by K. J. Sutton
“But you’ve barely had any,” she protested weakly.
“Believe me, I plan to eat all of it,” I reassured her. Thankfully, Laurie was already standing. Without another word, I took hold of his shoulders and steered him toward the entryway. I knew everyone was staring, but I pretended not to notice. Laurie looked like he was trying not to laugh. I opened the front door and shoved him through, then stepped out after him.
The wind teased Laurie’s hair. Standing there with his impish grin and tousled locks, he looked like a prince from a fairy tale. Too bad he was anything but. I crossed my arms and glared at him. “You know, you’re the reason God created the middle finger.”
“I know. Happy birthday, Queen Fortuna.” With a rueful smile, Laurie held out a small box, pale blue, about the size of a book. I gave him a look—presents wouldn’t absolve him of what he’d pulled tonight—but the faerie king just waited, his crystalline eyes never moving from my face. Sighing, I took the box and tugged at the silk ribbon around it. It fell away, and I tucked it into my pocket before lifting the lid.
The necklace was just like Laurie himself—beautiful and obnoxious. It was a string of diamonds. The jewels closest to the clasp were small, but as they went on toward the center, they got bigger. One of them was the size of a raspberry. Thinking about how much this must’ve cost made me nervous to even hold it. With my luck, a crow might dive down and snatch the shiny thing out of my hand.
“Why don’t you take the money you spent on this and get some therapy?” I suggested, putting the lid back on. I held the box out to Laurie. “I can’t accept it.”
“There’s my Firecracker. I wondered where she’d gone,” the Seelie King remarked. Moving in a blur, he brushed a kiss along my cheek. He stepped back before I could jerk out of the way.
“Laurie, don’t you dare leave without taking this with—” I stopped when I saw that he was gone. Why did I even bother? I glowered out at the trees, knowing I should go back inside, but unable to move. Not when I knew Maureen was still in there.
A moment later, the front door opened and closed. Someone came to stand beside me, and I recognized the alluring scent instantly. “Don’t worry, he’s gone,” I said flatly, keeping my gaze on the skyline. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you two?”
Collith didn’t answer straightaway. A gust of wind whistled past the porch. “Emma wanted to make sure you got your birthday wish,” he said eventually.
“Great. Except that’s not what I asked.”
Silence met my sullen words. Moving carefully, Collith sat down on the top step. I saw that he balanced a cake in one hand and held a mug of coffee in the other. Swallowing an annoyed sigh, I moved to follow suit. Collith placed the cake between us, along with a card.
I stared down at the birthday cake Emma had made. It was a lopsided affair, but I had no doubt it would be delicious. The candle flames flickered and spit. Wax dripped into the frosting.
“Were you the one who got me the chair?” I asked suddenly, raising my gaze back to Collith. I wasn’t sure what made me think of it, but somewhere along the way, the answer had become important. Maybe I just didn’t like unsolved mysteries.
He frowned. “Chair?”
“Never mind.” In trying to hide a faint sense of disappointment, my attention shifted to the envelope beside me. My name was scrawled on the back in Emma’s tiny, neat handwriting. I pulled out the card, and the front was covered in an image of a rat wearing a party hat. The words above it read, Happy birthday from someone who gives a rat’s ass.
A ghost of a smile touched my lips. I opened the card and a business card tumbled out. As I reached for it, I read Emma’s note first. This might be unorthodox, as far as presents go. I wanted to get you something that would help. If you’d rather have a hat, please let me know. Curious now, I picked up the small, stiff piece of paper. When I saw what it was for, my smile faded. I tilted the card back and forth, watching how the light glinted off the golden letters. CONSUELO THOMPSON. Beneath this it said, REGISTERED PSYCHOLOGIST.
Like Dave, subtlety wasn’t Emma’s strong suit.
Sighing, I put the card back into the envelope and returned my attention to the cake. The candles were still burning. For the past two years, I’d wished for Damon’s safe return. Now that he was home, and it was clear that birthday wishes really did come true, I didn’t want to waste this opportunity. I picked up the cake—it was heavier than it looked—and set it on my lap. I closed my eyes and thought, I wish that, no matter what happens, my family stays safe.
