your responsibility to make me believe in things I don’t understand. That’s on me. You don’t owe me anything, Elena. I’m not into keeping score.”
With that, he pushed the rest of his cupcake into his mouth and went back to scrolling on his laptop. I watched as he chewed, as he swallowed, as he licked his lips and then brought his thumb to his mouth, sucking the last sweet remnants of crumbs until his finger was clean.
I’ve never wanted to be a cupcake so bad in my life.
“So . . . do you want to see my back?” I asked.
“Yeah. The curiosity’s driving me nuts.”
He gave a modest smile and closed the laptop, then set it on the floor next to the bed. I turned my back to him and unzipped my jacket, pulling my arms out of the sleeves until they were free. I hadn’t bothered finding another shirt to wear after my tank top had become an emergency bandage after the crash. The only thing left on my skin was my bra.
One hand at a time, I reached up and slipped each bra strap off my shoulders.
And then I waited.
I’d never shown anyone my wing spurs before. Not ever. Not people I’d slept with. Not even the nurses and doctors who did the FBI physical exams. I always wore a t-shirt or a full-coverage tank top. If Logan had asked me a few days ago to see them, I would have been offended at the idea of showing a human, but he wasn’t just a human. He was someone I had grown to trust, someone I felt safe with.
A soft breath moved across my bare shoulder blades, and the strands of hair that hadn’t made it into my loose bun tickled my neck. It was a warm summer night, but Logan’s warm cupcake breath sent goosebumps down my arms and legs. I could practically feel his attentive, thoughtful gaze on my skin.
“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” he said in a wistful tone. “Is it okay to touch them? You can say no.”
I fought the urge to twist away from him, to hide my wing spurs away from his analytical eyes. He’d seen enough of my freakish bumps.
But even as those critical inner thoughts filled my mind, my head nodded and my mouth said, “Sure.”
The mattress sank as he crawled closer behind me. Again, that warm breath tickled my neck as loose hairs danced across my skin. Again, that clean, verdant, woodsy scent filled my nose as his body crept closer to mine. I closed my eyes, my breath hitching and my back arching as his warm fingertips touched me where no other living being ever had.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, and lifted his hand away. “You flinched a little.”
“No, it doesn’t hurt.” I looked over my shoulder at him and caught his gaze. His eyes were hidden by the brim of his ball cap, although I could see that his lips were slightly pursed. “I guess I’m a little sensitive, that’s all. I’m not used to anyone touching me there.”
“Hmmm . . . don’t worry. I promise I’ll be gentle.”
I suddenly felt both of his warm hands on my back. His fingers spread out, grazing the skin, exploring each rise and fall of the protrusions on my shoulder blades.
“They feel like knuckles,” he murmured behind my ear. Another soft shiver tingled across my body, culminating below my navel before melting away. I leaned back against him, reveling in the warmth that came not just from his touch, but his very being. I closed my eyes again, letting his fingers run up and down the length of each row of spurs. “They kind of look like two tiny little mountain ranges going down your back.”
Looking over my shoulder, I saw the deep fascination in his face as he caressed each bump with his careful fingers. Then his eyes flicked onto mine, so dark blue under the brim of his hat that they almost appeared navy. He had something on his mind. There was no mistaking that intense look in his eyes.
I kept waiting for him to say something . . . to do something. For the love of all that was holy—he had me right there in the bed, wearing nothing but jeans and a bra that was two unfastened hooks away from lying on the floor. I felt a dull ache between my thighs, no doubt coaxed there from the warm breath that kept hitting me, not to mention the firm hands exploring me. If stupid Logan would just make a fucking move, I’d let him slide my jeans down my hips and do anything he wanted.
Another ache spread through me. I could feel the liquid heat pooling in the crotch of my thong. I could smell how ready I was for him.
Please . . . just make a fucking move!
“Elena?”
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck—he’s gonna do it!
I bit my lip to keep from squealing. “Yeah?”
“This might be a totally inappropriate thing to ask, but . . . ”
Nope! No such thing as inappropriate! Whatever insane thing you’re gonna suggest, I am down!
“Are you embarrassed by this part of your body?” He trailed a finger over my bumpy left shoulder blade, then crawled off the bed and grabbed his laptop. “Because you shouldn’t be. I think your wing spurs are kind of awesome.”
Nooooooo! screamed my pussy. The elusive man meat had escaped our clutches yet again. So much for sexy times.
I yanked my bra straps back into place and slipped my jacket back on, zipping it halfway. I started digging around my bag for some pajamas while Logan plugged in his laptop and phone in our one stupid outlet.
“Yeah, well, I hate people seeing my wing spurs. I got made fun of constantly,” I told him as I found the baggy t-shirt I slept in. “I’ve been called Lizard Chick, Frog Princess, Boney Bitch, Lumperina, you name it.”
“Damn! Kids can be such assholes!” Logan said from the sleeping bag he’d unrolled.
“And every time I changed foster homes, I changed schools, which is probably why I hated gym class so much. I still hate the fucking gym.”
“That sucks so much. Well, if you ever wanna go for a run or go to the gym with me, let me know. I promise I won’t make fun of how you look.”
I found my toiletry bag and started for the tiny bathroom, desperate for a shower. I stopped and turned to him.
“What if I showed up in a mankini? Would you make fun of me then?”
He took off his hat, tossed it aside, and ran his fingers through his hair, all while wearing a smug, boyish grin.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
At first, I thought I was awake. It wasn’t until I looked around and realized I wasn’t lying in the bed I’d fallen asleep in, but the one I used to lay my head down on as a child.
“What the fuck?”
I sat up, looked down at the green silk bed covers of my childhood and buried my fingers into the cotton depths of my pillows. The
smell of vibrant, living earth filled the room along with flowers, grasses, and mushrooms growing on the forest floor. It was the scent of The Hollows . . . of the Kingdom of Elphame. A scent I hadn’t smelled since I’d been there last. It was so strong it threatened to overwhelm my other senses.
“Am I dreaming?” I said out loud, looking around my former bedroom.
It looked the same way it did on the day I left it, with books and trinkets strewn across the floor.
“Yes, you are dreaming, dearest.”
I jumped at the sound of a voice from the corner of the room. A voice I never thought I’d hear again.
“Mom?”
Looking behind me into the back corner of the room, I saw a figure in the shadows sunk deep into the armchair I used to throw my dolls onto.
“Mom? Is that you?”
Slowly, the figure rose, and through the shadows emerged the patient, kind face I’d loved so much. I saw her rosy lips parted in a smile and her green eyes soothe my nerves.
“Mom!”
“Stay there,” she said, holding a hand out.
“But I want to hug you.”
“You will hug me again someday, but not today.”
She shifted over to the end of the bed, her long gown falling gracefully around her slender frame. It felt as though not a moment had passed since the last time I saw her . . . as though it hadn’t been two decades since the last time she held me, but two seconds. She looked just like she did on the day she died, only more beautiful.
“My goodness, Elena. You’ve turned into such a beauty.”
“Aww, thanks, Mom. I look just like you.”
She smiled and looked out towards the window. It was dark when I fell asleep in the treehouse, but here it was light outside, the misty air was a silvery shade of gray that gave the feeling of lingering between two worlds.
“We don’t have much time,” said my mom. “You have to listen carefully.”
She pulled her attention away from the window and looked deep into my eyes.
“Elena, you’re involved in something very big, very evil.”
“Solana. I know.”
“Not just her. She is summoning something truly evil, truly demonic, but you can stop it, Elena. I believe you really can.”
Wiretaps & Whiskers (The Faerie Files Book 1) Page 26