Wicked Lovely (Wicked Lovely 1)

The next day, Monday, Aislinn went through school like a sleepwalker. Keenan wasn’t there. No faeries walked the halls. She’d seen them outside, on the steps, on the street as the taxi drove by them, but not within the building.

Has he already had what he wanted? Was that all this was?

The way Donia had talked there was far more to it, but Aislinn couldn’t focus on anything other than the blank spot in her memories. She wanted to know, needed to know what had happened. It was all she could think about as she went through the motions of classes.

At midday, she gave up and walked out the front door, not caring who saw.

She was still on the steps when she saw him: Keenan stood waiting across the street, watching her. He was smiling, gently, like he was happy to see her.

He’ll tell me. I’ll ask, and he’ll tell what happened. He has to. She was so relieved that she went toward him, dodging cars, almost running.

She didn’t even realize he was invisible until he said, “So you truly can see me?”

“I…” She stammered, stumbled over the words she’d been about to say, the questions she needed to have answered.

“Mortals can’t see me unless I will it.” He acted as calm as if they’d been talking about homework, as if they weren’t discussing something that could get her killed.

“You see me, and they”—he pointed to a couple walking their dog down the street—“don’t.”

“I do,” she whispered. “I’ve always seen faeries.”

It was harder to say this time, to tell him. Faeries had terrified her as long as she could remember, but none so much as Keenan. He was the king of the awful things that she’d fled from her whole life.

“Walk with me?” he asked, although they already were.

He faded into what she now thought of as his normal glamour—dulling the shimmer of his copper hair, the rustling sound of wind through trees—and she fell in step with him, silent now, trying to think of how to ask him.

They had just passed the park when she turned to him and blurted, “Did you? Did we? Sex, I mean?”

He lowered his voice, like he were sharing secrets with her. “No. I took you home, saw you to your door. That’s all. When the revelry ended, when they all left, and it was just us…”

“Your word.” She trembled, hoping he wasn’t so cruel as to lie. “I need to know. Please.”

As he smiled at her reassuringly, she could smell wild roses, fresh-cut hay, bonfires—things she didn’t think she’d ever been around, but knew nonetheless in that moment.

Solemnly he nodded. “My word, Aislinn. I swore to you that your wishes would be as my own as often as I am able. I keep my vows.”

“I was so afraid. I mean, not that you would”—she broke off and grimaced, realizing what she’d implied—“it’s just that…”

“What can you expect of a faery, right?” He gave her a wry grin, looking surprisingly normal for a faery king. “I’ve read the mortals’ stories of us, too. They aren’t untrue.”

She took a deep breath, tasting those strange summer scents on her tongue.

“But the fey I…hold sway over don’t. Will not do that—violate another.” He acknowledged the bows of several invisible faeries with a nod and a quicksilver smile. “It is not the way of my fey. We do not take the unwilling.”

“Thank…I mean, I’m glad.” She almost hugged him, her relief was so great. “You don’t like those words, right?”

“Right.” He laughed, and she felt like the world itself rejoiced.

She rejoiced. I’m a virgin. She knew there were other thoughts she should ponder, but that one precious sentence was all she could think. Her first time would be one she would remember, one she would choose.

As they walked on, Keenan took Aislinn’s hand in his. “In time I hope you’ll come to understand how much you mean to me, to my fey.”

The scent of roses—wild roses—mingled with a strange briny scent: waves crashing on rocky shores, dolphins diving. She swayed, feeling the pull of those faraway waves, as if the rhythm of something beyond her was creeping inside her skin.

“It is a strange thing, this chance for openness. I’ve never courted anyone who could truly know me.” His voice blended with the tug of foreign waters, sounding more musical with each syllable.

Aislinn stopped walking; he still held her hand, like an anchor to keep her from leaving. They were standing outside The Comix Connexion.