“Careful, it’s sharp.” His violet eyes glittered. “Sharp enough to cut through silver.”
I looked at the silver bars, at the sap-stained antler. It was soft, like velvet, but the jagged edges did look vicious. “Thank you. But why did you do that?”
“For giving me food and Cala your water. I would have no debts between us.”
I rolled my eyes. “Is this a guy thing? Who mentioned debts anyway?”
“It is usually the way between mortals and Faerie.”
“Well, whatever. I’m not keeping score. God.” I ripped the inside hem of my petticoats and tucked the antler carefully inside. “Will she be okay?”
“They’ll move her to one of the fountains for the ball, which will help. After that . . .” He shrugged. “Who can say? It’s up to your aunt and yourself, I suppose.”
“Great. No pressure or anything.”
I moved back into the relative privacy of my room, between the curtained bed and the tables. I didn’t want to see those wounded eyes watching me hopefully. How was I supposed to save them all when I couldn’t even figure out how to save myself? And anyway, this was their world, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t they be the ones figuring it all out? I’d hide too if I was my aunt. In fact, I’d hide right now if I thought I could fit under the ornate bed.
And I couldn’t even drown my sorrow in chocolate sauce even though there was a huge bowl of it sitting right there next to warm cinnamon waffles. I went over to inhale the steam off cappuccinos, apple pie, pesto bread.
“I’m so hungry.”
And now I was talking to myself.
Great.
I gripped the stag pendant so tightly the edges dented my skin. “Jo?” I whispered urgently. “Hey, Jo! Can you hear me?”
“El?” She sounded like she was choking on something. “I’m never going to get used to this. Your face is on my mobile.”
“Are you eating?”
“Hot dog at the park.”
“Damn it, Jo. With pickles?”
“Of course. Sorry. Hey, keep your voice down. People are looking at me like I’m nuts.”
“Is my mom worried? Has she called the police?”
“No, you left her a note.”
“I did not.”
“I know, but there’s one there. Apparently you were staying at my place last night. And you will never believe what I saw.”
“Wait.” I leaned back against the mounds of over-embroidered pillows, frowning. “What do you mean last night? It’s been way longer than that.”
“Not here. I read that somewhere, actually, that time sometimes runs differently.”
“Find anything else out?” It felt so good to hear her voice, so normal. I could almost pretend we were just talking on the phone on a school night, bored with everything. I’d give anything to be bored like that again.
“Well, I met a little fairy with wings.”
“What?”
“I know, right? Totally bizarre, I mentioned your last name and she got all wiggy and took off.”
I chewed on my lower lip. “That could be good, right? Maybe there are other Harts a hell of a lot more powerful than me. What else did you get?”
“Loads. Don’t know if any of it’s useful or not, though. I can tell you that if you look through a stone with a hole in it, you can see Fae.”
“Yeah, got that one down, I think. Is that what you used?”
“No. She just popped up.”
“Okay, that can’t be good.”
“We’re not snookered yet. You can use rowan berries and red thread to break a fairy glamour or turn your clothes inside out to be invisible to them. A bunch of stuff like that. And there are these courts apparently, the Seelie and the Unseelie who get all aggro with each other.”
“Yeah, they’re big on courts here. Oh, and there’s some celebration on Halloween when Strahan has to hand over his crown to Antonia so she can take over until spring. And he’s obsessed with ribbons. It’s just weird.”
“That is weird. And you’re sure you’re talking about the same Antonia who can’t remember where she put her keys and once lost your mom’s motorcycle entirely? Which I still don’t get.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So, which Halloween? Theirs or ours?”
“I never thought of that.” I wrinkled my nose. “Why does it feel like I’m going backward, like I know even less than when I started?”
“We’ll get you out of there, E. Somehow.”
“I know.” I tried to sound brave. “Maybe you should start looking for my aunt? I don’t want her coming here because they might really hurt her, but she’d know more than we do.” An idea struck me. “Can you call my answering machine?”
