Wicked Lovely

by Melissa Marr

  “Because they’re touching you.” She blew out her breath in a huff and scooted further back on the counter. “You know it now. You felt them.”

  “It’s worth it.” He picked up the teakettle, but he didn’t fill it. He just looked at her. “Thought they did stuff like that anyhow.”

  “Yeah, but you felt it more…and they were all staring at you. Something’s changed now that those two are following me.” She didn’t try to hide the worry or the fear in her voice. If he was going to know about them, he deserved the truth of how afraid she really was.

  He filled the teakettle and came over to stand in front of her.

  She wrapped her arms around him.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there earlier,” he whispered, holding her tightly to him.

  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say. If she told him about the things she’d seen over the years, it would make him worry more. If she let herself think about what could have happened, she might freak out. She didn’t want to think about it, about what could’ve happened, about why they grabbed her.

  Finally she pulled back a little and told Seth about the faeries at the library who’d been circling her and talking about him. Then she asked, “So what do you think?”

  He wrapped a long strand of her hair around his finger and stared at her. “About tongue rings?”

  “About the faeries’ comments,” she corrected, blushing. She slid forward like she was going to hop off the counter. “They seem to know what’s going on. Maybe you could see if there’s anything about groups of Rianne-like faeries? You know, ones that are overly shallow and, umm, Seth…”

  “Mmm?” Instead of moving back to give her room, Seth had stepped forward, pushing slightly against her knees.

  “You need to move if I’m going to get down from here.” She sounded breathless, not at all like herself, and it felt good—much better than the worries she had been trying to avoid, much better than thinking about the bad thing she’d avoided, or the faery that saved her, or them noticing Seth.

  Seth ignored her comment, staying perfectly still.

  She didn’t move or push him back. She could’ve. Instead she asked again, “What do you think?”

  He lifted one eyebrow, staring at her as he did. “Can never have too many piercings.”

  She opened her knees, putting one on either side of his ribs, thinking thoughts she shouldn’t—couldn’t—about him. “That’s…”

  “What?” He didn’t move any farther, didn’t close the distance between them. He might tease, flirt, but he didn’t pursue her. It was her choice. In a world where so many choices weren’t hers, it was a wonderful feeling.

  “That’s not what I meant.” She blushed again and felt foolish for flirting back. She shouldn’t let it get weird. A one-nighter would mess up their friendship. She was just riding some post-danger rush.

  She scooted backward. “Promise you’ll tell me if anything happens when I’m not there.”

  He stepped away then, giving her room.

  She slid down. Her legs felt wobbly. “I don’t like the faeries paying so much attention to you.”

  He poured them each a cup of tea and opened a tin of shortbread cookies. Then he put on his glasses and pulled out a stack of photocopies and books.

  She picked up her tea and followed him to the sofa, glad to be back on comfortable ground.

  His knee bumped against her leg as he sorted out his papers.

  Well, not entirely glad.

  “One way to protect yourself is iron or steel, which you already knew.” He gestured at his walls. “I like knowing I sleep somewhere safe, but I am going to stop by Pins and Needles. Just to get steel rings to replace the titanium ones. Unless”—he paused and turned to stare at her—“you think the tongue thing’s a good idea. Seriously, I could do that.”

  He watched her, an expectant look on his face now, like he was waiting for her to say something.

  She didn’t, couldn’t. She blushed even brighter than before. He’s still teasing to distract me. It had worked. Too well. She bit down on her lip and looked away.

  “Right. Well, supposedly ‘sacred symbols’ work too—a cross, especially an iron one, holy water.” He set that page aside and picked up a book with passages marked by brightly colored sticky notes. He thumbed through them, summarizing. “Spread churchyard dirt in front of them. Bread and salt are also good ‘protections,’ but I’m not sure what you’re to do with them. Spread them like the dirt? Throw them?”

  Aislinn got up to pace.

