Wicked Lovely tf-1

by Melissa Marr

  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."

  CHAPTER 21

  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 enou
gh 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?"

  "No. They are his, not mine."

  "So they'll hear everything?" Aislinn looked like she needed someone to help her make decisions, not like her usual self at all.

  What didn't Keenan tell me?

  "They can't come into my home. We'll go there," Donia offered before she could think it through. Then, before she had to hear the comments that followed the gasp of surprise, she walked away, leaving Aislinn and Seth rushing to catch up with her.

  More strangers in my home. She sighed, hoping it wouldn't soon become Aislinn's home, hoping that Keenan was right. Let Aislinn be the one.

  At the edge of the yard where they came upon the natural barrier that protects a fey domicile from mortal intrusion, Seth's eyes widened, but Aislinn didn't flinch. Perhaps she'd always been immune; perhaps it was only her Sight that made her oblivious to it. Donia didn't ask. Instead she whispered the words to ease Seth's aversion and led them—still silent—into her home.

  "Are we the only ones here?" Seth looked around the room, although his mortal eyes would see nothing if the three of them weren't alone. He still held Aislinn's hand and made no move to let go anytime soon.

  "We are." Aislinn's gaze lingered on the simple natural wood furnishings in the small room, the massive fireplace that took up most of one wall, and the gray stones that finished out that wall. "It's just us."

  Donia leaned against the stones, enjoying their warmth. "Not quite what you pictured?"

  Aislinn leaned on Seth; they both looked thoroughly exhausted. She crooked her mouth in a half-smile. "I don't think I pictured anything. I didn't know why you were talking to me, still don't. I just know it's got something to do with him."

  "It has everything to do with him. Beyond here, to those who wait out there" — Donia motioned to the door—"what he wants is the most important thing. Nothing else matters to them. You, me, we are nothing in their worlds other than what we can be to him."

  Leaning her head against Seth's arm, Aislinn asked, "So what about in here?"

  Seth wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to the sofa, murmuring, "Sit down. You don't need to stand to talk to her."

  Donia came closer then, standing across from them, gazing at Aislinn. "In here, what matters is what I want. And I want to help you."

  Trying to contain her emotions, Donia paced through the room; she paused periodically, but she made no move to continue the conversation. How do I say what needs saying? They were weary, and she couldn't blame them for it.

  "Donia?" Aislinn curled into Seth's arms, half asleep and lethargic. She was vulnerable from whatever Keenan had done.

  Donia ignored her. Turning instead to the shelf that held the mortal- and faery-authored books that the Winter Girls had collected over the past nine centuries, she ran her fingers over some of her favorites—Kirk and Lang's The Secret Commonwealth, the complete collection of Tradition of the Highest Courts, Keightley's The Fairy Mythology, and Sorcha's On Being: Faery Morality and Mortality. She slid her fingers past these, past an old copy of The Mabinogion, past a collection of journals the other girls had kept, past the tattered book holding letters Keenan had sent them over the centuries—always in that elegant script of his, even if the language wasn't always the same. There she stopped.

  Her hand lingered on a well-worn book with a torn green cover. In it, handwritten in the strangely beautiful words of an almost lost language, were two recipes known to give the Sight to a mortal.

  It was forbidden to allow those recipes to be read by a mortal. If any of the courts learned that she'd done so, Beira's threat would be a minor worry. Many fey had grown fond of being a hidden people; they'd be loath to lose that should mortals begin to see them again.

  "Are you okay?" Seth didn't come toward her, staying protectively at Aislinn's side, but his voice held worry.

  For me, a stranger.

  He was worthy of protection. She knew fey history well enough, having spent long hours poring over these books. Once the courts might have given him a gift for what he did, defending the one who would be queen. "I am. I am surprisingly fine."

  She pulled the book out. After sitting down across from them, she rested the book in her lap and gingerly flipped the pages. Several slid loose of the binding, coming free in her hands. She spoke barely above a whisper but she said it, "Write this down."

  "What?" Aisl
inn blinked and straightened up, pulling away from the circle of Seth's arms.

  "It's a crime with the most serious of punishments if they learn I've given you this. Keenan may look the other way if no one else knows, but I want him" — she inclined her head ever so slightly at Seth—"to stand a fair chance in what will follow. To leave him defenseless and blind…it would be wrong."

  "Thank—"

  She cut him off, "No. Those are mortal words, made empty by casual use. If you are to walk among our kind, remember that: they are an insult of sorts. If one does you a good turn, an act of friendship, remember it. Do not lessen it with that shallow phrase."

  She told him then, gave him the words that would let him make the salve to see.

  He raised an eyebrow as he wrote it down, but he did not ask questions until she'd closed the book and returned it to its place on the shelf. Then he asked only, "Why?"

  "I've been her." Donia looked away, staring at the spines of the worn books on her shelves, feeling shaky as the weight of what she'd just done settled on her. Would even Keenan forgive her? She wasn't sure, but—like him—she believed Aislinn truly was the Summer Queen. Why else would Beira be so adamant that she stay away from the staff?

  Donia pulled her gaze from the shelves and looked at Aislinn as she said the rest: "I was a mortal. I had no idea what he was; none of us ever do. You're the first one to see him, see any of them for what they are. What I am now."

  "You were mortal?" Aislinn repeated shakily.

  Donia nodded.

  "What happened?"

  "I loved him. I said yes when he asked me to choose to stay with him. He offered me forever, love, midnight dances." She shrugged, unwilling to think too long about dreams she had no right to still have, especially with Aislinn looking back at her. Someday Seth would fade away, but Keenan would not. If Aislinn were the Summer Queen, it was merely a matter of time until she fell in love with Keenan. Once she saw his true nature—the person he could be…

  Donia shook her head and added, "There was another girl who tried to talk me out of it, a girl who had believed in him once."

  "Why didn't you listen?" Aislinn shivered, moving closer to Seth.