Wicked Lovely (Wicked Lovely 1)

Everywhere she looked, disguised faeries smiled back at her, friendly and happy.

Why are so many faeries wearing human faces?

Some real humans milled about, playing rigged games and riding rickety rides, but the faeries didn’t stare at them. She was the one they all watched.

Keenan waved to a group of faeries who had called out to him. “Old friends. Do you want to meet them?”

“No.” She bit down on her lip and looked around again, feeling her chest tighten.

He frowned.

“Not right now.” She forced a smile, hoping he’d think her nervousness was just shyness.

Control. She took a deep breath and tried to sound friendly. “I thought we were going to get to know each other.”

“Right.” He smiled like she’d given him some rare and precious gift. “What can I tell you?”

“Umm, what about your family?” Aislinn stumbled, feet as unsteady as her breathing.

“I live with my uncles,” he said as he led her forward, past a group of faeries that—until a moment ago—looked like they could go to Bishop O.C.

Several gestured toward her, but no one approached. In fact, the others moved out of Keenan’s path as he led her toward a row of booths where the now-revealed faeries ran carnival games.

“Your uncles?” she repeated, feeling increasingly doubtful that coming was a wise idea. She pulled her hand free. “Right, the guys who were at school.”

Faeries. Just like almost everyone here. She felt dizzy.

She tried again. “What about your parents?”

“My father died before I was born”—he paused, looking not sad, but angry—“but everything I am is his gift.”

Did faeries die? She wasn’t at all sure how to respond to his odd comment, so she simply said, “My mom is gone too. Childbirth.”

“I’m sorry.” He took her hand again, squeezed it affectionately, and intertwined his fingers with hers. “I’m sure she was a good woman. And she must’ve been lovely to be your mother.”

“I’m not much like her.” Aislinn swallowed hard. All she had was pictures. In the pictures Grams had around the house, her mother always looked haunted, like she couldn’t quite handle the things she could see. Grams never spoke of her mother’s last year, as if it hadn’t existed.

“What about your father? Is he a good man?” He stopped, holding her hand while they stood there, surrounded by faeries, talking about their families.

If she hadn’t been able to see the oddly shaped eyes and strange smiles on the faeries who listened, it might seem so very normal. It wasn’t.

She started to walk away, going toward one of the concession stands where they were selling those sweet-smelling drinks.

“Aislinn?”

She shrugged, more comfortable talking about a father she knew nothing of than the mother who’d given her the Sight. “Who knows? Grams doesn’t know who he is, and Mom’s not here to tell us.”

“At least you have your grandmother.” He reached up with his free hand and stroked her cheek. “I’m glad you have had that, a loving caretaker.”

She started to answer, but headed toward them were Pointy-Face and about six of the other faeries who liked to linger at Shooters, harassing the regulars, chasing her away from the pool

hall with their very presence. She froze, unable to move, years of instinct overriding logic.

“Aislinn? What’s wrong?” He moved in front of her, blocking her view of everyone and everything but him. “Have I offended you?”

“No. I’m just”—she offered him what she hoped was a convincing smile and lied—“chilly.”

He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, gently. “How’s that?”