Page 100 of Crown of the Fae King

“And why not? If the Grandfather can live fifteen thousand years, why not the king?”

40

Time For A Litmus Test

After the devastating news of the deaths in Tunisia, it felt good to have new leads. Our little quest was coming into focus, and our progress no longer depended upon research at the library, which was a good thing, because mythology books and documents had disappeared from libraries all over the world.

According to the London news, the Oxford police were no longer looking at local people, which relieved my anxiety only slightly. The moment O’Ryan had introduced himself, I’d stopped worrying about the local bobbies and what they might do to me.

I’d come to think of The Bod as the office, a tedious place when Griffon wasn’t there. When I was arrested and Wickham had banned me from going onto campus, it felt like I’d been fired from my job. But now I had a new job. And I was hoping it might include contacting Griffon Carew.

We spent the lunch hour discussing how one might go about contacting or locating or communicating with the King of Fae. It was so fantastical a conversation that we pretended we weren’t talking business at all, just hypotheticals.

Kitchens had the wildest suggestion by far.

“We kill one of the monsters and grab onto his body. When he gets sucked into the next realm, we’ll get sucked in with him. We can figure it out on the other side.”

The next few minutes flew by as we ate our ice cream and tossed around our theories of what was on this “other side.” Heaven, hell, fairy paradise, outer space, or just oblivion. Percentage-wise, the chances of Kitchens’ plan having a happy outcome weren’t encouraging.

We had asked the same question in a dozen ways, and I asked it again. “How does amortalget to the fairy realm?”

Urban leaned over his empty bowl to get my full attention, then narrowed his eyes. “She asks a fairy to escort her there.”

All heads turned to the opposite end of the table. Wickham exhaled audibly, slowly. “Absolutely not.”

A smile spread across my face just as slowly. “Really? You sound…tempted.”

In the blueand gold living room, I sat in a chair by the front window and spun the little bronze globe on my lap, wondering where in the world we might find the Fae king. Were other realms even on our planet? It was one of the things I planned to ask, if I ever got the chance.

I laughed to myself over the absurdity of the situation. It was like preparing to meet God.Let me just consult my notebook and ask you a few questions…

Wickham popped out to who knows where to call Brooks, who would then call Griffon. He stepped back in from the hallway five minutes later. “Ye’ll meet tomorrow, 2 pm, Rose Garden at Christ Church Meadows. Public. Spacious. We’ll spread out, so if O’Ryan or the police try to take us all, at least some can get away.”

I bit my lips to keep from accusing him of being dramatic. After all, I couldn’t guarantee nothing of the kind would happen. Instead, I asked, “Who’s coming with me?”

“All of us.”

“Great. Nice and intimate. All my friends eavesdropping. I’ll be lucky if Griffon doesn’t roll his eyes and walk away.”

Time slowed to molasses.I got so testy everyone stopped speaking to me. I even ate my dinner in my room just so I could stare at the clock on the wall and will it to move faster. It seemed days later when I finally walked through the entrance to the park from St. Aldates wearing jeans and tennis shoes, ready to run at the first sign of golden curls.

I was ten minutes early. Griffon was already waiting.

I had a dozen apologies practiced and sitting on the tip of my tongue, but with twenty feet between us, he opened his arms wide and I forgot every one of them. My cheeks were already wet when I finally crashed into him, wrapped my arms around his chest, and snuggled under his open coat.

It had become my favorite routine.

Eventually, he loosened his hold so I could look up. He kissed me before I could get a word out. A half a dozen kisses later, he finally stopped, but only because our chaperones started clearing their throats like they were choking to death.

The Rose Garden was part of the Memorial Garden, a small, enclosed space compared to the rest. A wide swath of flowers formed a circle with a path within it. Within the path was another ring of flowers, and within that ring, a tiny pond. Though it was called the Rose Garden, the start of a few thousand bulb flowers filled the space.

Thankfully, my friends numbered much fewer, though they were much more conspicuous, all within a hundred yards, their dark clothes like so many black polka dots on a spring-colored canvas.

Griffon and I walked the circular path, holding hands while I clung to his arm.

“You’re well?” he asked quietly, trying to keep our conversation from listening ears.

“I am. How about you?”

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