by Melissa Marr
His tone wasn't insulted, though. Instead he sounded nervous too. "Yeah?"
"Are you, I don't know, going to ask me out or something? Or is it just casual, wanting to…"
"Just tell me what you want." He took the bowl out of her hand and pulled her up against him, hip to hip. "Dinner? Movie? A weekend at the beach?"
"A weekend? Aren't you moving a bit fast?" She put her hands on his chest, keeping a little distance between them.
"Not as fast as I want to." He bent down so his mouth was almost touching hers. "But I'm trying to wait."
She didn't even think about it; she nipped his bottom lip.
And they were kissing again, slow and soft and somehow more maddening than the first time. Somewhere between telling him she was meeting Keenan and asking him where they stood, the stakes had shifted.
Her hands found the bottom of his shirt, slid under it, over skin and the rings that decorated his chest. Any objections she used to remember had melted.
I found the uncrossable line. She almost giggled at the thought.
"Seth? You in there?" The doorknob jiggled.
"Seth, we know you're in there," Mitchell, one of Leslies exes, yelled. He knocked again, loudly. "Come on, open up."
"Ignore him," Seth whispered, his lips against her ear. "Maybe he'll go away."
The doorknob jiggled again,
"It's probably a good thing." Aislinn pulled back further, feeling almost lightheaded. "We're not thinking very clearly."
"I've done nothing but think about this for months, Ash" — Seth put a hand on either side of her face—"but just say the word and we stop. You set the pace. I won't push you. Ever."
"I know that." She blushed. It was a lot easier to give in to the temptation than it was to talk about it—surprisingly easy. "I'm not sure how far that is, though."
He hugged her closer and stroked his hand down her hair. "So we take it slow. Right?"
"Right." She nodded, feeling both relieved and disappointed. There were too many diseases out there to be casual, but just letting go of control, of logic, of what she should and shouldn't do…Tempting was an understatement.
His voice was low and steady as he said, "And yes, dating. There's nothing casual about what I want."
She didn't say anything, couldn't.
From outside Jimmy yelled, "Open the damn door, Seth. It's freezing out here."
Seth titled her head up so she was looking at him and said, "You're worrying me here. We good?"
She nodded.
"You thinking about running again?"
Her heart thumped too fast. She blushed. "No. I'm thinking the exact opposite."
He ran his fingertips over her cheek—pausing at the corner of her mouth—and stared at her. "No pressure."
Finally she leaned her face on his chest, hiding her expression. "I need to think. If we're going to try this…us together. I don't want to mess it up, mess us up."
"It wouldn't, but" — he swallowed audibly before adding—"we don't need to rush. I'm not going anywhere."
The knocking grew louder again until finally Seth let go of her. He straightened his clothes, turning his back to her to do so. Then he went to the door and yanked it open. "What?"
"Christ, man, it's cold out there." Mitchell pushed past Seth.
Jimmy, another one of the guys who had graduated last year, came in behind him. With him were three girls Aislinn didn't know.
Aislinn went back to the counter and resumed crushing herbs. Jimmy stopped just inside the door and looked over at her with a wide grin. "Well, hello, Ash."
She lifted the bowl in greeting, but she didn't say anything. Her lips were tender; her hair felt like it was a mess. It had to be obvious they'd interrupted something.
Keeping her attention on the salve was easier than dealing with them. She poured the powdered herbs into an empty bowl, added more, and kept grinding them.
Jimmy nudged Seth. "What happened to the 'only friends in the house' rule?"
"Ash is a friend." Seth narrowed his eyes at Jimmy and added, "The only one who has an open door here."
Still grinning, Jimmy came over and looked at the bowl Aislinn clutched. "Well, this is interesting. What you got?" He picked up the bowl of already pulverized Saint-John's-wort and sniffed. "Nothing I've smoked."
He was a loudmouth; Mitchell was even worse, especially since Leslie had told everyone who'd listen that he was a lousy lay. He set a six-pack of beer on the counter.