I bent over and blew out all the candles with a single breath.
“Would you like to hear a joke?” Collith said. I looked at him, but his eyes were on the horizon. “A faerie, a Nightmare, and a werewolf walk into a bar…”
There was a slur to his words I’d only heard once before, after he’d returned from Olorel. You’re drunk. I didn’t realize I’d spoken the words out loud until Collith held up a coffee mug and replied, “Not for long.”
I was frowning. At what point in the day did he start drinking? He’d only had one glass of wine at dinner.
I was about to voice my concern when the door behind us opened. I set the cake aside quickly. Collith and I stood as Emma’s voice floated into the night. Dave and Maureen walked onto the porch. The door closed behind them, and they both glanced down at the cake. I started to reach for it.
“Don’t worry about it,” Dave said, stepping over the plate, smoking candles and all. His wife had already done the same. Dave lingered at the base of the steps while she continued on to the truck. Maureen didn’t look back at me.
“She means well,” Dave said in his easygoing way. Reprising his role as peacemaker, despite all the time that had passed since I’d lived with them. My adoptive father’s eyes went to the figure standing so still at my side. “It was nice to meet you, Collith. Come over for dinner sometime—we’d love to have you, and I know it would make Maureen happy to see more of Fortuna.”
“Thanks for coming, Dave,” I said quickly, unsure that Collith would respond.
But he surprised me. “It was nice to meet you, as well,” the faerie said with a polite smile. He went down a couple steps and held out his hand. Dave shook it, grinning, and nodded at us one more time before turning away.
Bea and Gretchen emerged a moment later, and I glimpsed Stanley slipping out behind them. He lumbered down the steps while we said our goodbyes. Neither human commented on the strangeness of tonight’s dinner, and for that alone I almost wanted to hug them. Gretchen held out a long, white envelope and murmured, “Happy birthday, Fortuna.”
They walked away before I could open it. I sat back down on the step and watched them climb into Bea’s truck. The engine started at the same moment Collith rejoined me. As those bright headlights were eaten by the night, I finally peeked inside the envelope. Somehow I wasn’t surprised when I saw it contained cash. A thick wad of it. There was an index card tucked in front of the bills. Don’t even try giving it back, Bea had written with a black Sharpie.
For the second time tonight, a wave of emotion crashed over me. I put the envelope on top of Emma’s card and hugged my knees, thinking about how I could thank them. I knew I needed to help with the dinner cleanup, but I didn’t want anyone to see my red eyes. Soon. I’d go inside soon.
Moments later, a small form crossed the yard, and I heard a familiar jangling sound—Stanley’s collar. The dog climbed the steps, rested his head on my knee, and stared up at me with droopy eyes. I ran my hand over his head, almost absently, and he released a long sigh of contentment. Lucky, I thought at him.
He didn’t have to burden Collith with unpleasant news.
“What can you tell me about Gwyn?” I asked without looking at the faerie beside me.
When he didn’t say anything, I glanced toward him. His expression was grim but not surprised. “You’ve seen her. Which means the Wild Hunt is here.”
“Last night,” I admitted, seeing no
way around it. If her interest in me put the others in danger, they needed to know.
A muscle worked in Collith’s jaw. The rings on his fingers flashed as he raked his hair back in an abrupt, agitated movement, and then he swore in Enochian. “When I saw the wood anemone, I dared to hope she’d come for someone else.”
I was slow to comprehend his meaning. When I did, though, my heart quickened. “Those flowers grew because of her? Wait, are you saying they mean she is here to hunt me?”
Collith gave a single, terse nod. “The wood anemone is a residual effect from a witch’s spell, placed on Gwyn of the bloodline Nudd centuries ago. That spell created the Wild Hunt and made Gwyn truly immortal, in a way even the fae are not—she cannot be killed.”
“Maybe you’re wrong about why she’s here,” I said weakly. My mind went back to that surreal encounter with the huntress. “Maybe she was just curious about me, like she said.”
