Wicked Lovely (Wicked Lovely 1)

“I’m fine.” She dodged his outstretched hand and went to sop up the tea, staring at the floor, trying to ignore the fact that he was watching her. “So, umm, where is everyone?”

“I told everyone I needed a few days. I wanted a chance to see you alone. Talk and stuff.” With a sigh, he reached down and pulled the rag away from her. He tossed it toward the kitchen, where it landed on the table with a splat. “Talk to me.”

She stood up, but he caught her hand before she could walk away again.

He pulled her closer. “I’m here. I’ll be here. Whatever it is.”

“It’s nothing. Really.” She stood there, one hand in his, the other hanging uselessly at her side. “I just need to be somewhere safe with good company.”

“Did someone hurt you?” He sounded weirder then, tense.

“No.” She bit her lip; she hadn’t thought he would ask so many questions, counted on it, in fact.

“Someone want to?” He pulled her down into his lap, tucking her head under his chin, holding her securely.

She didn’t resist. He’d held her every year when she came back from visiting her mom’s grave, had held her when Grams had gotten sick last year. His holding her wasn’t strange; the questions were.

“I don’t know.” She felt stupid for it, but she started crying, big dumb tears she couldn’t stop. “I don’t know what they want.”

Seth stroked her hair, running his hand down the length of it and on to her back. “But you do know

who they are?”

“Sort of.” She nodded, sniffling. Bet that’s attractive. She tried to pull away.

“So, that’s a good place to start.” He wrapped one arm tighter around her and leaned over to pick a notebook and pen up off the floor. Propping the notebook on her knee, he held the pen poised over it. With a reassuring smile, he prompted, “Tell me. We’ll figure it out. Talk to some people. Check out the police blotter.”

“Police blotter?”

“Sure. Find out more about them.” He gave her a reassuring look. “Ask Rabbit down at the tat shop. He hears everything. We find out who they are. Then we take care of it.”

“There’s not going to be anything in the blotter. Not on these two.” Aislinn smiled at the idea of faeries’ crimes being reported in the blotter. They’d need a whole section of the daily paper just for faery crimes, especially in the safe neighborhoods: the upscale homes were in greener areas, outside the safety of steel frames and bridges.

“So we use other routes.” He pushed her hair away from her face, wiping a tear off her cheek in the process. “Seriously, I’m a research god. Give me a clue, and I’ll find something we can use. Blackmail, deal, whatever. Maybe they’re wanted for something. If not, maybe they’re breaking a law. Harassment or something. That’s a crime, right? If not, there’s people Rabbit knows.”

Aislinn disentangled herself from his arms and went over to the sofa. Boomer barely stirred when she sat down next to him. Too cold. She shivered. It’s always too cold. She stroked his skin while she thought. Seth hasn’t ever told anyone about Mom or anything. He can be careful.

Seth sat back and crossed his ankles, waiting.

She stared at the worn vintage T he had on—damp from her tears now; the peeling white letters proclaimed: PIXIES. Maybe it’s a sign. She’d thought about it so often, imagined telling him.

He looked expectantly at her.

She wiped her cheeks again. “Okay.”

When she didn’t say anything else, he crooked one glittering eyebrow and prompted her again, “Ash?”

“Right.” She swallowed and said, as calmly as she could, “Faeries. Faeries are stalking me.”

“Faeries?”

“Faeries.” She pulled her legs up to sit cross-legged on the sofa. Boomer lifted his head to look at her, his tongue flicking out, and slid farther onto her lap.

Seth picked up his tea and took a drink.

She’d never told anyone before. It was one of Grams’ unbreakable rules: Never know who’s listening. Never know when They are hiding nearby.

Aislinn’s heart thudded. She could feel herself getting nauseous. What did I do? But she wanted him to know, wanted someone to talk to.