A few moments later, I hear it again.
It came from the trash can.
It’s one thing to have willpower when your friend is up to witness your actions. It’s another in the wee hours of the morning when you’re all alone, and the house is still.
I pad across the kitchen floor, my socked-feet silent on the tile. Slowly, I open the cupboard under the sink and slide the trash can out.
The phone is somewhere near the bottom, hidden under paper towels, food packaging, and who knows what else. No one in their right mind would retrieve it now.
Leave it alone.
I stand here like an idiot, staring into the trash for far too long. Shaking my head, wondering what the heck is wrong with me, I shove it back. But before I can close the door and run to my room, pretending I didn’t hear anything, the cell chirps again.
Biting back a curse, I begin digging.
“Yuck,” I mutter when I locate the phone. It’s covered in damp coffee grounds and a few bits of eggshell. “What is wrong with you, Chloe?”
Holding the cell between my finger and my thumb, I nudge the trash can back in the cabinet with my foot and then lay the phone in the sink. Several sanitizing wipes later, I find myself back at the table, staring at the cheap cell like it’s Pandora’s Box.
It lies in front of me, silent.
“If he texts again, you’ll look,” I quietly reason with myself. “If he doesn’t, then it will go right back into the trash.”
Yes, that’s logical. Not insane at all.
A minute passes and…nothing. Maybe I’ll give him one more. Yawning again, I rest my head on the table, staring at the phone.
My eyes get heavy, and I’m just tiptoeing into the edges of slumber when the phone chimes again, scaring the crap out of me. I leap up, my heart beating madly.
I reach for the phone with trembling hands, wondering what he wrote...but my text messages are empty.
I blink at it, wondering where they went. Stupid cheap phone.
Then my eyes land on the battery meter at the top. It’s flashing at me, announcing its death is imminent. Those stupid chimes weren’t texts at all—it was the battery dying.
Which is something I should have immediately realized and can sense now that my brain isn’t consumed with thoughts of Eric.
I open the text screen, and my finger hovers over the “New Message” button. Without letting myself overthink it, I add Eric to the message and then type: Get out of my head.
Obviously, I don’t send it. I do, however, plug the phone into the charger and then go to bed.
6
“Chloe,” Nicole says, poking her head into my room. “You just got a text.”
I mumble something incoherent and wave at her to leave me alone. Judging from the angle of the sun, it’s still way too early for talking.
Then I realize something important. My phone—my actual phone—is on my nightstand, right next to the bed. So if I got a text out there, that means…
I throw the covers back and stand so quickly, I just about pass out.
“Morning,” Nicole says with a laugh as I hurry past her.
The clock in the hall reads fifteen-past-eight, and the smell of coffee wafts from the kitchen. I hurry for the phone, barely breathing.
Sure enough, a text waits for me—an actual, honest-to-goodness text.
Eric: What were you doing up at three in the morning?
I blink at it, trying to clear my groggy vision. How does he know I was awake at three?
Oh no…
Sure enough, in my sleep-addled state, I accidentally sent the text I wrote last night.
Chloe: That wasn’t for you.
Immediately, three little dots appear as he begins typing, which tells me he was just sitting there, waiting for my reply. Like a big, dumb, eager Bunny.
Stupid butterflies wing about in my stomach, mocking me.
Eric: Who was it for?
Chloe: Why do you keep calling?
Eric: Because I want to thank you.
Chloe: Do you even know who this is?
He doesn’t answer right away, and my stomach churns with anxiety. Maybe he really doesn’t know.
After the longest time, he finally replies.
Eric: I know who I want it to be.
My breath catches, but my temporary euphoria turns to anxiety. What if he thinks I’m someone else—like Sienna or Sara the Awful Peacock?
Before I can figure out an answer, he texts again.
Eric: I have to go now. I’ll talk to you soon.
Feeling vaguely disappointed, I pocket the phone.
“You finally talked to him,” Nicole says as she pulls a box of cereal from the cabinet, sounding as proud as a mother hen.
“Kind of,” I say.
“Well…? How was it?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure he knows who I am.”
“Really?” She peers over her shoulder, giving me an incredulous look.
Her light brown hair is up in a tidy twist, and she’s in dark-wash jeans and a soft pink sweater. If I were in hiding, I’d live in yoga pants and sweatshirts, but not Nicole.
Then I realize I’m not in hiding, but I do live in yoga pants and sweatshirts.
Avoiding her question, which I know is going to lead her to ask why I didn’t tell him, I say, “He said he’ll talk to me soon. What does that mean?”
“It usually means that he’ll talk to you soon.”
I bury my head in my hands. “What if he ends up being another Dustin?”
She makes a soft sound of sympathy. “I don’t think Gray would put up with a Dustin on his team.”
“I wish you knew him.”
That earns me a soft, apologetic smile.
For the rest of the day, I try to put thoughts of Eric out of my mind. I work on a few odd jobs for the guild—computers that need fixing and things like that. Nicole works in the kitchen, creating herbal salves, balms, and tinctures, filling orders for her online shop.
