Wicked Lovely (Wicked Lovely 1)

“I’m meeting some people for coffee.” Faery-boy moved closer. “You want to come?”

“No.” She stepped sideways, putting more distance between them. She swallowed, but it didn’t help how dry her mouth was, how terrified and tempted she felt.

He followed. “Some other night.”

It wasn’t a question, not really. Aislinn shook her head. “Actually, no.”

“She already immune to your charms, Keenan?” Deadgirl called out. Her voice was lilting, but there was a harsh edge under the words. “Smart girl.”

Aislinn didn’t reply: Deadgirl wasn’t visible. Don’t answer invisible faeries, Rule #2.

He didn’t answer her, either, didn’t even glance her way. “Can I text you? E-mail? Something?”

“No.” Her voice was rough. Her mouth was dry. She swallowed. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, making a soft clicking noise when she tried to speak. “I’m not interested at all.”

But she was.

She hated herself for it, but the closer he stood to her, the more she wanted to say yes, yes, please yes to whatever he wanted. She wouldn’t, couldn’t.

He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and scrawled something on it. “Here’s mine. When you change your mind…”

“I won’t.” She took it—trying not to let her fingers too near his skin, afraid the contact would somehow make it worse—and shoved it in her pocket. Passive resistance, that was what Grams would counsel. Just get through it and get away.

Eddy was watching her; Deadgirl was watching her.

Faery-boy leaned closer and whispered, “I’d really like to get to know you….” He sniffed her like he really was some sort of animal, no different than the less-human-looking ones. “Really.”

And that would be Rule #1: Don’t ever attract faeries’ attention. Aislinn almost tripped trying to get away—from him and from her own inexplicable urge to give in. She did stumble in the doorway when Deadgirl whispered, “Run while you can.”

Keenan watched Aislinn leave. She didn’t really run, but she wanted to. He could feel it, her fear, like the thrumming heart of a startled animal. Mortals didn’t usually run from him, especially girls: only one had ever done so in all the years he’d played this game.

This one, though, she was afraid. Her already-pale skin blanched when he reached out to her, making her look like a wraith framed by her straight blue-black hair. Delicate. It made her seem more vulnerable, easier to approach. Or maybe that was just because she was so slight. He imagined he could tuck her head under his chin and fit her whole body in the spare fold of his coat. Perfect. She’d need some guidance on attire—replace the common clothes she seemed to prefer, add a few bits of jewelry—but that was inevitable these days. At least she had long hair.

She’d be a refreshing challenge, too, in strange control of her emotions. Most of the girls he’d picked were so fiery, so volatile. Once he’d thought that was a good indicator—Summer Queen, fiery passion. It had made sense.

Donia interrupted his thoughts: “I don’t think she likes you.”

“So?”

Donia pursed her blue lips—the only spot of color in her cold, white face.

If he studied her, he could find proof of the changes in her—the blond hair faded to the white of a snow squall, the pallor that made her lips seem so blue—but she was still as beautiful as she had been when she’d taken over as the Winter Girl. Beautiful, but not mine, not like Aislinn will be.

“Keenan,” Donia snapped, a cloud of frigid air slipping out with her voice. “She doesn’t like you.”

“She will.” He stepped outside and shook off the glamour. Then he said the words that’d sealed so many mortal girls’ fates. “I’ve dreamed about her. She’s the one.”

And with that Aislinn’s mortality began to fade. Unless she became the Winter Girl, she was his now—for better or for worse.

CHAPTER 2

[The Sleagh Maith, or the Good People, are] terrifyed by nothing earthly so much as by cold Iron.

—The Secret Commonwealth by Robert Kirk and Andrew Lang (1893)

As freaked as she was by the faery approaching her, Aislinn couldn’t go home. If everything seemed calm, Grams didn’t put many restrictions on her, but if Grams suspected trouble, that leniency would vanish. Aislinn wasn’t about to risk that, not if she had a choice, so she needed to keep her panic in check.

And she was panicked, more than she’d been in years—enough that she’d actually run for a block, attracting faery followers. Several gave chase at first, until one of the lupine faeries snarled at the others and they’d dropped off—all but one female. She loped alongside Aislinn on all fours as they ran up Third Avenue. The wolf-girl’s crystalline fur chimed with an eerily appealing melody, as if it would lull the listener to trust.