Page 85 of Crown of the Fae King

I shook my head. “Idoknow what you’re talking about, but I don’t have it. I got to see it yesterday, so why would I steal it?”

He perched on the corner of the table and leaned toward me. “Why indeed?” His hair swayed again. “Perhaps you have something more interesting to confess.”

“I wish. So far, my European vacation has been…mild.”

He just stared and blinked for a minute, like he was hoping that pretty face might somehow break me. When it didn’t, he got off the table and sat in the chair, facing me. I had the immediate impression he belonged on something…bigger.

“Maybe you should let me go before I bore you to death.”

“I’m happy to negotiate. If you answer my questions truthfully, I can see you walking freely out the door.”

Never trust a fairy.

“I don’t suppose I can get that in writing?”

He smirked and managed to look charming doing it. “I’m afraid not.” He produced a folder out of the folds of his beautiful suitcoat, opened it, and tossed a picture toward me. Since my hands were otherwise occupied, he turned it right side up so I could take a good look.

It was the check-in desk at the Trinity College Library. The Muir twins, then Wickham, then me, though Wickham's head was turned away and I couldn't see his features.

"Why is it you and those brothers seem to be in the wrong place at almost the wrong time?" He tapped on Wickham's picture. "And this fellow...tell me all about him."

"Almost the wrong time? What does that mean?"

We had a staring contest. Again, I won and he blinked. "You and your friends were at Trinity College just before a member of their staff disappeared."

"Really?"

"And here you are again, yesterday, with The Covenant, just beforeitdisappeared. You see how guilty you look? It would be a simple thing to build a case against you and your friends…should I choose to remove you from the board."

I laughed. "Remove us from what board? Are we playing chess?"

"Oh, yes. And this game started long before you became a pawn." He tapped on Wickham's form leaning over the document, his face obscured yet again. Then the fairy pulled out another picture of myself and Griffon in the Bod. Kitchens and the brothers were at a table in the background. It was the first time I'd met Griffon, when he'd carried my books downstairs for me.

"Here he is again," the fairy said, mistaking Kitch for Wickham. Both wore black. In both the pictures of Wickham, there wasn't much difference between Kitch's shorter hair and Wickham’s, with his long hair tied behind his head. If these were the only pictures O'Ryan had, it was no wonder he had the two men mixed up.

I couldn’t be that lucky.

"Quite entertaining," he said, “watching the wheels turn. But it's time now to make a move." His smooth voice slid over me again, wrapping around me like a warm scarf—or a python.

I lifted my shoulders to shake off the feeling. "Sorry. No move to make. I'm just a simple gal from the States. I don't know anything about playing chess."

His smile broadened, his dimples deepened, as if I'd played right into his hands. “Aw shuckswon’t work with me, Lennon. Tell me where I can find your other friend so I can speak to him directly. Just a pleasant conversation.”

“I promise you, he didn’t steal The Covenant either. And he’s not a friend, he’s my half-brother. The two men they brought in with me are his Irish great-uncles. This is their idea of showing us Europe.”

He reached to the middle of the table and ran his fingers along my wrists. “Tell me what they’re looking for, love. Lines are being drawn, even as we speak, and I promise you life will be much more pleasant on my side.”

“Look. I really, honestly, don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His blink was slow, seductive, as he drew an imaginary line toward my elbow. “You don’t have to be a pawn, you know. By my side, you could be a queen.”

I rolled my eyes. “Once a pawn, always a pawn?”

He chuckled, finally pulled his hands away, and dropped the seductive tone altogether. “You really don’t know how to play chess, do you?”

“No. But I can pour a mean cup of coffee.”

His laughter wasn’t an act, and he gave me a genuine smile that might have weakened my knees had I been standing. He stuck the pictures back into his file, then pulled out another. It was a shot of Griffon Carew, sitting at the table, scowling at The Covenant. Only the men and I hadn’t arrived yet.

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