The girls were over by Boomer, staring at the boa, but not getting too close. All three were dressed in clothes that meant they would be freezing outside—tight skirts, cleavage-baring shirts—the sort of thing that'd be uncomfortable even if it weren't autumn. Three? She looked over at them, looked at Jimmy, who was making himself at home, picking at the leftover pasta.
"Thought I asked everyone to let me have a few days to myself." Seth poured the first bowl of crushed herbs into the boiling water and set a timer. "Ash, can you grab the olive oil when you finish those?"
She nodded.
"Time to yourself, huh?" Mitchell grinned. "You don't look like you're by yourself."
"We were." Seth raised his eyebrow and inclined his head toward the door. "We still could be."
"Nope." Mitchell popped the top on a can.
Seth took several deep breaths. "If you're going to be here for a while, turn on some tunes."
"Actually, we thought you might want to go out," the girl who'd been clinging to Jimmy said.
One of the other girls—the one watching Seth—moved to the side, just a little, and Aislinn caught a glimpse of tiny horns poking through her hair, of leathery wings curled behind her.
How did she walk in here? Looking like that? Only the strongest of the fey could be surrounded by this much steel and hold on to a glamour. That was one of the rules that had given Aislinn the most comfort over the years.
The winged girl moved toward Seth slowly, like each step took a lot of concentration. "We can't really stay long. Come with us? There's supposed to be a good band down at the Crow's Nest." She offered Aislinn a catty smile. "I'd invite you, too, but they're being strict about the age thing after the raid. Eighteen only, you know?"
Slowly Aislinn set the bowl down and went over to stand in front of Seth, between him and the faery. "Seth isn't available."
Seth put his hands on her hips, touching her but not restraining her.
Glaring at the faery, Aislinn leaned back against Seth. How dare she come here? Who sent her? The idea of Seth being vulnerable to them made her almost violently angry.
"Well, this is fun," Mitchell said.
Nodding, Jimmy sat down with the pan of half-cold pasta and a fork. "My money's on Ash."
The faery kept coming toward the kitchen.
Aislinn put her arm out in front of the faery. "I think you need to leave."
"Really?" She wrinkled her nose.
"Yes." Aislinn put a hand on the faery's wrist, not gripping it, but resting her fingers there. Just like at school, contact with the faery made Aislinn's Sight clearer.
Aislinn pushed, gently.
The faery winced and stumbled. Her eyebrows shot up as she gave Aislinn a strange look.
Recovering quickly, the faery murmured, "Another night, then."
"No." Seth slid his arms around Aislinn's waist. "I'm exactly where I want to be."
Jimmy and Mitchell exchanged another goofy grin.
"Man, you need to share your secrets." Mitchell got up and picked up his beer. At a quick glance in his date's direction, she came over to stand next to him.
Mitchell continued, "Not like you ever have trouble getting—" He cleared his throat, and his date smacked him on the arm. He grinned.
"All I'm saying is whatever he's doing" — he inclined his head toward the back of the train where Seth's bedroom was—"must work. Ash hardly ever even speaks. He's got her ready to start a fight over him."
The faery hadn't moved. She trailed her fingertips
down her cleavage, slowly. "You'd have fun. More than you'll get here."
Aislinn stepped away from Seth. She wrapped her fingers around the girl's wrist and walked over to the door, tugging the faery behind her. For such a strong faery, she was unbelievably easy to drag along. Maybe she's weak from all the steel.
"Go." Aislinn opened the door and shoved the faery forward. "Stay out."
The faeries outside were all watching. Several giggled gleefully.
The vine-girl in the suit was there again. She looked up from her newest menagerie of origami animals—which were now walking around as if they were alive. "Told you, Cerise," she said, and went back to folding more leaves. "That sort of approach doesn't work if they're already in love."
Aislinn let go of the encroaching faery. "Stay away from him."
"For the night" — the faery looked back inside, her wings opening and closing behind her, slowly, like a butterfly at rest—"but really, I think he could do so much better."
Freaking faeries. Aislinn opened her mouth to say something else.
