by Fleur Smith
Relax. It’s not the first time you’ve gone a few days without real food.
I crept back to the shed, being careful to avoid setting off the motion-sensor light again. Once I was inside, I dislodged the stick holding the entrance open and pulled the door shut behind me as quietly as I could. Crawling underneath the tarp, I moved toward my little nook. Trying to make the spot as comfortable as possible, I folded up a sweater and lodged it into a gap in the lawnmower’s casing.
Leaning my head against my makeshift pillow, I settled in for another restless night. Somehow, I knew it would be yet another night spent with dreams and memories playing out in my mind against my will.
THE SOUND of the roller door on the front of the shed rushing open jolted me awake. A gasp of surprise slipped past my lips before I could stop it, and I hoped like hell that whoever had opened the door hadn’t heard it.
After silently chastising myself for oversleeping, I crept back through the tunnel I’d created the day before and grabbed my backpack from underneath the old workbench. I pulled it on loosely, getting ready to run if I had to. I ducked low and drew back into the shadows, hiding underneath the edges of the tarp, hoping to stay undetected.
Bright light streamed in freely through the open roller door, and I was furious about how late I’d allowed myself to sleep. I should have woken hours earlier.
If I had, I would have already been on the road and long gone, and I wouldn’t be facing the danger coming toward me. It was well into the daylight hours, and I had to either risk leaving and being spotted or hope I could stay hidden for another day. I’d prided myself on learning to be responsible about my safety first and foremost, but Clay’s letter and the dreams I’d been having of him had caused me to become sidetracked, and I’d dropped the metaphoric ball.
The distinctive squeak of rubber soles striking the concrete floor filled the air. Freezing in place, I focused solely on survival.
On escape.
If I was caught, I wanted to be ready to fight my way to freedom. I hated the thought of my gift hurting people, especially after what had happened to Louise, but I wasn’t above using it to gain an advantage in a fight if I needed to. Crouching silently among the clutter, I focused all of my warmth into my fingertips.
Listening carefully for further footsteps, I worried that my heart was beating too loudly as it thumped rapidly in my chest. It certainly echoed in my own ears.
Ducking lower, I watched through a gap in the bottom of the tarp as a pair of dirty once-white high-tops crossed my line of sight. I waited anxiously for the moment when the owner of those shoes would spot me.
A tinny sound, which I didn’t instantly recognize, accompanied the footsteps as the person drew closer. Whoever it was that had entered the shed stopped when they reached the lawnmower I’d slept against the night before. Fear gripped me as I noticed a wad of rolled black material—my sweater—still tucked into a crevice on the side of the machine. I debated the risks for a moment but figured the chance of the shoe-wearer catching me in the two seconds it would’ve taken to retrieve it was nothing compared to what would happen if Hightops saw my sweater.
Creeping forward carefully, I slid my arm out to reach for the black material. I moved so slow it was almost painful, but it was the only way to ensure I didn’t rustle the material enclosing me. My fingers stretched as I tried to grasp my sweater without leaving my cover. Just as the tarp lifted, I managed to catch one edge of the black material and yank it back to me before withdrawing into the shadows again.
My heart stopped as I realized that I was too close to the edge and the tarp was being lifted farther away from the mower than I’d expected. I was mere seconds away from capture. Refusing to just give up, I shifted along with the blue plastic, allowing my body to follow the movement of the tarp.
While Hightops dragged the mower away from me, I pressed my stomach into the cold concrete to remain hidden beneath the crumpled cover. After a few suspenseful seconds, the roar of the lawnmower’s engine coming to life told me that I was alone in the shed for the moment. I knew I had to do something to escape, and soon, because the risks involved with staying grew exponentially with every passing minute.
Before long, the mower would be returning to its resting place, and it wasn’t likely I could escape detection twice. Especially not when the tarp would need to be lifted almost completely to be put back in place.
Keeping low to the ground, I crept forward to the edge of the tarp to assess my chances of escaping the property without being spotted by Hightops. I peered into the morning sun and watched as the boy that I’d seen the night before tended to the long neglected lawns.
Of course he had to choose today to do it.
He sat on the mower and bopped his head in time to an unheard beat. The image allowed me to place the tinny noise I’d heard earlier as the sound of music played too loud over tiny earbud speakers. Between the noise of the mower and the sound of music thumping in his ears, I was certain the boy wouldn’t be able to hear me if I made a break for it. My only real issue was that I couldn’t be sure I’d reach the safety of the side of the house before he turned the mower in a direction where he’d be able to spot me running across the yard.
Trying to work out my timing, I watched as he drove the mower back and forth in long stretches across the lawn. While I was waiting for the boy’s next turn to make a break for the road, a flurry of fur and claws raced across my outstretched toes and an involuntary scream escaped my lips. I turned and kicked at the rat that had scurried across my feet to scare it away. The tarp crunched and crackled loudly as I moved.