  He glanced up at her, and then turned back to the marked passages. “Turn your clothes inside out to hide from them. It makes you look like someone else to them…. Plants and herbs that work as counter-charms: four-leafed clover, Saint John’s-wort, red verbena—they all help you see through a glamour.”

  He put that book aside and ate a cookie, staring past her, at nothing, waiting.

  Aislinn flopped back down on the sofa, farther away from him than she’d normally sit. “I don’t know. I can’t see walking around with my clothes inside out all the time, and I don’t know about throwing bread at them. What am I supposed to do? Carry bagels and toast everywhere?”

  “Salt’s easier.” He laid the pages on one of the side tables and got up. He pulled open a drawer on the plastic cupboards stacked in the corner. After rummaging around for a minute, he held up a handful of packets of salt. “Here. Extras from all the takeout. Stuff these in your pockets.” He tossed some to her and put a few in his pocket, too. “Just in case.”

  “Does it say how much salt and what to do with it?”

  “Sprinkle it on them? Toss it at them? I don’t know. I didn’t see anything in this book, but I’ll follow up on that one, too. I ordered some books from interlibrary loan.” He came back to the table and scrawled a note on one of the pages. “Now what about the herbs? I can pick some up. Any ideas on which ones?”

  “I can already see them, Seth,” she said impatiently. She caught herself—took a deep breath—and grabbed a cookie from the tin beside her. “Why would I need herbs?”

  “I might be more help if I can see them too….” He wrote another note: Look for more recipes. Paste? Tea? How use herbs for sight? Chamomile tea for Ash.

  “Chamomile?”

  “Helps you relax.” He leaned over and stroked her hair soothingly, pausing to let his hand rest on the back of her neck. “You’re snapping at me.”

  “Sorry.” She frowned. “I thought I was keeping it together, but today…If Donia hadn’t been there…But that’s the thing. She shouldn’t have been there. I’ve seen them my whole life, but they never paid attention to me. Now it’s like they’ve all stopped whatever they were doing before to watch me. It’s never been like this.”

  He stood there, twirling one of the studs in his ear, staring at her. Then he grabbed the book and sat down in the chair across from her. “Wearing daisies is supposed to keep kids safe from faery kidnapping. I don’t know if the daisies work once you aren’t a kid.”

  He dropped that one and flipped open the last book. “Carry a staff of rowan wood. If they chase you, leap over running water, especially if it’s flowing south.”

  “There’s one river here, and I don’t see me jumping over it unless I sprout springs in my feet. None of this helps much.” She hated how whiny she sounded. “What do I do with a staff? Hit them? And wouldn’t they know I saw them if I did these things?”

  Seth took his glasses back off and sat them on top of a stack of books on the floor. He rubbed his eyes. “I’m trying, Ash. It’s only the first day I looked. We’ll find out more.”

  “What if I don’t have time? The rules are changing, and I don’t know why. I need to do something now.” She shivered, remembering the strange stillness of the faeries when she passed them. It was frightening.

  “Like what?” He still sounded calm. The more anxious she got, the calmer he sounded.

  “Find them. Talk to the two that started i
t—Keenan and Donia.” She put her hand over her mouth and took several breaths.

  Calm down. It didn’t help much.

  He leaned back in his chair, rocking it so it teetered on the back legs. “You sure that’s a good idea? Especially after those guys—”

  She interrupted, “Faeries, court faeries, are following me. What they could do is a whole lot worse. They want something, and I don’t like being the only one who doesn’t know what it is.” She stopped, thinking about what the faeries at the library had said. “The faeries—when they weren’t lusting on you—called Keenan the ‘Summer King.’”

  His chair thunked down, back on all four legs. “He’s a king?”

  “Maybe.”

  He looked worried then—a flash of something like panic crossed his face—but he nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out about that title tomorrow. I’d planned to check online while I wait on the other books.”