“I’m not wrong. Believe me, I wish I was. The flowers have become her harbingers, and part of her legend. You’re not scared enough, Fortuna. When Gwyn begins a hunt, that’s it—she finds and kills her quarry, always. There has never been an exception in all the centuries she’s ridden the skies. The fact that you’re sitting beside me right now only means that she’s allowing you to live, for a reason not yet known to us.”
I glanced at Collith’s fingers. They gripped the coffee mug so tightly I worried the glass would shatter. “Who are the faeries that ride with her?” I asked.
That stubborn lock of hair had already fallen over his eye. I resisted the urge to touch it as Collith answered. “They are the Fallen with darkest cravings. The ones with endless hunger. Kings of the past could not allow them to roam free in the world. Gwyn holds them in check, doubtless because her depravity runs even deeper than theirs.”
Remembering the way those hunters had watched me, tracking every movement like a predator lying in wait, I had no difficulty believing his words this time. “Why would she agree to that?”
Collith met my gaze. “Because above all, she longs for the return of Creiddylad.”
If I weren’t already riveted to every answer coming out of his mouth, his tone would’ve caught my attention. There was a weight to how Collith spoke her name. “And who is that?” I prompted.
“Her mate.” He took another sip of his coffee, his expression tight and agitated. It was probably a safe bet that he was wishing it were something stronger. “Centuries ago, the Seelie and Unseelie Courts came together for a singular purpose—to conceal Creiddylad and consequently put a leash on Gwyn. She was causing such a stir that even the humans had begun to take notice.”
It still hadn’t quite registered that an ancient faerie was in Granby to kill me. My heart was pounding harder, but short of summoning Gwyn and asking her directly, there was nothing I could do tonight.
Reliving our strange conversation for the dozenth time, I fiddled with the delicate chain hanging around my neck. “She told me that she knew your mother,” I murmured.
Even though I hadn’t said her name, Collith stiffened. Besides that brief moment at the Unseelie Court, when he’d looked toward the passageway that would take him to her, this was always his reaction when Naevys came up. In all the time he’d been living here, Collith hadn’t visited her.
I knew it wasn’t entirely to keep the Court unaware of his location or his current mental state—there was something else keeping Collith away from his mother. He wouldn’t confide in me, but I could hardly judge him for that when I wasn’t being forthcoming, either.
For the hundredth time since Collith came into my life, it felt like he could read my mind. “I see your pain, Fortuna. You walk around, talking and smiling, but it’s constant,” he said suddenly. The words should’ve seemed random, but they weren’t. Not to me.
I thought I’d been hiding it pretty well, but who was I kidding? The way I cringed at the tiniest noises, how I avoided the dark as though it was a monster, it was probably obvious that something had happened to me. Talking about it wouldn’t fix anything, though. Nothing would.
“Look, you have your secrets and I have mine. Okay?” I said finally, looking up at the sky. There was a faint smattering of stars visible.
“If you won’t talk to me or one of the others, then talk to someone else. Someone who’s trained in helping people.”
A sharp sound left me, more bark than laugh. “Are you suggesting I should go to therapy? Did you have something to do with Emma’s weird birthday present?”
“What can I do? How can I help?” Collith asked, ignoring this.
His questions were dangerous—they forced me to remember that night. Or tried to, anyway. As Collith waited for an answer, my gaze dropped to his lips. I didn’t let myself think about what I did next.
I wrapped my fingers around the back of his head and pulled his face down to mine.
For an instant, he was stiff. Uncertain. But I’d missed the taste of him, and I didn’t let his hesitation affect me. I pressed myself against Collith and gently coaxed his mouth open. He softened, then responded with equal caution. We were asking each other a question, both of us scared of the answer.
Why have you summoned me?
Headlights. Rustling trees. Two intersecting roads. Without warning, I broke away. Tears were streaming down my face. “Fuck,” I whispered.
I tried to stand up, but Collith caught my hand.
We stared at each other, and I swore I could hear a clock ticking somewhere. If Gwyn truly was hunting me, it was only a matter of time before chaos descended upon us again. Even if Collith and I could leave the past behind us, we still wouldn’t have a future.
