Page 24 of Crown of the Fae King

I left Wickham’s side to step closer. There were letters scrawled in pencil in the short, still-adhered space in the middle, barely discernible against the intense blue. I reached out and unrolled the right edge and fully expected more unreadable Irish nonsense.

FAE—do not touch.

I thought it funny that thedo not touchpart had been rolled up, like maybe fairiesdidwant their books to be touched, thank you very much.

“Fae means fairies, right?”

Wickham stepped out from between the stacks, looked at my face, then followed my nod.

“SaysFae, do not touch.”

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply like he was trying to recover from a marathon, or like me trying to recover from a lunch shift. I stepped aside so he could slide into the narrow aisle first. He took one look at the books, scowled, then squeezed my arm. “Stay here.”

Then he was gone.

I was left alone in a restricted room, breaking the rules if not the law, in a foreign country, with nothing on me but an expired Wyoming driver’s license. Did the U.S. have an embassy in Ireland? Should I google it in case I had to make a run for it?

I stepped into the narrow aisle if only to be less visible if someone came through the main door. The shelves weren’t filled with books, however, but with boxes. Glass boxes. With chains attached. And those chains were in turn attached to a long pole that was fastened at both ends to the shelves themselves.

What is this? Game of Thrones?People actually chained up books?

I reached my fingers between the bar and the shelf to turn one of the fiberglass boxes to the side. Inside stood a few loose papers and that was it. On the glass, a bunch of stickers, all with warnings--Bulletproof. Fireproof. Do not open. Use gloves.

“Why would I need gloves if I’m not allowed to open it?”

I remembered what Wickham said about wards, alarms that might go off if a witch touched it. But I was pretty sure those stickers weren’t just for witches. The notion made me pause--that whoever applied them probably believed in fairies.

Did I, now, believe in fairies too?

I returned the box to its original position, pulled my hands away, and put them behind my back, hoping Wickham wouldn’t know what I’d done. After another five minutes passed, I hoped he hadn’t forgotten about me.

The door at the front of the room opened with a whoosh, and my ears popped. I assumed Wickham wouldn’t have used the door, so I held perfectly still. Didn’t dare google for American embassies…

Sharp heels clicked on the tiles and pumped adrenaline into my veins. Wickham always moved silently, even in a full café.

Quick steps, then slow ones. Then none at all.

I held my breath, worried I’d made a noise. If Wickham popped back now, he’d be busted.

“Keys!”A woman’s voice from only ten feet away. Then a curse. Those quick steps receded, stopped, then another whoosh when the door opened again.

Wickham appeared in the center aisle, and I nearly had a heart attack. Flann was with him looking both stunned and giddy.

“We have to hurry,” I hissed. “Someone was just here. Left to get her keys, maybe. Pretty sure she’ll be back.”

Wickham lifted a small set of keys and shook them. “Hopefully, she has just the one set.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” I said. “Besides, if she needed keys, and these are the only books locked up, doesn’t that mean she’s coming back for one of these?”

He gave a quick shrug. “We can only do what we can do.”

I shuffled to the back of the row to give them room.

After a couple of tries, Wickham unlocked the bar, then stared at the boxes. “Flann can read Irish much faster than I. But ye must open them, Lennon.” He handed me a pair of white gloves. “Ye mustn’t touch so much as the boxes with bare skin, aye?”

I winced. “Um…I, uh, already did. Sorry.”

His frown was brief. “Right then. Use the gloves from here on. We’ll hope for the best. Here now,” Wickham said. “First box. Quickly.”

---