“What for?” I could hear her dialing and then my mom’s message, so curt and familiar it made my chest ache. It was a struggle to sound cheerful. But if time ran differently, I may as well take advantage of it. I so didn’t want to come home to cops and my face on a milk carton.
“Hey, Mom, it’s me. I’m going to sleep over at Jo’s again tonight, to work on a project. I’ll see you later, okay?”
There was a click when Jo hung up. “Good idea,” she said quietly.
“I’m getting out of here,” I told her, shifting when the antler poked me in the thigh. “Tonight.”
Chapter 6
Jo
I went straight to Eloise’s apartment to talk to her mother. I’d promised Eloise I wouldn’t call. I didn’t say anything about going in person. Eloise sounded like she had some kind of plan and if I knew the Harts at all, her plan would somehow backfire in the most spectacular way. And it wouldn’t be her fault, it never was—stuff just happened to them. At her fifth birthday party, the cake got dropped and one of the kids got frosting in her eye and it swelled up with pus. At our first school dance, Eloise’s mom was a chaperone and all the boys spent the night crushing on her while the other mothers, mine included, sniffed at her tattoos.
And when a Fae girl the size of a hummingbird talked to you, it was time to get serious.
I ran up to the top floor and pounded on the front door, panting. “Jaz?” She always let us call her that, even when we were little. I knocked louder.
The door finally opened. Eloise’s mom was wearing a black kimono, her hair in a ponytail, black eye shadow still smudged around her eyes. She frowned. “Shouldn’t you be in school?” She paused. “Jo, honey, what’s wrong?” The blood drained from her face. “El?”
I nodded, biting my lower lip when it trembled.
“Is she hurt? Was there an accident?”
“No, it’s . . .” I swallowed, glancing down the hall for nosy neighbors. “Um.”
She pulled me inside. Elvis flicked his tail at me from the top of the couch. The apartment smelled like it always did: coffee and oil paints.
“She says she’s been kidnapped by the Fae. Strahan or something like that? She said it was about Antonia.”
“No. God, no.” Jasmine sagged. I leaped forward to catch her. “I’m okay,” she said, forcing her shoulders back. Her hands were shaking when she reached for the phone on the table in the hall. She knocked over a basket of keys, barely noticed. “Antonia,” she snapped into the receiver. “Now.” It was all she said. I wasn’t any less confused.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Is this even real? I mean, flower fairies? Really?”
She sighed, touched my hair. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry about this. I wish I had time to explain.” She rushed toward her bedroom.
“Wait!” I called after her. “What do I do?”
“Absolutely nothing.” She paused long enough to shoot me a pointed glance. “I mean it, Jo. This is dangerous. Go home. Or better yet, back to school.”
Like hell I’d just wait around while my best friend was in trouble.
She shut her bedroom door and I left, dialing Devin. He answered on the third ring. “Where the hell are you two?” he grumbled. “You both skipped and left me to deal with this pop qui
z alone? Where’s the love?”
“Meet me at the park, by the pond. One hour.” I hung up before he could ask any more questions.
I remembered something about burning thorn trees to release human captives from the Fae. It was a long shot, but I didn’t know what else to do. Even if I wasn’t sure what a thorn tree was. I went back to the coffeehouse and ordered the biggest mochaccino they had, with extra whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. And a giant cookie. Knowing Eloise couldn’t eat just made me hungrier. I stepped out of the line and called Nanna.
“Nanna,” I asked, “what’s a thorn tree?”
“Jo?” She sounded confused. Maybe she didn’t know what a thorn tree was either. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
“I am,” I lied. “I have a study hall. And the thorn tree thing is for homework.”
“I think a thorn tree is just a hawthorn, dear.”
“Oh. Thanks. Nanna?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s a hawthorn?”
She laughed. “It’s the tree behind the barn that you used to love so much. The one with all the white flowers in spring.”