"Not interested," Seth called from behind her.
"Bitch," said one of the girls to Aislinn as she left. She stomped out like she had a right to be offended. "You didn't need to grab her like that. She was just flirting."
The other said, "Guys don't like pushy girls. They like ladies."
At the door Jimmy paused and deadpanned, "Yeah. It's really not a total turn-on." Then he cracked up. "You get tired of Seth…"
Mitchell shoved him. "Shut up."
Invisible to everyone but her and the faeries, several of the ever-changing group of fey things outside scurried off.
Aislinn shut the door and leaned against it.
Seth was already back at the nasty-smelling concoction, stirring it. "Since you don't seem the jealous sort, I'm guessing she was a faery."
"Wings and all." She went over, pulled him down to her, and kissed him. "But I might be a bit more the jealous sort than I realized."
He grinned. "Works for me."
He put down the spoon and followed her over to the counter. "Thought they didn't like steel."
"They don't. That's why she was trying to get you to go out. She was strong enough to come in, but not strong enough to stay long. She couldn't even hold her glamour very well." She picked up another handful of herbs to crush. "Do me a favor?"
"Always."
"Stay home tonight." She picked out a few thicker stems. She glanced back at the door, a suddenly thin barrier against the growing number of faeries outside.
"I could ask you the same," he murmured. He held her tightly.
She closed her eyes and leaned her cheek on his chest. "If I don't get answers soon, Grams is going to pull me out of school. I can't stall her much longer, and I don't want to lie to her and say they've gone away."
"I could come with you…"
"He's not going to talk to me if I bring you along. I need him to think I'm believing him." She stretched up so she could kiss him, and then added, "If this doesn't work, we'll try something else."
He looked worried, afraid—things she didn't want to see, didn't want him to feel—but finally he nodded. "Be safe, okay?"
"I'll do my best…"
Because if she didn't, everything would be taken away— school, friends, Seth, everything. Keenan needed to let something slip. The faeries needed to say something that could help her figure out how to get rid of him. They simply had to.
CHAPTER 17
Once they take you and you taste the food…you cannot come back. You are changed…and live with them for ever.
— The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries by W. Y. Evans-Wentz (1911)
A half hour later Aislinn walked down Sixth Street, feeling more apprehensive with each step. Thinking about the faery coming into Seth's home didn't make matters any better. What if I hadn't been there? Would they hurt him? She hadn't wanted to leave Seth, or meet Keenan, or deal with the whole debacle, but she needed answers. Keenan had them.
He stood outside the entrance to the carnival, looking so normal that it was hard to remember that he was one of them, and not just court fey but a king. He reached out as if he'd embrace her. "Aislinn."
She stepped backward, easily dodging him.
"I'm so glad you came." Keenan looked terribly serious.
At a loss for what to say, she shrugged.
"Shall we?" He held out his arm, like they were at a formal dance or something.
"Sure." She ignored his arm—and his brief frown—as she followed him toward the maze of booths that had seemingly sprung up overnight.
People milled around, an impossibly large crowd. Families and couples played games on every side. Many of them had sweet-smelling drinks—some sort of golden slushy thing.
"You're just so" — he stared at her, smiling that inhuman smile—"I'm just so honored that you joined me."
Aislinn nodded, like he made sense. He didn't. This is ridiculous. His too-eager comments made her feel increasingly uncomfortable.
Beside her, a group of girls tried to throw tiny plastic balls onto glass platters. Overhead the lights of the Ferris wheel sparkled. People laughed and cuddled close to one another as they walked by.
Then Keenan took her hand, and suddenly her Sight was so clear that she gasped. Everywhere she looked, glamours faded. The workers running the booths, the concessions, the rides…They're all fey. All the carnies and quite a few of the guests were faeries. Oh my God. She'd never seen such a large crowd of faeries before.
Everywhere she looked, disguised faeries smiled back at her, friendly and happy.
Why are so many faeries wearing human faces?
