Ink Exchange (Wicked Lovely 2)

“So, my vow’s going to stay intact: no mortal ink exchange.”

She stood awkwardly for a few moments. Leaving wasn’t easy, no matter how right it was. There were so many things she wanted to say, to ask. They wouldn’t change anything. They wouldn’t make a difference, and really, they were all things that she suspected Irial already knew. So she said, “In the morning, I get the key for my apartment. Ash took care of it for me…not the money, but finding one and the paperwork and everything.”

“You’ll tell me if you need anything?” He sounded as tentative as she felt.

She shook her head. “No. I’m pretty sure seeing you—or Niall—is a bad idea. I told him, too…I don’t want this world. Ash was righ

t about that part. I want to go live my life, be normal, and sort out what happened—before you.”

“You’ll do well, better than if you stayed.” He took another drag off his cigarette and exhaled.

She watched the smoke twist into strands in the air, not shadows, not anything mystical or ethereal, just the air that he’d exhaled—normalcy. And it made her smile. “I will.”

EPILOGUE

As he often had over the past few weeks, Niall watched Leslie step out into the street. The mortal boy waiting there shrugged off whatever she said to him with a smile. He watched her with a protectiveness Niall approved of—putting his body streetside, keeping alert to the passing mortals. She needed friends like him. She needed the way the mortals made her laugh. Not me. Not now. The shadows under her eyes were fading; her stride was steadier, more confident.

“Looks good, doesn’t she?” said an unwelcome voice behind him.

“Go away.” Niall pulled his gaze away from Leslie, turning to face the king of the Dark Court.

Irial lounged against the newsstand, hat tipped low on his brow.

How did I not notice him?

“Healthier too, without that wretch of a brother causing her trouble,” Irial added. With a friendliness that seemed at odds with the situation, he stepped forward and draped an arm over Niall’s shoulder. They were of equal height, so it was an almost embracing gesture.

Niall shrugged off Irial’s arm and asked, “What do you want?”

“To check on our girl—and you.” Irial watched Leslie with a strange look that Niall would call protective if it were anyone else.

He’s not capable of that, though. He’s the heart of the Dark Court. But Niall knew he was trying to lie to himself, knew he’d been lying to himself for centuries: Irial wasn’t what Niall had let himself believe. He was neither as awful as Niall believed nor as kind as he’d first seemed. He still doesn’t deserve to be near her.

Leslie had been joined by several other mortals. One of them said something that made her laugh out loud.

Niall stepped in front of the Dark King. “She’s free of you. If you—”

“Relax, boy.” He laughed softly. “Do you really believe I’d hurt her?”

“You did hurt her.”

“I took away her choices when I didn’t warn her about the ink exchange. I used her. I did what we have both done with mortals forever.”

Niall started, “It’s—”

“Exactly what your last king did with his lovely queen and the rest of his formerly mortal playthings”—Irial paused, a strange solemn look on his face—“but you’ll figure it out soon enough.” Then, staring past Niall toward Leslie and her mortal friends, Irial said, “Once I gave you the choice between giving me the mortals you’d addicted or giving me yourself. You gave me yourself. That’s what a good king does, Gancanagh—makes hard choices. You know what we are, yet you kept our secrets. You’re setting aside your love for Leslie for her best interests. You’re going to make an excellent king.”

And before Niall could react, Irial pressed his mouth to the long scar that he’d once allowed Gabriel to carve on Niall’s face. Niall felt his knees give out under him, felt a disquieting new energy flood his body, felt the awareness of countless dark fey like threads in a great tapestry weaving his life to theirs.

“Take good care of the Dark Court. They deserve that. They deserve you.” Irial bowed his head. “My king.”

“No,” Niall stumbled back, tottering on the sidewalk, nearly falling into the traffic. “I don’t want this. I’ve told you—”

“The court needs new energy, Gancanagh. I got us through Beira’s reign, found ways to strengthen us. I’m tired—more changed by Leslie than I’ll admit, even to you. You may have broken our tie, seared me from her skin, but that doesn’t undo my changes. I am no longer fit to lead my court.” Irial smiled sadly. “My court—your court now—needs a new king. You’re the right choice. You have always been the next Dark King.”

“Take it back.” Niall felt the foolishness of his words, but he couldn’t think of anything more articulate.

“If you don’t want it—”