I remembered that tree. It was always full of honeybees and it filled the grass with petals like snow. “Okay, thanks.”
I drove out to the farm with the windows rolled down and the music cranked as loud as it would go. I left the car by the barn and climbed over the fence, plastic cup of mochaccino in one hand and a saw in the other. Farm girls knew how to multitask.
The tree grew over the well that had run dry. I’d never noticed before that the gray branches were spiked, like rose stems. I sawed a few branches and then gathered twigs from the ground, wrapping them in twine. A thorn scratched my thumb, drawing blood.
“Jo.”
I didn’t see him until he spoke, his voice soft as scented smoke. Something about the way he said my name made me feel like blushing, and I never blushed. I also never stood there like a dork, smiling a goofy smile. Damn it, I was already losing my touch. That Strahan had a lot to answer for.
“Are you all right?”
I gave myself a mental kick. “Grand, thanks. You startled me is all. Did my granddad call you about the well? He’s been bragging to his friends that I found him a real water-witch.”
He just smiled. “Three days in a row,” he said. “We’re going to have to go on a real date soon.”
I couldn’t help but remember our brief hot kiss. Something about the way he was looking at my lower lip made me think he was remembering too. “I’d like that.” I was going to hell for this—I was supposed to be preparing for a big rescue, not flirting. Oh well, flirting was how I prepared for everything, including exams and dentist appointments, so why should this be any different?
“Gathering firewood?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I looked down at my armful of branches. “Um, yeah.”
“You’re bleeding,” he said. “Let me take that from you.” He took the bundle and set it on the well cover. “These trees bloom on the first day of May,” he remarked, stepping closer to me. “Did you know that?” I shook my head. His lips brushed my ear. “I think I missed you,” he said, sounding surprised.
I shivered faintly even as warmth pooled in the oddest places of my body: my belly, the backs of my knees, behind my ears. I tingled and sparkled all over. “I think I missed you too.” I turned my head so our mouths were as close as butterfly wings. “And I don’t even know your name yet.”
“I would have thought you liked a little mystery.” His free hand tangled through my hair, loosening my messy braid. I noticed a wicked scar on the inside of his elbow.
“Ouch, what happened to you?” I asked, running my fingers up his forearm, gently brushing the puckered skin. “Did you burn yourself?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
I frowned. That wasn’t really an answer. “How did it happen?”
“My father,” he replied, so softly I almost didn’t hear him. I stared at him, aghast.
“What? Seriously?” I wasn’t entirely sure what the proper response was. “Your dad’s a jerk.” Probably not that.
He shrugged. “He’s my father.”
“What about your mom?”
“I never knew her.”
“That totally sucks.”
“It is what it is. There’s no use weeping over it.”
“You should run away.” I so wasn’t qualified to be giving this sort of advice.
“He’d find me.” He sounded very sure.
“So what, you’re over eighteen, right? You’re legal.”
“If only it were that simple.”
I didn’t know what else to say, so I just leaned down and kissed his scar. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”
His breath caught and he tugged on my hair lightly, angling my face back up. His lips descended on mine then, and I forgot everything, even how to breathe. I barely knew him, but it hardly mattered. We were connected somehow; something precious burned between us.
His mouth was cool, like raspberry sherbet. I kissed him desperately, hating any tiny distance that might separate us. I would have crawled right into his shirt with him if I’d been able. He clutched me closer, as if he felt the same way. His hand tightened in my hair as he deepened the kiss, as he plucked me up and set me on the farm fence. I held on to his shoulders, feeling his lean muscles working under his warm skin.
He pulled back, barely, just as I was beginning to wonder if it was possible to get singed lips from a kiss. “What is it about you, Jo?” he asked, his voice ragged.
I swallowed, my breath trembling in my throat. “What is it about us?” I corrected him gently.
“I’m not good for you.”
It was a warning.
As if I couldn’t already tell he was steeped in secrets and angst. He wore a cloak of solitude and arrogance, but I was beginning to see where it was thin and frayed in spots.