Turning my attention back to the kid on the mower, I stilled when I saw he was no longer on the machine. The engine was idling noisily from the middle of the yard, but I couldn’t see any sign of Hightops. I strained to make out the sound of his shoes. The sound of the mower drowned out so much that it was hard to hear anything. I didn’t dare move, not even an inch, just in case he’d come back to investigate the sounds I’d made. I held my breath and counted the seconds that had passed since I’d made the error of screaming. Twenty-three seconds.
Thirty.
Sixty.
Just when the relief that I wasn’t going to be discovered flooded through me, the tarp lifted off me, and I knew I was caught.
Standing above me was the teenage boy who, only moments ago, had been doing yard work. A look of wonder and awe rested on his youthful face. Up close, he looked younger than I’d originally thought—perhaps only fifteen. Leaping to my feet, I was ready to push past him and race to the road, but something in his look stilled me.
A knowing smile slowly spread across his features, and his eyes brightened as he regarded me carefully.
“I knew it!” His tone was victorious.
I blinked, uncertain what to make of his sudden exclamation. “Excuse me?”
“I saw you last night—I thought I was going crazy, but I wasn’t. You’re actually real.”
There wasn’t a trace of fear on his face, which I found incredibly disarming. I’d trespassed on his property, and he had no way of knowing whether or not I was dangerous. Experience had taught me that most people became angry or scared when confronted with an intruder. Not this kid.
Maybe he’s more dangerous than you think?
I scoffed at the thought. Despite my waif-thin frame, I still had at least twenty pounds on him. And I had other methods of fighting him off.
He cocked his head to the side. “Why are you living in our backyard?”
The lack of threat in his question confused me, causing me to tug at the end of my ponytail nervously. Everything about the boy was so inconsistent with what I had learned about human nature. It was confounding.
“I . . .” I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d seen anger and fear plenty of times, but I’d never been confronted with mild curiosity before. Not since Aiden, but this boy was definitely not fae. Eyeing the open roller door, I tried to work out a way to get around him to leave.
“It’s cool,” he said. “I won’t tell anyone you’re here.”
“Why not?” I asked, knowing that I shouldn’t look for problems when someone was helping me. In my experience though, genuinely kind hearts didn’t exist. There was always some ulterior motive.
“Well, for starters, Mom would stress if she knew someone was out here. She’s been on edge ever since Dad’s death. She’s always worried that burglars or murderers are going to bust in on us during the night, but we can’t afford decent security.” His tone was sarcastic, as if he thought less of his mother because of her fear. “But it’s more than that. You look nice.” His eyes jumped from my face to my body, eyeing every inch a beat too long. When he finished his appraisal, his gaze rested at eye-level for him, which just happened to line up perfectly with my chest.
I wanted to snap my fingers to draw his attention back to my face but resisted the urge. “You can’t judge a person’s character by how they look,” I admonished.
Shaking his head, he laughed. “No, I don’t mean that, although you are a total babe.”
I rolled my eyes as he grinned up at me as if he’d given the greatest compliment in the world.
“I mean you look nice here,” he said, pointing to his eyes.
It wasn’t really a description I’d have assigned to myself. I had done far too many things that were the antithesis of “nice.” Being a murderer was usually enough on its own to make someone decidedly not nice. And I also had theft and willful destruction of property to add to my rap sheet.
I sighed to clear the thought from my mind. “You must be pretty messed up if you think I’m nice.”
A wave of fear washed across his features, but then he straightened his back and squared his shoulders. “You’re not going to hurt me,” he stated with confidence.
The words made me pause. I’d said them once to the man who was now hunting me, and I’d meant them at the time. I didn’t think Clay could hurt me; at least, not until he had.
The boy gave me a strange look as the silence stretched between us, almost as if he was daring me to prove him wrong.
I sighed. “No, I’m not,” I agreed. “But you can’t possibly know that.”
He waved me off dismissively, and I shook my head in utter disbelief. This kid was unbelievably naïve. It would get him killed one day if he wasn’t careful.
“I’m about to go make myself some lunch. Would you like some?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” I said, eyeing the house suspiciously. I had no way of knowing how many people were in there. Even if the promise of food made my hunger more acute, I couldn’t risk anyone else seeing me. The fact that Hightops had was bad enough.
“It’s okay,” he said in response to my hesitance. “I’m the only one home at the moment. Mom’s gone to work, so she won’t be back until tonight.”
The kid really was too trusting, and I hated that I was taking advantage. How exactly it was different from wanting to sneak in during the night like I’d originally intended I wasn’t sure, but it was different.
Wrong, somehow.
Before I could say “no” again, my stomach decided to growl loudly as if the mere mention of food was enough to rouse it from slumber.
Clearly sensing I was about to relent, he grinned.
“Fine.” I sighed. “Lead on.”
The kid rambled as he led the way into his house. He gave me the guided tour as he went, as if I were merely a guest—someone to impress—rather than a trespasser who may or may not have been capable of hurting him.
I swung my bag onto the island counter as he zipped around the kitchen grabbing some food. He set up an assortment of jars and spreads just in front of me.
“Is PB & J okay?” he asked.
My gaze went from nervous glances around the house to focusing back on him.
“I have a secret recipe that kicks ass,” he said.