  “Sounds good.” She smiled, trying to keep her own panic in check, not wanting to think about the possibility that not just court fey but a faery king was following her.

  Seth watched her the way you watch a person standing on a ledge, not sure if they’re going to go over or not. He didn’t ask her to think further on that dangerous possibility, didn’t ask her to talk about it. Instead he asked, “Are you staying to eat?”

  “No.” She got up, rinsed her cup, and took another deep breath. Tucking her hands into her pockets so he wouldn’t see them shaking, she turned and—before she could back down—told him, “I think I’m going to see what’s out there walking tonight. Maybe one of them will say something like the ones at the library. Come with me?”

  “Just a sec.” Seth opened an old steamer trunk labeled TEXTBOOKS and pulled out several cigar boxes of jewelry. Inside were leather bracelets with big metal rings, delicate cameos, and velvety jewelers’ boxes. As he rummaged through the cigar boxes, he sat several pieces to the side, including one of the leather wristbands.

  He dug around a little longer and pulled out a can of pepper spray. “For humans, but maybe it works on faeries, too. I don’t know.”

  “Seth, I…”

  “Just stuff it in your pocket with the salt.” He grinned. Then he held up a necklace and bracelet of thick chain links, very much his style. “Steel. It’s supposed to burn them, or maybe just weaken them.”

  “I know, but…”

  “Look, it makes sense to use whatever you can, right?”

  When she nodded, he came over and motioned for her to turn around. He brushed her hair to the side, piling it over her shoulder. “Hold that.”

  Silently she did. It felt weird, too close after the earlier tension, but she stood there while Seth draped a necklace around her throat.

  Maybe he’s right. She could use whatever help she could get. The idea of looking for faeries went against every rule she’d ever learned, but she was going to do it, to try it. It was better than waiting. I need to try something. Do something.

  Even now she could see more faeries outside the window: one was perched on top of a hedge that couldn’t possibly hold him up, but did.

  Seth hooked the heavy chain around her throat, let it fall against her skin. Then he kissed the back of her neck and walked past her to the door. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The “fair folk” were most skilled in music, and…of the great enchantments and allurements to stay with them was their music.

  —Notes on the Folk-Lore of the North-East of Scotland by Walter Gregor (1881)

  As she tried to make sense of the earlier events—Why would mortals attack Ash? Was it mere chance?—Donia walked. She passed the vagrants leaning against the faded redbrick buildings, the group of young men with their too-loud comments on her “assets,” the unconcealed exchange of cash for crack between two skinny guys.

  In all Donia’s decades, Beira had never broken the rules. No one knew why, but there was plenty of speculation. Centuries past, Beira had meted out especially cruel punishments when a group of winter fey had tampered with the game. No one interferes. But the odds of the park being clear of all fey…it couldn’t be random. Either Beira willed it or allowed it.

  As Donia walked, she let the glamour fade away, becoming once more invisible to the mortals. Unfortunately she couldn’t hide from the fey as easily.

  She fought to keep her voice even, but it never seemed to work with Keenan, today even less so than usual. “What do you want?”

  “Happiness. Beira to grow a conscience. Forgiveness.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek.

  She moved out of reach, stepping into a puddle. “Can’t help you.”

  “Not even on the forgiveness?” Absently he blew a gentle breeze toward a couple of shivering crackheads, not changing his stride as he did so.

  She kept her silence, debating how much she could omit without lying.

  He was as impatient as always, though, questioning her before she could get her thoughts sorted. “Did you see her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Talk to her?” He held out a hand to carry her bag, always solicitous, even now with his eyes glimmering over thoughts of her, of Aislinn.

  Donia clutched the strap of her bag, then felt foolish for being petty, and held it out.

  Sasha ran toward her at full speed, bounding over the debris. His tail was held high when he came to a stop beside her.

  “Good boy.” She bent to ruffle his fur—and check for any blood on his muzzle—before continuing down the street.