“It’s been a long day. I’m tired,” I said, looking down at the blackened candles on the cake. I swiped at my cheeks with my free hand. “Good night, Collith.”
The Unseelie King let go of me and I stood up. He rested his elbows on his knees and took another drink of coffee, as if he was completely fine with what just happened. “Good night, Fortuna.”
Slowly, feeling as if our conversation was unfinished somehow, I went inside and closed the door.
When I turned around, I saw that the dining room table had been cleared and there were no dirty dishes in the kitchen sinks—the others must’ve been cleaning while I was on the porch with Collith. I hadn’t even thanked Lyari and Cyrus for coming tonight. Not cool, Sworn. I started walking to my room, so frustrated I almost groaned out loud.
Finn’s door was closed, but the door to Matthew and Damon’s room was ajar, I noticed as I went past. “Star,” a young voice said, clear as a bell.
I stopped in the middle of the hallway, and a smile spread across my face when I realized I’d heard Matthew’s first word. Or, at least, the first word he had spoken since coming to live with us. Just like that, the frustration of moments before completely evaporated.
Damon made a pleased sound. “Yes, those are stars. Really, though, they’re peepholes made by the ones who aren’t here anymore. Do you know why, Matthew? It’s so that they can look down and see that the people they left behind are doing okay.”
It occurred to me that two years old might be too young to learn about death, but I wasn’t the boy’s mother. Maybe my own childhood would’ve been easier, if someone had told me a pretty story about stars and peepholes. Still smiling, I continued on to the bathroom.
Thinking of childhood went hand-in-hand with thoughts of Oliver. As I went through the motions of readying for sleep, my mood shifted once more, and I silently rehearsed what I would say to my best friend. Our survival was intertwined—he deserved to know what was going on with Gwyn.
My mouth tasted like toothpaste when I tiptoed down the hall again. I changed into boxers and a T-shirt, remembering Matthew’s pure voice and Damon’s response all over again. After a brief hesitation, I moved my pillow so it rested at the end of the bed, then slid between the sheets. I thought about Collith and hoped that he’d gone to bed with the rest of us.
I fel
l asleep staring up at the stars.
Chapter Nine
I made an appointment with Consuelo Thompson.
At first, I told myself it was curiosity. When that got harder to believe, I said I was helping my family. If going to a couple therapy sessions eased their worry, it was a small price to pay. Of course I would go.
But as the appointment drew nearer, I started thinking of reasons why I shouldn’t. It was a waste of Emma’s money—who’d prepaid for three sessions—not to mention a waste of time. My father had tried to help people in the same way, but whenever he talked about his work, there was sadness in his eyes. How beneficial could therapy be if even Matthew Sworn hadn’t been able to succeed at it?
In the end, without really knowing why, I got in the van and went to the appointment anyway.
Consuelo Thompson’s office was in a small town halfway between Granby and Denver. I drove over pink-tinted roads and past signs that reflected the beam of my headlights. It was nearly dark when the GPS guided me to a street lined with Victorian homes. I parked alongside the curb and double-checked that I was at the right place. The addresses matched. Frowning, I grabbed my purse and stepped into the night.
The van door closed with a stark sound. I hurried around the hood, my breath visible with every exhale, and onto the sidewalk. There was no one else outside, but up and down the street, lights shone from square-paned windows and cast patterns onto the ground. I went up a flight of stone steps, heading for the green house I’d been led to. My sweater did little to protect me from the winter—why had I only worn a sweater?—and a sudden breeze made me walk faster.
A moment later, the house loomed up. There was a sprawling front porch and hedge bushes along its edge. At the bottom of the stairs, I spotted a sign on the glass door. The elegant script directed Consuelo Thompson’s clients onward. I turned right and followed the sidewalk, which glowed from small lights on either side. Seconds later, I arrived at a side door and a second sign that read, Come on in!
A bell rang when I stepped inside, and I found myself in the entryway of a waiting room. Lit by soothing lamplight, the space held an uncomfortable-looking couch, a side table, and bookshelf. There were three more doors, one marked STAIRS and another RESTROOM. The third, I assumed, was the office. Muffled voices drifted through the wood.
