Page 16 of Crown of the Fae King

“Ye’re certain it’s inside, then?”

Andy frowned. “I said so, didn’t I?”

“Thanks, mate.” Wickham patted my arm. “Trust me, now.”

I smiled. “You gonna freeze his ass?”

“Aye.”

“Can’t you just leave him frozen?”

He chuckled. “I’ll not murder him, love. I must save my sins for another day.”

The wind stopped blowing as if someone had shut off the power to God’s fan. Wickham started across the vacant field and up the rise while Andy stood perfectly still, as did the cloth hanging from the bottle in his hand. No distant cars, no howling gusts from the Simplot building behind us. Just…peace.

If I had Wickham’s power, I’d freeze time a dozen times a day, just to catch my breath. Maybe take a nap. But considering how that might mess up the rest of the world, I figured it was a good thing I had no magical powers at all. And maybe there was Someone up there, out there, with a grand plan, who paid close attention to who got what.

And if that were true, maybe Hank had come down through my family for a reason. Not just bad luck. Not for punishment, but for something else.

If so, maybe Wickham could help me figure out what that was.

The Scot wasn’t inside the shed for long, and when he stepped out, he held up a familiar blue-edged handkerchief. If Andy had kept Hank wrapped up, maybe he hadn’t touched it at all. Maybe he was still just as ignorant as before. And thankfully, Wickham was in no hurry to touch it.

He hurried back to me in the silence, held out his hand long before he reached the asphalt, in quiet assurance that he didn’t mean to keep Hank for himself. I lifted it to my face to suck the smell of my grandmother’s perfume into my lungs. It was faint, but there, mixed with the smell of dust and pinewood.

“I suppose, if you’d come to Hazelton only for this,” I said, tucking it into my bra and under my left boob, “that you would have frozen me too.”

He gave me a funny look, then turned to face Andy again. “Lennon Todd, its time ye trust me. I’ve come foryou, not for Hank. We can toss him in the ocean if it pleases ye.”

“The ocean? We’re going to see the ocean?”

“Aye, lass. Ye’re likely to see half the world before this is over.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Let’s get going.”

He chuckled. “Nice try. But we’ve yet to finish with this bastard.” He put his hands on his hips and shouted, “I dinnae believe ye’ll do it!”

After a second or two of surprise, the Arson of Hazelton flicked his lighter back to life and moved it closer to his Molotov cocktail. “Fine!”

“Wait!” I couldn’t resist once last taunt, since I might never get the chance again. “What was your plan, Andy? To just stand there while I go do what you want? Wait here in the cold?”

I could tell by the look on his face, he hadn’t thought it through, and he hadn’t expected me to have Wickham with me. He couldn’t very well warm up in his truck while he waited and not expect either one of us to go after my “trinket.”

Andy made sure I was watching as he turned and chucked the bottle at the shed. It shattered, but nothing caught fire—he hadn’t lit it.

I laughed. “I never said he was smart.”

Cursing as viciously as he knew how, Andy flicked his lighter and held it against the wood where the bottle had shattered. Flame eventually attached itself to the wall and he straightened to sneer in our direction. But the fire quickly spread and he danced away from it, eventually running for his truck.

I tucked that sight into my memory, to cheer myself up on rainy days.

“Come on!” Wickham grabbed my arm and we started running. “We’ve witnessed his humiliation. He’ll want revenge.”

The big engine roared to life as we cleared the corner. I headed for the car, but Wickham pulled me toward the side of the Simplot building as the monster-sized wheels squealed our way. We flattened ourselves against twisted, rusted metal and waited.

The headlights were weak in the fading light, but they found my car. For a second, I was sure Andy wouldn’t risk a scratch on his truck just to punish us, but instead of turning away from my car, he turned into it. The truck’s grill slammed against the driver’s door and my poor Honda hopped sideways for ten feet before it finally flipped over.

Andy stared at me, his eyes framed in his rearview mirror. Fresh hatred, no doubt, for the damage to his truck.

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