  Across the street several of Keenan’s guardsmen kept a discreet distance, winding their way around the people, leaning into the crumbling facades of the buildings in this part of the city, and somehow still managing to keep the edges of their long coats from dragging through any of the filth on the ground.

  With a shake of her head, she looked back at Keenan.

  And he smiled at her.

  For an instant she forgot everything—his betrayal, her suspicions about Beira, the aching cold. He’s as beautiful as he was when we met. I look pale and awful, but he’s still gorgeous. She tore her gaze away and walked faster.

  He stayed beside her adjusting his stride to match hers. “Donia? Did you?”

  “I spoke with her.” She thought again about what had almost happened, what could have happened if she hadn’t been there. She didn’t tell him. “The girl’s kind, good…. Totally too good for you.”

  “So were you.” He kissed her cheek, singed it with his lips. “You still are.”

  “Bastard.” She shoved him, ignoring the burning in her palm from touching him.

  He put a hand on his shoulder, melting the ice that formed where she’d pushed too hard. It crackled under his touch. “Only because Beira murdered my father.”

  Keenan kept pace with Donia until they reached the mouth of a barricaded alley. She said nothing, offered him nothing in the way of even the barest civility. Even after all these years, it still hurt to see the disdain on her face.

  Finally he stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “You saw Beira.”

  She didn’t answer him, but it wasn’t a question.

  “What did she want?” he prompted.

  She stepped around him, going farther toward the railroad yard. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  She was hiding something. He could see the tightening in her hands, hear her breathing catch just a little.

  He followed. “Seems odd for her just to stop by to visit. I didn’t think you enjoyed being around her.”

  “It’s not much worse than seeing you, but somehow I endure that.” She stopped and leaned against one of the fire-blackened buildings outside the railroad yard, closing her eyes, breathing deeply. Sasha stretched out at her feet.

  Since she’d been mortal once, being that close to iron wasn’t as hard for her as it was for most fey, but it still hurt her. If it hurt Sasha, she wouldn’t come, but the wolf was immune to it.

  The guards were keeping their distance, but even being near
that much iron had to be painful for them. Keenan motioned for them to pull back farther.

  “Donia?” He reached out to take her hand, but didn’t. His touch would hurt her more than the iron did. Instead he splayed his arms out on the wall on either side of her, palms covering part of the graffiti on the wall, making a prison of sorts with his arms. “Why do you come down here?”

  “To remind myself of what I lost.” She opened her eyes, holding his gaze. “To remind myself not to trust any of you.”

  She was utterly impossible.

  He grimaced at her accusing look, at the decades-long argument. “I didn’t lie to you.”

  “You didn’t tell me the truth, either.” She closed her eyes again.

  Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Her cold breath mingled with his equally warm breath in the small space between them, rising like steam above them.

  “Go away, Keenan. I don’t like you any more today than I did yesterday, or the day before that, or the—”

  He interrupted, “But I still like you. That’s the beauty of this, isn’t it? I still miss you. Every single time we do this, Don.” He lowered his voice to try and hide how close it was to raw. “I miss you.”

  She didn’t even open her eyes to look at him.

  Any love she might have felt died decades ago. If things were different…but they aren’t. He shook his head. Donia wasn’t her. She was one of the girls he’d never have. He needed to think about how to get close to Aislinn, not about the one he’d lost and loved.

  He sighed. “Are you going to tell me what Beira wanted?”

  Donia did look at him then, leaning her face close enough that he felt her words on his lips. “Beira wants the same thing you do: me to do her bidding.”

  He took several steps back. “Damn it, Donia, I don’t want—”

  “Stop. Just stop.” She pushed away from the building. “She wants me to convince Aislinn not to trust you. Just a little pep talk in case I forgot my job.”

  She was hiding something: Beira wouldn’t visit her for that alone. Evan, the rowan-man who watched over Donia, had said she was terrified when Beira left.