Fragile Eternity (Wicked Lovely 3)

“Not forever.” Seth sat on a bench that was made from a twist of vines. Some faery artisan had shaped the vines into a braid as they grew. Now, they were a flowering seat. It was one of the myriad amazing things he could see with the benefit of faery Sight.

See illusions. Or maybe see truths. He didn’t know. At the edge of the park, a group of six ravens settled in an oak tree. The sight of them gave him pause, but Tracey, one of the gentlest of the Summer Girls, took Seth’s hands in hers. “Dance?”

She was already swaying with his hands in her grasp. She was reed thin, but she was still a faery—which meant that she could pull him to her even if he resisted. Tendrils of vines snaked out to draw him closer.

“I’m not really in the mood, Trace.” He tried to extricate his hands from hers.

“That’s why you should.” She smiled as she tugged him to his feet. “It helps you be not sad.”

“I just need to think.” He had enjoyed the few times he’d spent empty hours dancing with the Summer Girls or listening to them talk. It was like the parties he’d lost himself in. Before-Ash. That’s how life was divided: Before-Ash and With-Ash.

“You can think on your feet too.” She pulled him away from the bench, inside the ring, and once his feet touched that soil, he was lost.

He could see the stone sculptures and the fountain as she led him into the circle. He could see the knowing grins on the cubs’ faces as the tempo of the music changed. Seeing didn’t change anything, though. He saw all sorts of things in his life, but he was powerless to remake them as he wanted them to be.

Vines entwined his waist as Tracey came closer to him; fleeting touches of her hands and hair made her seem all the more ethereal. There was nothing he could grasp and hold; nothing was solid.

“You need to let me leave.” He said the words although his feet were moving still. “I need to go, Trace.”

“Why?” Her wide-eyed expression seemed guileless, but he knew better. The Summer Girls weren’t as unaware as they appeared. Frivolous? Prone to random bursts of glee? Amorous? Definitely. But they also had agendas. They’d lived centuries, waiting for their queen, watching their faery king struggle. You don’t live that long under adverse circumstances without developing agendas of your own—or learning how to use people’s perceptions to support your illusions.

“Tracey”—he backed away from her—“I’m upset.”

She followed, twirling to him, and the music switched to a samba beat. “Stay.”

“I need to—”

“Stay.” She reached up and tore away his charm, leaving him vulnerable to her glamour.

The chain slithered like a living thing as she dropped the stone into her top. He stared at the flower petals that were raining around them.

“Stay with us. It’s where you belong.” Tracey tugged him into her arms.

Some brief awareness pressed on him: he needed that stone. This wasn’t right, but the thought was no more lasting than the brush of butterfly wings. The world shifted. All he felt was joy. This was where he wanted to be. Somewhere inside he knew that he shouldn’t stay here, but the Summer Girls had taken such pains to teach him to dance the ways they liked, and the cubs were playing so beautifully, and the earth was humming under his feet.

“Yes. Let’s dance,” he said, but they already were.

Too soon, Tracey kissed his cheek and twirled away, and then Eliza was in his arms. “Rumba?” she asked.

The music switched, and his body moved in time with the beat that reverberated through the soil. He could barely pause long enough, but he did, pulling off his boots so his skin could feel the rhythm.

The moon was high overhead. A girl undulated in the fountain.

Not a girl. A faery. Like Ash.

“Come dance with me, Seth,” she beckoned.

Siobhan let go of his hands. When did Eliza become Siobhan? He stepped into the fountain. The water soaked his jeans, soothing his sore feet as he reached out for her. The contact was shiveringly good. I could drown in her. Logic pushed at him, warning, reminding him that she was made of water. He really could drown in her.

“Are you going to hurt me, Aobheall?”

She pressed her lips to his ear. “Get free of this place, mortal. Their plan doesn’t bode well for you tonight.”

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; The fountain spray was a thick curtain around them, blocking clear vision from the others. The sound of the cubs’ drumming filtered through the crash of water.

“Call for help,” she said.