Knowing that with my empty stomach any food would taste like heaven, I nodded absently. “Whatever you have is fine.”
He continued to talk as he worked, barely taking a breath the whole time. I learned more about him in five minutes than I knew about most people. He told me that his dad had passed away from cancer a little over a year earlier and so it was just him and his mom. Some days, he just wanted to run away, but he worried about how his mom would cope because she relied on him to help out around the house while she worked two jobs to keep the roof over their heads.
I wanted to tell him that he should hold onto his mother tightly and appreciate how good he had it because he had no way of knowing when she might be snatched from his life. I didn’t though, because I wasn’t sure I could get it out without tearing up at the thought of how instantly Clay’s family had ripped my Dad out of mine.
After Hightops had finished constructing his edible masterpieces, he piled two onto each of our plates and slid mine across the counter to me. I bit into the first sandwich and gave him an appreciative nod, glad for the distraction to take my mind off Dad and Clay’s letter.
He grinned. “I told you they were wicked.”
I nodded and took another bite as he grabbed some milk from the fridge. He pulled open a cupboard beneath the counter and reached for two glasses, topping each of them off.
“And nothing goes better with PB & J than a glass of milk.” He slid one of the full glasses across to me before taking a sip of his own. Silence fell around us momentarily as we each enjoyed our meal.
“So, I’ve told you all about my family, what’s your story?”
“Trust me, you wouldn’t believe my story,” I said, swallowing a mouthful of food.
“Try me,” he offered.
“Uh-uh, kid, knowing my story will only cause you trouble. Suffice it to say as soon as I’m finished with this,” I indicated the plate in front of me, “I’ll be on my way and out of your hair.”
“You don’t have to leave right away, you know,” he said, eyeing me over the top of his sandwich before taking another bite. He chewed contemplatively before speaking again. “I meant what I said. I won’t tell anyone you’re here. Mom never goes out back so she wouldn’t know.”
“I believe you, but I’m really not looking to stay here long term. I have places I need to go.”
“Home?”
I shook my head sadly. “There’s no such place for me anymore. I’m just trying to get . . .” I trailed off as I realized I couldn’t finish the sentence. There wasn’t an end-goal for me. Not anymore. My life had consisted of running for so long that I didn’t know where I wanted to be, or even what it was that I wanted. An image of Clay’s face flashed through my mind.
That’s not helping.
“I’m trying to find out where I need to be.”
The boy looked confused.
“Forget it.” I tried to smile reassuringly at him before turning back to my plate and polishing off the last few bites of my sandwiches.
“Wow, I’ve never seen a girl eat as much as me before,” the kid said in awe.
“It’s been a while since I last ate something decent.”
“You should take better care of yourself,” he said with conviction.
I chuckled at the infinite wisdom of the teen. “I can’t disagree with you there.”
I collected the dishes and carried them to the sink.
“Let me,” he said.
Lifting onto my tiptoes, I held the plates out of his reach. “No way. You cooked, I can clean. It’s only fair.”
Even though I wouldn’t admit it to him, I also wanted to ensure that I washed and wiped my prints off everything I’d touched. While he watched me washing the handful of dishes, the boy asked a barrage of questions; most of them I wasn’t able to answer, but he didn’t seem too perturbed when I offered very little information. Instead, he’d just change tack and ask a question about something unrelated.
“How will you work out where you need to be?”
I got the sense he was asking the question for his own si
tuation more than out of curiosity. Struggling to think of an adequate answer, I shrugged. “Where you need to be is where your heart tells you to be, I guess. You’ll know it when you find it.”
“That’s a little bit Hallmark, don’t you think?” he scoffed.
“I don’t know, what do you think? How do you think you’ll know?”
“I think when it’s right, it’ll feel right.”
I laughed. “That’s no less Hallmark-y. Maybe that’s where we both need to be, writing sappy greetings inside cards.”
He grinned. “Seriously though, haven’t you ever experienced a moment that just felt right?”
Clay’s face flashed before me again before sorrow drove it out. “Yeah, I have,” I admitted.
“Then that’s where you need to be, and you need to do anything you can to get back there,” he said, nodding with absolute certainty.
Naïve, philosophical whiz kid, I thought. “If only it was that easy.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
ALMOST AS SOON as the statement had left my mouth, I regretted it. In an instant, the kid looked infinitely more curious about the things that I refused to tell him about.
“Can’t you make it easy?” he asked. His statement almost echoed what Aiden had said to me when I’d lived in the fae court. Although Aiden had asked why I’d want to think about things that made me sad.
“I wouldn’t know where to start,” I said, admitting it to myself as much as anything. “Last time, I had help.”
The fae had given me the lead, and all I’d had to do was find Clay and lay the final steps of the path out in front of him to lead him the last of the way back to me. Thinking back on it, Clay finding me at the hotel had been a big stroke of luck. It showed how well he’d known me even back then, and that he’d been able to understand the cryptic clues and messages I’d left to lead him back into my arms. Against all odds, we’d both been able to follow the breadcrumbs that had led us back to each other.