Some real humans milled about, playing rigged games and riding rickety rides, but the faeries didn't stare at them. She was the one they all watched.
Keenan waved to a group of faeries who had called out to him. "Old friends. Do you want to meet them?"
"No." She bit down on her lip and looked around again, feeling her chest tighten.
He frowned.
"Not right now." She forced a smile, hoping he'd think her nervousness was just shyness.
Control. She took a deep breath and tried to sound friendly. "I thought we were going to get to know each other."
"Right." He smiled like she'd given him some rare and precious gift. "What can I tell you?"
"Umm, what about your family?" Aislinn stumbled, feet as unsteady as her breaking.
"I live with my uncles." he said as he led her forward, past a group of faeries that—until a moment ago—looked like they could go to Bishop O.C.
Several gestured toward her, but no one approached. In fact, the others moved out of Keenan's path as he led her toward a row of booths where the now-revealed faeries ran carnival games.
"Your uncles?" she repeated, feeling increasingly doubtful that coming was a wise idea. She pulled her hand free. "Right, the guys who were at school."
Faeries. Just like almost everyone here. She felt dizzy.
She tried again. "What about your parents?"
"My father died before I was born" — he paused, looking not sad, but angry—"but everything I am is his gift."
Did faeries die? She wasn't at all sure how to respond to his odd comment, so she simply said, "My mom is gone too. Childbirth."
"I'm sorry." He took her hand again, squeezed it affectionately, and intertwined his fingers with hers. "I'm sure she was a good woman. And she must've been lovely to be your mother."
"I'm not much like her." Aislinn swallowed hard. All she had was pictures. In the pictures Grams had around the house, her mother always looked haunted, like she couldn't quite handle the things she could see. Grams never spoke of her mother's last year, as if it hadn't existed.
"What about your father? Is he a good man?" He stopped, holding her hand while they stood there, surrounded by faeries, talking about their families.
If she hadn't been able to see the oddly shaped eyes and strange smiles on the faeries who liste
ned, it might seem so very normal. It wasn't.
She started to walk away, going toward one of the concession stands where they were selling those sweet-smelling drinks.
"Aislinn?"
She shrugged, more comfortable talking about a father she knew nothing of than the mother who'd given her the Sight. "Who knows? Grams doesn't know who he is, and Mom's not here to tell us."
"At least you have your grandmother." He reached up with his free hand and stroked her cheek. "I'm glad you have had that, a loving caretaker."
She started to answer, but headed toward them were Pointy-Face and about six of the other faeries who liked to linger at Shooters, harassing the regulars, chasing her away from the pool hall with their very presence. She froze, unable to move, years of instinct overriding logic.
"Aislinn? What's wrong?" He moved in front of her, blocking her view of everyone and everything but him. "Have I offended you?"
"No. I'm just" — she offered him what she hoped was a convincing smile and lied—"chilly."
He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, gently. "How's that?"
"Better." And it was. If he were what he pretended to be—kind and considerate—she might've felt bad that she was here on false pretenses.
But he wasn't. He wasn't real at all.
"Come on. Let's walk. There's always some interesting games here." He took her hand again, bringing her Sight back in full force.
Beside them, a woman stood in a child's wading pool calling, "Three darts for a prize."
A thick braid dangled like a rope past her knees. Her face was like one of those angels in old paintings, innocent with a spark of danger in her eyes. Aside from the goats' legs that peeked out of her long skirt, she was gorgeous, but no one approached her.
At the next tent a steady line of faeries and humans waited. Faces Aislinn had glimpsed around the city mingled with faeries she could never have imagined—wings and thorn-crusted skin and all manners of dress. It was too much to process.
Aislinn paused, overwhelmed by the sheer number and variety of faeries around her.
"The fortune-tellers here always put on a good show." Keenan pulled the flap of the tent back farther so she could look inside. There were three women with rheumy white eyes. Behind them stood a row of statues—like gargoyles without wings. They were freakishly muscular. And alive. Their gazes flitted around the tent, as if they were trying to find someone to answer unspoken questions.