Ferrous (Fae's Folly Book 1)

by Valerie Mars

  “I’ll tell you when I finish the book,” he replies.

  8

  Mallory

  Kai and I exchange looks of bemusement as Bash polishes off the extra pot roast serving meant for Ryland. He has yet to return, which bothers me very little. I’m savoring one of the blackberry apricot pastries Bash brought with supper while gazing at the sunset, hair wet from a soak in the birch tub. I took pictures of it with my phone, but the battery has since died and who knows if pictures transfer between realms or not.

  I set my plate down beside the chaise, finally finished with the pastry in the same stretch of time Bash demolished two entrees and three pastries. “Do fae not delve into human culture?”

  Kai nibbles on his lower lip. “It depends on individual interest.” Bash grunts his agreement. “All fae learn about common human customs to prepare for the unlikely chance they encounter one, but most don’t seek further information after the basics. There’s so much of our own history and art to explore that human culture becomes somewhat of a special interest.”

  Ron Weasley’s dad comes to mind. “Is it an interest of yours, Kai?” Bash sets his silverware down and presses a fist to his very wide, but tight smile; a rare moment of restraint by him.

  “You could say this wasn’t the first time I picked up a modern human book.”

  “Kai trends toward being interested in everything his father isn’t,” Bash spills. Kai exhales loudly, wrapping his left hand around the back of his neck.

  “I think it’s more that I’ve already exhausted my interest in the subjects he deems valuable.”

  “Which are those?”

  “Strategy, combat, physical conditioning…history…” he plays with a wisp of hair, “…actually, history is inexhaustible, but you see the general trend.”

  “I do. He sounds like a real hard-ass.” No wonder he was blushing over some basic Jane Austen. Rather than Ron Weasley’s dad, Kai seems more like the neighbor I knew growing up who read Harry Potter under the covers so her Jehovah’s Witnesses parents wouldn’t ground her. I gifted her the fourth book when they moved.

  In hindsight, that’s a massive book to try and hide.

  His lips set into a grim line. “He is, but I’m all he has.” Long ears twitching, he and Bash look to the door. Their eyes meet before they move to the entrance. Knocking sounds as a frigid breeze carrying Ryland’s voice enters the suite, caressing my inner-ear like a whisper. A very dry, irritated whisper.

  “Open the door, you loons.”

  Bash is already releasing the deadbolt after the second round of knocking, and in walks Ryland Everhart, arms overflowing with shopping bags. He strides into the common area, unloading everything into a heap on the coffee table. The midnight blue hood of his cloak slips, revealing the lavender-gray locks that nearly have me blushing from memories of the porno glass. He scrutinizes me from above, nostrils flaring. His eyes narrow before he proceeds to dig through a bag.

  “You had her bathed. It’ll help.”

  “Excuse me. She bathed herself,” I testify.

  He glares up from the assortment as if I needed permission to speak, then tosses a garment to Kai. His uninjured hand catches it without hesitation.

  “I’ll don it immediately,” he says, heading into the bathroom.

  Ryland locates another garment, holding it out to Bash. One copper brow questions him, prompting Ryland to shake his head.

  “No, it’s just a cloak. There’s no way we could fit you into something suitable, otherwise. Use it as a blanket tonight. Bare-chested.”

  “That’ll do.” He targets me with a wolfish grin, eyes bright. “Although I’d wager it to be more effective if applied directly instead,” he says, retreating to the bedroom he and Kai share with the cloak in hand.

  Ryland continues partitioning the shopping goods. He sets a pair of brown ankle boots halfway between us, returning to the bags. He doesn’t look up when he speaks.

  “You will wear these tomorrow and not a moment sooner, understood?”

  His clipped tone is getting old real fast. “What’s wrong with mine?”

  “They reek.”

  I cross my arms. “What the fuck is it to you how they smell?”

  His chest falls as he huffs, abandoning the haul to grant me the honor of eye contact. “They reek of human, rather. Have they not gone over this?”

  “Gone over what? No…I’m guessing there were more pressing issues to address.” Like orgies in the bathroom. And let’s be honest, anything regarding Mr. Darcy takes precedence.