“What are you cooking up?” I ask when I come in for a glass of water. The kitchen smells like resiny frankincense—not my favorite fragrance—and something else I can’t place. I open the lid to her tiny slow cooker and wrinkle my nose. Calendula petals steep in melted coconut oil, smelling like a weird-flavored donut.
It’s always depressing when you walk into the kitchen and it’s salve cooking and not food. Sometimes it is food. But nine times out of ten, it’s salve.
Nicole makes a sad noise. “A woman contacted me yesterday. They had a house fire, and her son was severely burned. The doctors have done everything they can, but he suffered bad facial scarring. I’m making him a cream.”
“Careful,” I warn gently. “Don’t make it too potent.”
The herbs and oils are a coverup. To some extent, they might help, but it’s Nicole’s magic that’s truly behind the success of her concoctions.
She turns to me, pursing her lips. “What good am I if I can’t help anyone?”
And that, right there, is the reason Nicole abandoned the Knights’ Guild. When her team leader told her to leave several humans to die who accidentally got into a fray when the team was fighting a trio of rogue Dragons, she refused to obey. And then she fled, faking her own death so she wouldn’t have to answer to the duke. He very well could have ordered her to be stripped of her magic and thrown in the Dungeons for her mutinous actions—a fate worse than death.
She’s a hermit now, never daring to leave the house. But she’s still healing humans.
“How old is he?” I ask softly.
Nicole turns back to her work. “Seven.”
I know I won’t be able to talk her out of it, and I don’t want to. I shouldn’t have to.
Sensing my worry, she smiles at me over her shoulder. “I’ve already told his mother it might take months of daily use before they see improvement. Don’t worry—it won’t happen overnight.”
It could, though. Nicole could heal the boy with nothing more than th
e touch of her hand.
Changing the subject, I say, “What do you want for dinne—”
I don’t finish the sentence because an electronic chime sounds from my desk in the living room. We both freeze, and then Nicole turns. “Aren’t you going to see who it is?”
It can only be one person.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to act cool.
I mosey out of the kitchen, practicing restraint. Taking my time, pretending I don’t care, I pick up the phone.
Eric: Do you like coffee?
I stare at the message and then glance at the empty mug next to my toolbox. Of course I like coffee. I’ve never proven it, but I’m pretty sure my magic runs on caffeine and carbs.
Chloe: No.
Not two seconds later, he writes back.
Eric: Tea, then? Hot chocolate?
Chloe: No and no.
He wants to meet, but I can’t—and not just because I want to protect my heart. If we’re spotted together, the elders will become suspicious. Peter bought my story, but if someone sees me getting friendly with a knight from Madeline’s team, I’m in big trouble.
Eric: Soda? Water? Dinner? Dessert?
He’s a persistent Bunny.
Chloe: I get it—you’re grateful. We’re good. Move on.
Eric: I still need you to fix my tablet.
Stupid relief washes over me, leaving me feeling all warm and gooey. He does know. I nibble my bottom lip, wanting so badly to give in. Before I let myself overthink it, I type out my answer.
Chloe: Find some other Squirrel.
Eric: I knew it was you.
My heart starts beating a little faster, but this time, it’s due to nerves.
Eric: It’s my turn to buy you dinner.
“Are you okay?” Nicole says from the edge of the living room. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”
I realize I’m clutching my stomach, and I let my arm drop. “He knows who I am.”
Her expression softens. “Well, of course he does. No man would call that many times if he didn’t know who was on the other line.”
“He asked me out.”
“Go—you know you want to.”
It’s far easier to lie to myself than her, so I don’t even bother. Instead, I toss the phone on the desk and sit on the arm of the couch. “What if someone sees us together?”
That, at least, makes her pause. My phone chimes with another text, and I stand to check it.
Eric: I want to see you.
With a sigh, I type my reply.
Chloe: I’ll think about it. But not tonight.
Eric: I’ll take it.
I smile before I realize what my traitorous lips are up to, and then I wipe my expression clean.
Somehow, I manage to put Eric off for an entire week, but he still texts every day. I keep my responses vague and short, hoping—all while not hoping—he’ll give up.
And maybe he has. I didn’t hear from him yesterday, and today has been radio silence as well. That doesn’t stop me from carrying the blasted cheap cell phone in my bag.
I’m at the Royal Guild today, dropping off a few things I fixed over the weekend. My mind is elsewhere, and I just want to get out of here. It makes me uneasy being around this many guild officials.
“It’s as good as new,” I tell Lord Finnegan as I pull his laptop out of my bag. “But just for future reference, computers run better when they’re not doused in soda.”
The computer was a sticky, syrupy mess by the time I got it.
The current head of Magical Law and Enforcement flashes me a sheepish smile. He’s twenty-six, handsome, and will soon take his uncle’s place as duke. Most women swoon at the mere mention of his name, but personally, I think the man is as trustworthy as a weasel.
“I’ll be more careful in the future.” He opens the laptop and smiles when he logs on without any trouble. “It seems fine now.”
“Yep. I did some general maintenance on it too, so it should run a little faster for you.” Then, because he looks a little green around the gills, I assure him, “I didn’t look at anything.”
Nothing except a dozen cookies from human gambling sites.
