Page 45 of Crown of the Fae King

“Soccer?”

“Claw something.”

“Claw?”

I held up my hand so they would be quiet.Soccer, soccer… Then I remembered the professional soccer team in nearby Utah--Real Salt Lake.

“Ree al,” I said aloud. “Ree al. It’s a soccer team. Claw real?”

Wickham started pacing. “These are fairies. We have to think Irish. Realin Irish could mean process. Claw?C l o c his pronounced claw, means stone.Cloch real. Stone process?” He shook his head. “Nay.” He paced to the maps and back. “Real, real…” He stopped in front of my table. “Could it berealta?”

“Clawrealta. Yes, that’s it!”

“Cloch realta. Stone star…star stone!”

“Star stone?” I was on my feet again, looking for the doorway, looking for escape. But Wickham stopped me with the way he said my name—gentle, understanding.

“Lennon…”

I took a deep breath and turned to look him in the eye.

“Lass, it’s time. Tell us now. Tell us what Hank looks like.”

19

Seniors, My Ass

After all I’d been through, I didn’t consider myself a chicken. However, I couldn’t help but be relieved when Wickham moved our little gathering into the living room at the front of the house, near the door, near the stairs in case I felt the need to hurry to my room and fall apart behind a locked door.

The room was decorated in baby-boy blue and gold. Gold silk curtains with tassels any grandmother would admire. Cream wingback chairs with blue dogwood blossoms and gold branches. The fireplace shone with dozens of coats of rich, provincial blue paint. In its deep black maw, fresh logs were laid for the next fire. Not a crumb of ash was left from the last one.

On the mantle, a small brass globe with only continents for detail. A foot-tall gold stag pawed at the ground. On an end table, a stack of cloth-bound books and a magnifying glass on a swinging arm and pedestal.

Watercolors of white mansions and gardens reminded us of the size of house we slept in. I looked for the artist’s name.B. Austin.

“Everybody comfy?” Wickham stood in the double doorway, noting that I was the only one who hadn’t chosen a seat. I picked a wingback nearest the doors. He started to close them, then paused and cocked his head. “Unless ye’d rather the staff hear…our discussion?”

I shook my head. He wasn’t locking us in. And I didn’t have my back to anyone. It was as good as it was going to get.

My heart pounded on the double doors of my chest, but I ignored it. IfIhad to stay,ithad to stay.

Wickham moved to the fireplace and opened a little trap door that hid a box of long matches, maybe giving me time to gather my thoughts. But I’d been trying to gather these particular thoughts for fifteen years…

The fire caught and Wickham moved to the chair beside the mantle. Urban and Everly held hands on the sofa facing the fire. Kitch and Persi sat on the other sofa, facing me, wedged as close to their respective ends as they could get, like they were afraid to accidentally touch each other.

Interesting.

“All right,” Wickham said, when it became clear I wasn’t going to take the lead. “Why don’t ye tell us how ye came to have Hank in the first place.”

“It was handed down…” I shook my head, started again. “In all my life, I’ve only told one person about it, and I busted him sneaking out of our apartment with it, headed to a pawn shop. Sometime in the night, he cut out, but at least he hadn’t gotten his hands on Hank again.”

I looked for a friendly face and Everly smiled at me. “No rush.”

I relented. “I’m okay. So…it belonged to my grandma. We were very close. It should have gone to my mother, but she refused to take it. When Grandma decided to pass it to me, they had a falling out. I had to sneak to see her after that." I laughed lightly. "Her name was Faye."

No one seemed to see the humor, so I continued.

"She told me where she'd hidden it, warned me never to let it touch my skin, and explained our job, as a family, was just to keep it safe. That was all. No end date. No warning that a Scotsman or anyone else might come looking for it. Just keep it safe and hand it down. She confessed she'd buried it once, in a Scooby Doo lunchbox, but it would call to her, keep her awake. So she dug it up again and kept it reasonably close. She was able to sleep just fine after that."

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