  “We won’t be the only ones traveling tomorrow. The roads will teem with fae who travel to the capital under rumor of war with fae whose scent resembles yours. You do not desire for them to wonder why you smell the way you do. Therefore,” he gestures to the footwear, “I suggest you wear the boots procured from a lady of this establishment. You’ll find they smell of Spring.”

  I’ve purchased second-hand shoes before, but I’ve never stuck my nose in them before doing so. I lift one to my face, unsurprised but resentful when instead of toe jam it smells of grass and—I kid you not—roses. I wish I could have smelled that way after first period gym class.

  “I take it you guys are cramming yourselves into clothing tonight so I can wear your scents tomorrow, then?” With the exception of bare-chested Bash, that is. His remark in hindsight has grown substantially suggestive. I don’t think I could sleep with all that going on.

  “They are. I’m done for today.”

  “Is that fair?” Kai asks with a hoarse tone from the hallway. Roaring laughter from Bash rips throughout the suite.

  “I’ve paid my dues,” Ryland replies coolly.

  Kai waddles into view and I can’t help but to pull my shirt up over my face to hide a jackal smile. He’s wearing military green pants with a paper-bag waist and fitted ankles. The problem is, the tapered legs are a tight fit, and he’s barely able to hike them up high enough to cover his unmentionables. The pleated waist hangs lower than his underwear line, the belt tied just tightly enough to protect his modesty. For someone shy on telling me about a girly Regency novel, he’s surprisingly less squeamish with women’s clothing.

  “Next time she gets a skirt,” he says, penguining his way to a seat.

  Heavy feet scuttle down the hall, announcing Bash’s entrance. “My turn,” he says, stopping just before line of sight.

  He makes us wait. Then, a swatch of heavy periwinkle peeks out from behind the corner. I whip to Ryland’s hair, noticing the close relation. He catches me.

  “Fae will be less likely to question your presence if you’re wrapped in Everhart,” he states. Maybe the cloak will grant me special privileges. Like people pretending they don’t notice the frizziness of my hair.

  Bash saunters into the room, periwinkle hood donned and all. He stops before us and pulls it back, oozing drama. The performance is top quality, but his wide physique swallows up the length of the cloak.

  “It looks like a cape on you,” I say, failing to stifle my giggles.

  He swings his head in my direction. “You’ve yet to see the best part, Mally-girl.”

  “Oh?”

  “On the inside,” he runs his hands along the fabric lining the cloak, “there are pockets!” He emphasizes his point by thrusting his hands into said pockets and wrapping the cloak around himself. Well, wrapping whatever fabric is left around himself. It doesn’t go far.

  He still looks cozy, though.

  “You might have to fight him for that cloak tomorrow,” Kai notes.

  “He’s making it look so comfy I may fight him for it now.”

  “I invite you to try,” Bash says with a wink.

  I gulp. This one’s going to be trouble.

  Ryland stands. “Behave, Ankerstrand.” Bash salutes him before plopping down next to Kai. “In addition to what Kai and Sebastian are providing, you’ll receive an Autumn sweater for tomorrow.” He thrusts a bag over my lap, looking past me. “Sleepwear and undergarments. T
he human clothes must go.” I take the clothing and mumble an acknowledgment. He points to the bathroom.

  “Oh, you mean right now.” His face is flat, finger still pointed midair. What a dick. I search Bash’s face for camaraderie, but he floats me an awkward smile instead.

  “Your clothes were made by machines, love. And soaked in nerves. Sleeping in them won’t help us.” Kai nods from his Chinese finger trap of an outfit.

  “Fine,” I say, standing. “Be right back. But no fashion shows without me, please.”

  I suppose this would have happened sooner if I had worn the banana suit. You served me well, Kimmy P. I strip and give my body a wash in the tub, soaping up liberally. I linger in the citrusy goodness, fighting nerves concerning the contents of the bag. It seems silly to worry over considering I’ve been wearing a dirty crop top for twenty-four hours, but what if there’s nothing but silk negligees in there? Bash said Clara’s costume reminded him of home, which is borderline terrifying given the airy nature of her garment.