He nods like he doesn’t have anything to hide. “I appreciate it.”
“Any time,” I tell him, and then I turn to leave.
“See Delores,” he says absently. “She’ll write you a check.”
I’m almost out of his posh, stuffy office when he calls me back. “Chloe?”
“Yeah?” I ask, somewhat surprised he remembers my name.
He pulls his eyes away from the screen. “Have you thought about taking a job with us? Regular hours? Salary? Vacation leave?”
I think about it for half a second, but if I had to work with men like him every day, I’d go crazy.
“I like the freelance gig.”
He nods as though he suspected as much. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Will do.”
I step out of the office and come to an abrupt stop. There, speaking with Lord Finnegan’s secretary, is the Obsidian Queen herself.
Madeline’s eyes meet mine, and her eyebrows shoot up with surprise. I have a strong urge to run. I have no doubt she knows what I did and who I’m associated with.
“Chloe,” she says after a minute, smiling.
“Hey.” I look down, pretending I’m not the lowliest Squirrel in the world, and walk past her.
“I’ll talk to you later, Agatha,” Madeline says, ending her conversation.
“Do you want me to tell Finn you stopped by?” the secretary asks.
“No,” Madeline answers with a whole lot of feeling behind the word. “I just came to drop that off for you.”
Even though it’s not any of my business, I glance at the desk and spot a pink and white gift bag that’s bursting with tissue paper.
I almost laugh. The Obsidian Queen—a woman from ancient royal bloodlines who can control the shadow creatures and open the destroyed thresholds, bought Lord Finnegan’s secretary a baby gift.
Moments later, Madeline catches up to me.
“I don’t know where to start, so I’m just going to say thank you,” she says quietly. “You saved my life.”
Eric ratted me out. I guess that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
Madeline has got six inches on me, but in those heels she always wears, she’s closer to eight. I have to look up to face her.
She continues, “If you hadn’t sent my team, Rafe would have bled out, and I would have died next to the corpse of a demented pixie.”
Her words hit me hard, and I nearly double over with relief. “Trent’s dead?”
That bit of information hadn’t made it back to me.
She lifts a brow and points to her shoe. “I stabbed him with my heel.” Her smile becomes a grin. “Well, not this one, obviously. You didn’t know?”
I shake my head and mutter, “I’ve kept a low profile the last few weeks.”
“Are you all right?” she demands, and then she drops her voice. “Did they punish you?”
“They don’t know what I did,” I whisper.
She thinks about it for a moment. “Be careful, all right?”
This is not at all how I thought this meeting would go.
I adjust my pack’s strap. “I will.”
Madeline doesn’t look like she’s ready to let me go, but it’s just dawned on me that if she’s here, then one of her knights is nearby.
And the last person I’m ready to run into is—
“Maddie,” Eric calls from down the hall. “You said you were going to wait for…"
The knight’s words die when our eyes meet.
I flush, and then I go cold. My heart beats like mad, and there’s a fifty percent chance I’m going to burst into tears, and I don’t even know why.
He looks good—all tan skin and light hair and piercing blue eyes that could make even the orneriest wolverine curl up in his lap. How is a girl supposed to fight that?
She makes a scoffing sound, not unlike an irritated cat. Apparently the Fox is tired of her entourage.
“Chloe,” he says after he hangs up. That’s all—just my name in his deep, soothing voice.
I can feel Madeline watching us, her gaze curious and maybe even a little amused.
“I need to go.” I turn on my heel and do what Squirrels do best—scamper off.
Not giving them a chance to stop me, I hurry down the hall. My emotions are ricocheting around like a pinball. I want to run; I want to go back. I want to hide; I want to throw myself at him and beg for forgiveness.
I’m tugged back by a massive hand on my arm. The momentum of it causes me to stumble backward, right into the knight.
I tilt my head up, looking at Eric upside down. “What?”
His expression is enigmatic, but there’s a smile in his eyes. “Give me five minutes.”
You’d think we’d be safe here, right? Wrong.
There are members of the Entitled everywhere, especially here. Many of us have infiltrated their ranks, just as Rafe did when he became a royal knight marshal.
Anyone could see us.
“Not here,” I barely whisper, and then I pull free.
“Where?” he asks quietly, matching my tone, maybe realizing I’m terrified of being spotted with him.
Where indeed.
“I got this,” he assures me after several seconds. Then louder, in a patronizing tone, he says, “You’re a Squirrel, right? You fix things?”
“Yeah…”
As I answer, Rafe turns the corner. He narrows his eyes when he spots me. I gulp, terrified to have the Obsidian Knight’s full attention.
“I need you to look at my tablet,” Eric says to me, using that old excuse yet again. He then nods at Madeline, asking her to leave with Rafe. “You guys go ahead. I’ll meet you at the car in a minute.”
Then, ever so casually, like I’m just a lowly little minion, Eric walks off, expecting me to follow him. Grasping my bag like a lifeline, I trail him through the guild building, taking hall after hall and going down two flights of stairs until we reach a room in the basement. The floor is rubber, and various heating and cooling systems hum around us.
Traitor of the Entitled Novella Page 4