Wicked Lovely (Wicked Lovely 1)

She heard the music as he walked toward his room, some sort of jazz. Her heart sped up, thinking of him getting stretched out on his bed too, but her voice only sounded a little off when she said, “Good night, Seth.”

“So you’re running again, then?” One of his boots thudded on the floor.

“I’m not running.”

The other boot hit the floor. “Really?”

“Really. It’s just—” She stopped; she didn’t have anything that would finish that sentence and be honest.

“Maybe you should slow down, so I can catch you.” He paused, waiting. He seemed to do that more and more lately, make statements that invited her to admit something dangerous to their friendship. When she didn’t answer he added, “Sweet dreams, Ash.”

After they hung up, Aislinn held the phone in her hand, still thinking about Seth. It would be a bad idea. A really, really bad idea… She smiled. He thinks I’m smart and sexy.

She was still smiling when she fell asleep.

CHAPTER 11

[The Sidhe] are shape-changers; they can grow small or grow large, they can take what shape they choose;…they are as many as the blades of grass. They are everywhere.

—Visions and Beliefs in the West of Ireland by Lady Augusta Gregory (1920)

When Aislinn walked up the steps to Bishop O.C. the next morning, she saw them: fey things lingering outside the door, watching everyone, and seeming strangely serious.

Inside more faeries clustered at the doorway to the principal’s office. WTF? They usually avoided the school—whether from the rows of steel lockers or the abundance of religious artifacts, she didn’t know. Both, maybe.

By the time she reached her locker, the presence of faeries overwhelmed her. They weren’t to come here. There were rules: this was supposed to be a safe space.

“Miss Foy?”

She turned. Standing beside Father Myers was the one faery she was supremely unprepared to face.

“Keenan,” she whispered.

“You know one another?” Father Myers nodded, beaming now. “Good. Good.”

He turned to the two other—equally visible—faeries standing beside him. If she glanced at them quickly, they looked like they weren’t much older than her, but the taller of the two had a strange solemnity that made Aislinn suspect that he was old. He had unusually long hair for such a serious demeanor; under his glamour it glittered like thick silver cords. A smallish black sun tattoo was visible on the side of his throat, exposed by his tightly plaited hair. The second faery had almost shorn wood-brown hair, and a face that would be somehow forgettable but for the long scar that ran from his temple to the corner of his mouth.

Father Myers assured the faeries, “Aislinn’s an honor student, and her schedule is the same as your nephew’s. She’ll help him get caught up.”

She stood there, trying not to bolt, refusing to look at Keenan—even though he watched her expectantly—while several more faeries walked up behind Father Myers.

One of the ones whose skin looked like bark—crackled and grayish—caught Keenan’s gaze. He gestured at the others who were fanned out at the entrance and said, “All clear.”

“Miss Foy? Aislinn?” Father Myers cleared his throat.

She looked away from the retinue of faeries that had invaded Bishop O’Connell. “I’m sorry, Father. What?”

“Can you show Keenan to Calculus?”

Keenan waited, a battered leather bag over his shoulder, looking at her attentively. His “uncles” and Father Myers watched her.

She had no choice. She forced her fear away and said, “Sure.”

Wait them out? Not likely. Every rule she’d lived with, that’d kept her safe, they were all failing her.

By midday, Aislinn’s control of her temper was steadily being worn away by Keenan’s false humanity. He followed her, talking, acting like he was safe, like he was real.

He isn’t.