Page 10 of Golden Star

“So, you communicate with your kind from Maine,” he decides.

“I have no ‘kind,’” I say, unable to truly process how ridiculous it is that he’s talking about me as if I’m some sort of alien. “I’m not a spy, or a fae. I’m ahuman. One who just had a rather dramatic breakup with her boyfriend, who then left her alone in the woods. I was trying to head back to the parking lot, but I got lost, and then I followed the sound of the stream…”

He says nothing, simply staring at me over the top of his blade, as if sizing me up.

As ifI’mthe crazy one here.

“You met me a few hours ago,” I point out. “I’m a bartender at the Maple Pig. Why would I be working there if I was some sort of spy?”

“Spies can be planted anywhere,” he says simply. “Including bars in Maine. In fact, bars are some of the best places to plant spies. Many secrets are spilled when people let their guard down over one too many drinks.”

He’s not wrong.

So, quickly, I wrack my mind for a way to prove I’m telling him the truth. “I can show you pictures of my life. On my phone. Just… don’t come at me with that thing.” I glance at the sword to make it clear what I mean. “Okay?”

“I don’t need pictures,” he says. “You clearly believe what you’re telling me.”

“Really?” I ask, stunned. “You believe me? Just like that?”

“Fae can’t lie,” he says, although he makes no effort to put away the sword. “We can only say the truth—atleast what webelieveis the truth. Which means you believe what you’re telling me.”

“I believe it because itisthe truth,” I insist.

“Given your demonstration of your magic just now, you’re a summer fae,” he continues, completely brushing off what I’m saying. “But you clearly don’t know it. Which means you must be a changeling.”

“I don’t know what that is,” I say, even though I feel like I should know what it is—like a fairy tale half remembered from childhood.

“You wouldn’t.” He chuckles. “That’s sort of the point of it all.”

I narrow my eyes at him and return my focus to his sword. “Will you please put that thing away?” I ask, as if saying it nicely will sway his decision.

“Sure.” He slips the sword into his sheath, as if he didn’t need it in the first place.

I start to thank him, but it should be a given that you don’t go around waving a sword at a stranger who hasn’t done anything worse than splash you with a bit of cold water.

He doesn’t deserve my thanks.

“Much better,” I say instead.

“My weapon might be sheathed, but unlike you, I’ve known for my entire life that I have magic,” he replies. “I don’t recommend making me demonstrate the precision of my training.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” I say, and he watches me, his eyes sharp, the air between us growing colder by the second.

Finally, he speaks again.

“Being a changeling means a fae went to the mortal realm and switched you out with a human child of the same age,” he explains.

“No way. That’s insane,” I say, although… is it really?

I’ve never met my mom. And I felt that connection with the water. As if I was controlling it…

“What’s going through that pretty blonde head of yours, Sapphire?” he asks, and it strikes me that this is the first time during this entire conversation that he’s used my name.

But I’m not going to let the sudden familiarity shake me.

Because that’s what he’s trying to do, right? Catch me off guard so I accidentally spill something he thinks I’m hiding from him?

“I’m thinking that this might not beimpossiblycrazy,” I admit. “Don’t get me wrong—it’s definitely crazy. But maybe notimpossiblyso. And I’m also thinking that I want to go home.”

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