Page 15 of Crown of the Fae King

I meant what I’d said, that I couldn’t wish such a fate on a nicer guy than Andy, but we’d all be better off if Karma took care of him the old-fashioned way—throw him in jail and keep him away from rational, peace-loving human beings.

Wickham got out of the car, and when I didn’t wait for him to come open my door, he gave me a funny look. “I like to enjoy courtesy when there is time for it.”

I shrugged. “I thought we were in a hurry.”

He shrugged too. “When in America, I suppose…” Then he held out his hand to me. “Stay close.”

Wickham Muir was possibly the most handsome man I’d ever seen in person. Slipping my hand into his should have been more exciting than it was, and I wondered what was wrong with me.

“Easy, lass. I’m marrit.”

I huffed out my breath. “I thought you said you couldn’t read my thoughts.”

He chuckled quietly, grinned at me while we hurried toward the backside of the building. “Auch, but I can read faces fine.”

Once the hub of the town, the old metal warehouse was now more rust than not. A few well preserved strips of galvanized steel offered a hint at what it might have looked like in its prime. Now, there were so many gaps, the wind whistled and howled through it when it came from the north or south. And though everyone knew the source of the sounds, its proximity to the cemetery inspired plenty of local folklore.

Charlotte said it kept troublemakers away from her little home, so she considered the howling wind her guardian angel.

We shuffled to the corner of the building and peeked toward the hill a hundred feet away. The door of the shack sat open, but no sign of Andy. I took a step so I could see the rest of the back parking lot and sure enough, that big black truck was there, parked far enough away that flames couldn’t damage it.

I had changed into a pair of jeans and my usual three layers of shirts, but the wind found its way up my pant legs and under my coat. I let go of Wickham and zipped up, then looked back at the shack.

Andy stumbled out of the doorway with a bottle of beer in one hand, a strip of cloth hanging out of it. His face lit when he saw us. “Lennon! You found me! Where’s your little friend?”

My only consolation was that his nose and bare hands were bright red. I hoped he’d been waiting for hours.

Wickham squeezed my arm. “Tell him she’s dead.”

“She froze to death last night!” I pretended to wipe away a tear, then we started walking across the parking lot in Andy’s direction.

Wickham stopped me at the edge of the crumbling asphalt, and I was relieved. I’d faced Andy alone only once, in the dark parking lot behind Twila’s. Even with Wickham by my side, I didn’t want to get close again. Not here, out in the wild, without a handful of witnesses to keep him civil.

The clouds shifted and exposed the sun, which hadn’t crossed Idaho for a week. Bright light fell in a fat line on the frozen earth about five yards ahead, like a barrier we shouldn’t cross, as if I needed discouragement. I no longer believed Andy had Hank. He wouldn’t be running around town setting fires. He’d be home, sucking his thumb.

And if he didn’t have it, we didn’t need to be there.

“Wickham? I don’t think he has it. Maybe we should go. He can’t hurt Charlotte, even if he burns—”

“He has it. Didnae get a good look. He was in a hurry. Wasted too much time with yer…underthings. Took it and ran.”

It was too much. I couldn’t…

I stepped away from Wickham and bent over to hurl on the ground, sickened by the knowledge that Wickham had had a glimpse of my most guarded secret. And that, combined with what Andy might have done with my underwear—the things I’d plucked off the antennae and tossed into my suitcase—made it impossible to keep my stomach down.

Thankfully, there wasn’t much in it.

Wickham grumbled something, then shouted at Andy, interrupting his laughter. “Plannin’ a fire…or two, are ye then?”

I straightened in time to see Andy’s grin fall away. What replaced it was pure, nasty Andy. “I found your rat’s nest, Lennon. I found your precious trinket!”

“Nice of ye to confess.” Wickham called. Maybe he was trying to keep Andy’s attention on himself. “And just where are ye keepin’ it?”

Andy’s grin was back. With the bottle, he gestured over his shoulder at the shack. “In here…where it’s about to get toasty warm!”

“So ye mean to negotiate, do ye?”

“Here’s the deal.” Andy flicked on his lighter, its flame nice and tall until the wind blew it out. He didn’t notice. “You get your ass back to Twila’s and get your job back, and get your boss to kick my sister out and ban her for life, and I won’t fry this place.”

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