  I empty the bag onto a woven throw rug and bolster myself. But rather than a swarm of diaphanous get-ups, I find Ryland’s executive planning compensates handsomely for his douchebaggery. There are two different pairs of socks, modest briefs in a few sizes, and three bralettes made from a material as soft as bamboo. The only silk I do find is in a pajama set that covers me from wrist to ankle like a Victorian swimsuit. It’s surprisingly thoughtful. After determining which undergarments fit best, I slip into the pajamas. They caress my skin in a cool, buttery waterfall.

  I crack open the door, peering down the hallway toward the bedrooms. Bash is repacking a canvas rucksack on the bed. I realize I’ll have nothing to pack and silently thank God I wasn’t wearing one of my expensive bras on Halloween.

  He glances up. “Nice jim-jams.”

  I scrunch my shoulders and do a little shimmy in the soft fabric. “Thanks.”

  He continues packing and I return to the living room. I don’t know what’s more awkward: watching Kai try to bandage his hand, or the way my new pants choke his legs as he sits. Taking pity on him, I offer to help.

  Protest flares in his eyes, but he acquiesces. “Thank you.”

  “It’s her fault, anyway,” Ryland mutters while cleaning his boots.

  “Oh, hush,” I say, lowering myself onto the love seat beside Kai. I pat my lap. “Hand, please.”

  He obliges, albeit somewhat squeamishly, with a sidelong look to absolute Nowheresville on the wall. The pungent salve he’s slathered in tickles my nose. His eyes roam over my sleepwear, making it difficult to focus on fixing the mess of his hand. I tilt my head down to intercept his line of sight. Unlike Bash, this man has shame. His gaze falls to his own lap, blood forming a blush on his cheeks again. After being made demure by Bash’s comments earlier, it feels nice to make Kai squirm a little. Even if I’ll likely go to Hell for it.

  I finish dressing his hand and glance up to find Ryland’s been watching, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. He relaxes them and moves to deposit his boots by the entryway. Returning to his seat across the table, he leans back and crosses his arms.

  “This wasn’t your first time wrapping a wound,” he states.

  “Correct.” I refuse to elaborate unless he humbles himself to ask me what he wants to know.

  “Don’t you humans have hospitals for that?” Not exactly the question I was hoping for. Not that I was hoping to speak with him any further.

  “We do.”

  “Hmm,” he counters after developing a sudden interest in the cleanliness of his fingernails.

  I thought I would need Kai to mediate scuffles between Ryland and Bash, but it’s becoming obvious he’ll have his hands—err, hand?—busy with all three of his party members.

  It isn’t his hands with which he takes on our squabble, of course. Kai chooses to shoulder the load of asking Ryland’s question, possibly for no other purpose than saving himself from having to witness another second of our terse exchange.

  “How did you gain experience wrapping wounds?”

  I automatically reach for my necklace, teeth gnawing at my bottom lip. “Bed sores,” I say before taking a ginormous breath. “My grandfather developed bed sores under hospice, so I became his caretaker.” My chest tightens, because it isn’t the complete story. But they don’t need to hear about the rift torn between my parents and me when they insisted on replacing the stranger with another stranger. Or my disgust in their unwillingness to take time off work to be with him. I dropped school, moved in with him, and it’s been mostly middle fingers between the three of us since.

  “He was fortunate to have you,” Kai says, sympathy weighing his features. This is why I don’t talk about it.

  “We’ll have to wrap that ring tightly if we are to take it with us, mortal,” Ryland articulates softly. I unfurl from my slumped posture to regard his statement, struck by the way his sharp jaw and perpetually pinched lips have loosened. The glint of steel in his eyes feels less scrutinizing, but the moment I look, they return to their usual position framing his wrinkled nose. “I can smell it from here,” he finishes.

  “I’ll do anything as long as it comes with me,” I all but plead.

  Kai leans in, hand hovering over my knee before he decides against it and leans back. “We’ll figure something out,” he assures.

  I give a single nod, but it feels more like a bow. “Thank you.”

  Ryland reaches for the box he left on the table and slides it across.

