Touch (Touched by the Fae 3)

I don’t know how to be a daughter. That’s the truth of it. I haven’t had a family since before my stay in the asylum and, as much as I look back on my time with the Everetts with wistfulness and regret, I’ve always kept to myself.

It was safer that way.

Now I have these two and I don’t know what to do with them. After Ash’s announcement that he wants to take on Melisandre as soon as he’s healed, I’m even more confused. To them, I’m their long lost child. To me, they’re strangers.

I keep finding excuses to leave. It’s bad enough that my stomach tightens every time I catch sight of the frozen Nine. Staying in the same room with a bonded couple who can’t go more than a few seconds without touching each other, making sure they’re still together… it’s almost worse than the expectations in their expressions whenever they look at me.

They don’t like me leaving but, short of ordering me to stay behind, they can’t stop me—so they don’t. Ash isn’t ready to leave the sanctity of the apartment and Callie… she isn’t ready to leave her mate. With warnings not to go too far and my promise that I’ll keep my eye out for any threats, I slink outside if only to get away for a while.

This part of the slummy downtown Newport is the last place I’d expect to find any of the fae. I feel safe here—or as safe as possible, knowing the price on my head—and apart from being hours away from Acorn Falls and Black Pine, it’s March now. I’ve been on the run from the asylum for nine months. They had to have given up on me.

Except, I’m willing to bet, for Dr. Gillespie.

Too bad I have no idea what he’s all about. The way he chased me into the alley after tracking me down to Acorn Falls… seriously. What’s the deal with him?

I’m not sure and, not gonna lie, when I walk around the downtown area, I’m not only watching out for a threat from Faerie. Any sign of my former psychologist... a flash of his fiery red hair, his nasal voice, anything… and I’m ready to book it.

I’ve been lucky so far. Going for groceries, stopping in at the Dunkin’ on the corner for coffee and donuts, buying a newspaper from the convenience store and maybe a scratchie or two, and no one’s even looked twice at me. Thank freaking God it’s March because even my leather gloves don’t stand out in the unseasonably chilly weather. Spring might suck in a couple of weeks but, since I don’t even know if I’ll still be around then, I’m not worried about it.

Like when I was squatting in the Wilkes House, I’m still careful when sneaking into the side entrance of the condemned building. I haven’t seen a single cop patrolling this area. Doesn’t mean they’re not out there—and getting snagged heading into an abandoned building is the last thing I need.

My poor… my poor parents would freak, wouldn’t they?

I’m not running on my own anymore. I… I guess I’m responsible for them. What will happen to Callie and Ash in this strange new world—strange and new to them—if I’m not here to help them?

Can’t take any chances.

As I turn the corner, I see that the same homeless street sleeper that’s always nearby is bunkered down with his blankets and his cardboard sign and the crumpled coffee cup set out in front of him. I noticed he was missing earlier on my way to the convenience store, but there he is.

I’ve got some change on me and a couple of dollars that I can spare. I’m going to eventually have to figure out a way to earn some money but, for now, Carolina’s wad is enough to live on for a bit longer.

I can share.

However, before I can pull out any money to tuck into his cup, the man glances over at me. He must have heard my approach because he lifts his head, his weathered face twisted in a welcoming grimace.

I nod over at him, shuffling closer as I dig around in my pocket.

“It’s you.” He resettles himself in his makeshift nest. “You’re back.”

I guess I am. “Morning.”

“I’ve been waiting for you. You dropped this.” He pulls a grubby slip of paper from beneath his pile of blankets. It’s folded in half and I have no clue what it’s supposed to be. “Here.”

When I don’t take it from him, he sets it down, scooting it toward me with one filthy finger tipped with a dirty nail. “You don’t want to touch me, girly. I get it. Still, this belongs to you.”

He’s not wrong. I don’t want to touch him, just not for the reason he thinks.

“I think you’ve made a mistake—”

“You see me. You don’t walk past me as if I’m not here. Just the other night, you placed a five in my cup. This fell out of your pocket. It’s yours.”

“Umm. Okay. If you say so.”

“I made some corrections to it. It should help you.”

“Thanks.”

I think.