Page 46 of Crown of the Fae King

I looked at the circle of faces waiting patiently for more. No one was going to ask to see it, but it was the invisible pink elephant in the room.

Persi raised a hand. “I'm curious. You said your grandma told you not to let it touch your skin. Did she tell you why?"

"No. But I found out." That was an incident I would share with no one, ever. “Sorry. Not going to go into details. Suffice it to say I wasn’t dumb enough to let that happen again. I eventually found a way to seal it, laminate it, so I could handle it. Like my grandma said, our obligation was only to protect it, not to use it. And I’ve thought about it, after meeting you all, and there is no possible way it could be helpful. If those fairies want it, they certainly know something I don’t.”

“Lennon.” Wickham’s tone caught me again and I faced him. “Would you say Hank must be thecloch realtathey’re looking for?”

I stalled as long as I could, then nodded.

Urban hunched forward and leaned an elbow on one knee. “If we promise to keep our hands to ourselves, will ye show it to us?”

I shook my head immediately. “I can’t. It’s not…here.”

Wickham gripped the arms of his chair, but kept his butt on the seat. “Tell me the Fae didnae find it!”

“The Faedidnaefind it,” I parroted. “I knew I might be in trouble for coming into the country…without a passport. That it might be illegal for me to be here. So just in case I ended up…behind bars for a while…I hid it before I got on that bus.”

He relaxed. “Well done you.”

“It’s basically a rock. Dark, like it’s wet. And imbedded in the rock are nine gemstones, like they grew there. Different sizes, different shades of the same blue, random pattern.”

“Nine, ye say?”

“Nine. Then there’s metal—not sure what kind exactly, but it weaves around it like a decoration. Whatever it is, it’s darker than gold and still looks melty, like it could just run to the edge and drip off. Besides being pretty, it makes the stone easier to hang onto.”

Wickham blinked for a long time, then shook his head. “Nines are everywhere in Irish and Norse, even Greek mythology. We shall have to look into that. But my first concern is how this Fae woman knew ye had Hank in the first place. Did ye have him with ye at Trinity College?”

“I did.”

“Then she should have tried to take it then and there. She must not have known, so she mustn’t be able to sense it. The answer has to lie in something we said. She saw ye as an Uncast. But the only other things we mentioned werebefore nameand The Covenant. I can only assume Hank has something to do with O’Ryan’s monsters or The Covenant spoken of by the Grandfather.”

That tripped my memory. “I meant to ask you about that. You never said what covenant we are looking for.”

Urban grunted and leaned back. He raised an eyebrow and stared at Wickham like he was daring him to answer. Everly bit her bottom lip and looked away.

“Listen,” I told Wickham. “You just made me share my big secret. Let’s hear one of yours. What’s The Covenant?”

He huffed out a breath. With a look, he sent invisible daggers at Urban. “The old man first mentioned The Covenant to my sisters, when they went to him looking for help. But he was more interested in sending a message to me. He played on their sympathies by pretending he was near death and suffering. Then he played upon their fears by telling them they would find their answers in The Covenant, which could be found at Oxford.”

“They’re afraid of covenants, or Oxford?”

“Oxford,” Persi said. “They’ve seen their deaths. They know they’ll die at the Bridge of Sighs in Oxford, England. You’d recognize a picture. It’s famous. And Wickham refuses to go there, knowing his sisters won’t be able to resist following. I’m surprised they haven’t shown up here.”

“I had a feeling we’d catch you all talking about us!”

The doors stood wide and two identical women in their sixties or seventies, stood in the opening. They wore long blue coats with thick, feathery collars and blue sunglasses pushed up into their hair, which was more gray than red. They looked like they were just back from a ski resort for seniors.

“Seniors my ass,” said one of them, then moved close to nudge me on the shoulder and wink before she moved around the room greeting everyone. The men were on their feet, but dutifully bent so they could be kissed and patted on their cheeks. When their rounds were finished, they both plopped onto the couch between Persi and Kitch, who immediately relaxed.

The second sister shot a look at me, then winked and nodded, as if agreeing with something I hadn’t said.

More mind readers.

One of them tapped her sister’s knee and leaned forward to get Wickham’s attention. “We were listening, naturally. Is someone going to Oxford?”

Garment bagsand suitcases arrived a few hours later. Though Wickham’s sisters, Lorraine and Loretta, insisted they could take the stairs just fine and invited Urban to race them, the broody Scot insisted that they take the master suite on the ground floor.

Thankfully, it took the rest of the afternoon to move Everly’s things upstairs and shift the delivery of luggage from the foyer to the master suite. Thus, the discussion in the living room was left unfinished. I hoped against hope that Wickham was distracted enough by his relatives that he would leave me alone for a while. I know it seemed illogical, but I didn’t want to show Hank to anyone. I liked where he was. Nice and safe. Far enough, but not too far.

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