  “I believe this is what you call cashmere.” His voice turns gravelly as he works through the unfamiliar word.

  “What do you call it?”

  “We call it ‘chèvre wool.’”

  “Like the cheese?”

  “More like the goat, I’d think.”

  It hits me as I unbox a black sweater. Ankle boots, military green pants, and a black top? It appears that Ryland replicated my costume, except he upgraded the quality of the textiles by 150%. I attempt to mask my amusement as I unfold it midair, but my lips tug upward.

  I drape the sweater over Kai, attempting to imagine how it’ll look tomorrow. Other than looking like a weird super spy in this quasi-medieval world, I’ll be feeling pretty snazzy. I return it to the box.

  “Thank you. It’s…very soft.” It takes effort to speak amicably toward Ryland.

  “Much better than you’re used to, I’m sure,” he replies, and I’m sure that comment is back-handed.

  My temper reaches the end of its leash. “You’re prepared to sour every half-decent moment, aren’t you?”

  “As if babysitting a human interloper could near half-decent.” Show me on the doll where the humans hurt you, dude.

  “I would be shocked if you’ve felt half-decent even once in your life,” I spit. It’s a shame the sweater is so soft, as I’m probably going to torch it by the end of this.

  His eyes have narrowed, jaw ticking where his teeth clench. Good. I hope he develops muscle spasms. Kai’s hands fall onto my shoulders, ushering me up off the couch.

  “Let’s save this whirlwind battle for tomorrow and try to get some sleep, shall we?”

  I nod, allowing him to lead me from the room. “I’d call it a ‘shitstorm,’ myself,” I mumble.

  He looses a sharp exhale. “We have an early start tomorrow. I suggest you rid yourself of all thoughts Eversmart and rest well.”

  I think to his injured hand. “You too, Iron Man.”

  “Psh.”

  “Do you even know that reference?” How deep does his human trivia run?

  “Tony Stark’s quick humor is a favorite of mine, although many of his references I’m unfamiliar with.”

  “Don’t worry, humans get lost in them, too. There’s a moment in The Avengers where he calls Hawkeye ‘Legolas’. The younger teens behind me in the theater were asking each other what a ‘lego-lass’ is,” I chuckle.

  “I would have liked to see that,” he says, sounding wistful. We linger in the bedroom doorway, his eyes over
cast from shadows cast by candlelight. His lips purse into a silent o, realization marking his features. “You’ve nearly distracted me.”

  “Hmm?”

  He peers past me into the bedroom, prompting me to step aside before walking over to the nightstand where a lantern glows.

  “What’s up?”

  “It would be best if you slept without the meteorite around your neck tonight.” He locks onto my rapidly widening eyes. “I know it’s a source of protection for you, but it’s going to be the scent equivalent of a bullseye tomorrow if it isn’t removed.” He pats the bedside table. “Leave it here within reach, if it gives you more control.”

  I nod vigorously. “It would.” This is all still new, and I don’t really know these peopl—fae.

  “Bash and I will be next door, and Ryland’s going to another suite. Will you be alright?”

  At this point, they’re my best bet at returning home. They’ve treated me well, albeit one quite rudely. “Trusting you has gotten me this far, right?” I say in a tone lighter than my feelings on the matter.

  But Kai’s eyes cut straight through my bullshit, even in candlelight. Both of us know I’m still freaking out internally. To my relief, he doesn’t call me on the bluff. Instead, he gives me a tight smile before turning for the door.

  “Is an hour before departure enough time if you aren’t already awake tomorrow morning?”

  “Plenty, thank you.”

  He faces me from the doorway. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Goodnight.”

  “Night, Kai,” I say while laying the sweater box on an armchair. But it strikes me as odd. Why is Kai wearing tiny pants to bed and Bash blanketing himself in my cloak while the sweater meant for Ryland’s scent sits in this box? The door is pulling shut as I speak. “Hey, Kai?”

  It cracks open. “Is something wrong?”

  “Wasn’t Ryland supposed to wear the sweater?”

  “He did all day after its purchase, actually. He removed and packaged it while you were in the bath changing. He was quite disgruntled about how tightly it fit.”