“So?” I kissed him again, a soft nip. “Earnest and true isn’t my taste,” I murmured. “What about your taste?”
A crooked smile touched his sullen mouth. “I prefer . . . darker.”
My pulse danced a complicated jig as muggy white clouds nibbled on the sun. The shadows around us darkened, like bruises. He glanced at the sky. “Storm coming,” he said softly, as if he was calculating. “Not tonight, but soon. Too soon.”
“Good,” I said, taking a sip of my drink to steady myself. “We could use the rain.” Secretly, I thought our kiss might have been powerful enough to end the drought.
I reluctantly slid off the fence. “I have to go,” I said.
“You should,” he agreed, self-mocking in his tone. He reached out and wiped a smear of chocolate from the corner of my mouth with his thumb. “See you soon, Jo.” I shivered. Soon was not going to be anywhere soon enough.
But at least this time I was the one to walk away, while he leaned against the fence and watched me, his hands in his pockets.
• • •
I parked in the lot just inside the park, by the swing sets. I would have run all the way to the pond if it wasn’t so bloody hot. Or so far away. I hooked the bundle of thorn twigs to my knapsack and slung it over my shoulder, grateful for stamina granted to me by years of helping out in the orchard. It kept me from passing out when the heat clogged my lungs and from collapsing in a nervous breakdown when I thought about what was happening. Nanna said it to me all the time, especially since the rains had stopped: farm folk keep on.
By the time I reached the pond, the back of my tank top was soaked in sweat. I guzzled an entire bottle of water and then stuck my wrists in the pond to cool off. The swan was gone. I scanned the grass, the weeds, the wilted dandelions—saw nothing resembling a mouthy Fae dressed like a flower.
Assuming Devin had managed to sneak out of school between classes, he’d be here soon. If nothing else, he was so calm he’d help me feel less crazy. Or I could call Hot Guy and see if he wanted to distract me some more.
I set
out the matches I’d packed and then arranged the twigs in a little teepee shape, the way Granddad did when we had summer bonfires. I stuffed crumpled paper in the hollow center and then filled my empty bottle with water from the pond. I carefully soaked the grass around the thorny branches so I wouldn’t accidentally set the whole field on fire. I wiped my palms on my skirt.
“Okay, here goes,” I muttered, reaching for the box of matches. I lit the hawthorn branches, fanning them with my math binder until the flames caught. They crackled and smoked. I sat back, scanning the grass, the pond, the birch trees. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to see. Which didn’t really matter since nothing happened.
Nothing at all.
I coughed on the smoke, deflated. “I was really hoping it would be that easy.”
“You ijit,” a small, feral voice snapped.
I jumped, lifting my fists in a classic boxer stance.
The flower fairy snorted. “Going to punch a wee thing like me, are you, then?”
I lowered my hands. “You again.”
“I prefer ‘Isadora’ to ‘you.’” She circled the tiny bonfire, scowling. “What the bleedin’ hell is this?”
“A thorn tree fire.”
“Someone’s been reading novels.” She sighed, her pretty wings fluttering.
“I’m trying to get my friend Eloise out of the hill.”
“That won’t do it,” she replied. “All you’ve done is made things worse.”
I scowled back. “How exactly did I do that?”
“Because now the Fae know you know about them. They know where you are, sitting in this big empty field like a rabbit ready for the stewpot.”
I did not like that analogy. “Are you cannibals?” I squeaked.
“I eat honey and flowers,” she returned, disgusted. “I used to eat the finest braised pork . . .” She trailed off, sighing a little.
“But you didn’t eat people.”
“Don’t be daft.”
“Are you talking to yourself?” Devin interrupted me. I hadn’t heard him coming, and the sudden sound of his voice, after a conversation about cannibalism, made me shriek and leap into the air. I would have fallen right into the pond if he hadn’t grabbed me. He was laughing so hard, I still nearly went in.
Stolen Away Page 8
