Wicked Lovely (Wicked Lovely 1)

“Are you feeling okay?” Aislinn put a hand on Grams’ forehand.

Grams smiled wanly. “You seem tired lately. Thought you could use something other than yogurt.”

Aislinn poured a small cup of coffee from the half-full carafe and added a couple generous spoonfuls of sugar before she came to stand

beside Grams.

“SATs are coming up soon, didn’t do as well as I wanted on the last English essay”—Aislinn rolled her eyes as Grams shot her a disbelieving frown—“well, I didn’t. I’m not saying I did badly, just that I could’ve done better.”

Grams scooped the eggs onto the waiting plates and went to the tiny table with them. “So it’s a school thing?”

“Mostly.” Aislinn sat down and picked up her fork. She pushed the eggs around, staring at the plate.

“What else?” Grams asked in that worried tone. Her hand tensed on her coffee mug.

And Aislinn couldn’t tell her. She couldn’t say that court faeries were following her, that one of them had donned a glamour to talk to her, that it took everything she had not to reach out toward him when he stood beside her. So she mentioned the only other person that made her feel so tempted. “Umm, there’s this guy….”

Grams’ grip on the cup relaxed a little.

Aislinn added, “He’s wonderful, everything I want, but he’s just a friend.”

“Do you like him?”

Aislinn nodded.

“Then he’s an idiot. You’re smart and pretty, and if he turned you down—”

Aislinn interrupted, “I didn’t actually ask him out.”

“Well, there’s your problem.” Grams nodded with a self-satisfied look. “Ask him out. Stop worrying. When I was a girl, we didn’t have the sort of freedom you do, but…” And Grams was off, talking about one of her favorite subjects—the progress in women’s rights.

Aislinn ate her breakfast, nodding in the right places and asking questions to keep Grams talking until it was time to leave for school. Far better to let Grams think that boys and school were the source of her worries. Grams had faced enough worries in her life: Grandpa had died when she was still a young mother, and she’d had to raise a daughter and then a granddaughter with the Sight on her own. And if Grams found out how strange the fey were acting…well, any chance of Aislinn keeping her freedom would be quickly quashed.

By the time Carla knocked on the door to walk to school, Aislinn and Grams were both smiling.

Then Aislinn opened the door and saw three faeries standing in the hallway behind Carla. They kept their distance from the door—no doubt uncomfortable because of the wrought-iron curlicues that covered the outside of the door. Grams had needed special permission to install the new door, but it was well worth it.

“Wow,” Carla quipped when Aislinn’s smile faltered. “Not trying to ruin your mood.”

“Not you. It’s just”—she tried to rein in the force of her scowl—“Monday, you know?”

Carla looked to be sure Grams wasn’t in earshot and asked in a soft voice, “You want to ditch?”

“And get further behind in Calc?” Aislinn snorted. She grabbed her bag and waved to Grams before stepping into the hallway.

Carla shrugged. “I’ll tutor you if you want. There’s a sale down at the electronics shop….”

“Not today. Come on.” Aislinn ran down the stairs, past several more faeries. They didn’t usually come into the apartment building. It was one of the safer areas, no greenery in sight, steel security bars on the windows—not a bad neighborhood, but far from the dangerous trees and shrubs in the suburbs.

As they walked the few blocks to school, Aislinn’s good mood vanished entirely. Faeries crouched in the alcoves, walked behind them, murmured as they passed. It was beyond disconcerting.

And like an echo as she walked, she remembered Deadgirl’s comment: “Run while you can.” Aislinn didn’t think she could actually run, but if she knew what she was running from, it might at least ease the panic that she couldn’t seem to end.

Then one of the lupine faeries sniffed her, crystalline fur clattering like tiny glass chimes as he moved, and Aislinn trembled. Maybe knowing wouldn’t be enough to ease the panic.

As Aislinn went through her day, she pushed the morning’s worries to the back of her mind. It wasn’t like she could tell Father James she wasn’t paying attention because faeries were following her. The Church might caution against the dangers of the occult, but finding a modern priest who believed in anything supernatural—other than God himself—was about as likely as finding one who’d suggest women should be able to be priests too.

Actually, she thought with a wry smile as she headed toward her last-period English class, there might be some priests out there more likely to suggest female equality, just not at Bishop O.C.