Wicked Lovely (Wicked Lovely 1)

The Fairy then dropped three drops of a precious liquid on her companion’s left eyelid, and she beheld a most delicious country…. From this time she possessed the faculty of discerning the Fairy people as they went about invisibly.

—The Fairy Mythology by Thomas Keightley (1870)

Donia walked past the faeries outside Seth’s home—a few familiar guards, the demi-succubus Cerise, and several Summer Girls. Without Keenan beside her, none of them smiled. They still bowed their heads, but there was no affection in their respect. To them she was the enemy—never mind that she’d risked everything for him, everything the girls hadn’t been willing to risk. They conveniently forgot that.

At the door she braced herself for the inevitable weakness that such awful walls would bring about. She knocked. Pain seared her knuckles.

She didn’t react when Aislinn opened the door, but it took effort. From the hollow look on her face, Donia was sure that her memories of the faire were far less clear than Keenan’s. All he’d admitted was that he’d let her drink far too much summer wine, caught up in the moment, the revelry, the dancing. It was his way: too easy to rejoice, to believe. For him, it worked.

Aislinn looked awful.

Clutching her hand, looking both angry and wary, was her mortal, Seth. “What do you want?”

Aislinn’s eyes widened. “Seth.”

“No. It’s fine, Ash.” Donia smiled; for all her wishes of success to Keenan, she saw the look on Seth’s face and couldn’t help but respect him. A mortal stood against the considerable temptation of the Summer King, and it was the mortal holding Aislinn’s hand.

Donia added, “I just want to talk.”

Behind her Cerise came closer, announcing her approach by flapping her wings—as if she could frighten Donia.

“Maybe take a walk.” She glanced back at Cerise and blew a breath of cold air at her, not enough to wound, but frigid enough to remind her to watch her step.

Cerise shrieked, the mere touch of cold sending her fluttering backward.

Donia started to smile: there weren’t enough good moments lately. Then she realized that Aislinn had jumped at Cerise’s outburst. Seth hadn’t moved, hadn’t heard it: faeries could raise such a cacophony that mortals’ heads ached, but they didn’t respond in any other way, didn’t hear it.

The exclamations behind her confirmed that the others had seen Aislinn’s reaction as well.

Donia looked at Aislinn. “You can see them.”

Aislinn nodded.

Cerise trembled behind a rowan-man. The Summer Girls gaped.

“I see faeries. Lucky me,” Aislinn added, sounding as weary as she looked. “Can you come in here or is there too much iron?”

Donia smiled at the girl’s bravado. “I’d rather walk.”

Nodding, Aislinn lifted her gaze to the head guard and told the rowan-man, “Keenan already knows, and now Donia does too, so if there’s anyone else you need to scurry off and tell, now’s your chance.”

Donia winced. Not bravado, recklessness. She would be a good match for Keenan.

Before anyone could respond, Donia walked past the Summer Girls and stood before the rowan-man. “If anyone here tells Beira, I’ll find you. If loyalty to Keenan isn’t enough to keep your lips sealed, I’ll seal them for you.”

She stared at Cerise until the demi-succubus growled, “I would never betray the Summer King.”

“Good.” Donia nodded. Then she returned to Aislinn’s side.

Only the sound of Cerise’s wings flapping madly broke the silence until Donia asked, “Shall I tell you about Keenan’s infidelity, about his lasciviousness, about how foolish it’d be to trust him?”

Blanching even more, Aislinn looked away. “I may already know.”

Donia said softly to Seth, “You say you aren’t her beau, but she needs you. Maybe we can talk about herbs as well?”

“Hold on.” Seth pulled Aislinn back inside to talk for a moment, closing the door on Donia.

As she waited outside for their inevitable agreement, she gave the Summer Girls her coldest smile, hoping it was enough, hating the game she had to play.