Page 68 of Crown of the Fae King

“Lennon Todd,” I said, pitifully simple. When he let go of my hand, I waved to my chaperone. “Wickham…” Suddenly I wondered if he wanted a possible fairy to know he was a Muir.

“Just Wickham?”

Wickham’s smile was tight. “Wickham Muir.”

“I’m pleased you could join us.”

They shook hands briefly. No pissing contest. No staring anyone down. And hopefully, no mindreading.

Griffon led us down a few blocks to a small café, giving us a history lesson of the architecture along the way. A table was reserved in the corner, and he insisted Wickham sit with us, and not at the high table by the door. After asking our permission, he ordered for us—the tomato soup of the day, a braided loaf of fresh bread, and a plate of sliced fruit for each of us.

“So,” he said, “tell me about these twins. I’ve heard them speak enough to know they’re Irish. But my imagination fails. Are they uncles? Or your employers?”

Wickham didn’t approve of the conversation, but he kept quiet.

“Not uncles, but I’d call them family. They’ve made a bet. One thinks he can convince me fairies are real. His brother is confident he can prove there is no such thing.”

The professor’s smiled dropped. “Ah, such a pity. I was hopingyouwere a fairy.”

“Me?”

“Out of curiosity, I went back to see what books you were reading. The notions of a fairy heaven and hell? Dry stuff, that, unless ye happen to be Fae. So aye, I had hoped.”

“Sorry to disappoint you. I’m just a boring old American.”

“Never boring. I was starting to think Oxford was the dullest place on earth, what with all the children running back and forth between classes and pubs day and night. But then you came along and brightened it all up. Gave me a mystery to solve.”

War raged in my chest. Elation lit and burned like a fire, but worry doused it with cold water. I definitely had to nip that mystery business in the bud.

I kept my thoughts from showing and shrugged. “I’m an open book. Ask me anything. No mystery here.”

“Where are you from?”

“Idaho. No, I mean…that is, I came here from Idaho, but I was born and raised in Wyoming. Boring place. All the cowboys are real, and they smell like animals most of the time.”

“Cowboys? How fascinating.”

“Really? Have you spent much time on a farm?”

He shook his head. “Not a moment.”

“Then you go ahead and be fascinated. I used to be fascinated with the ocean, but when I saw it…”

“You obviously haven’t seen a good one.”

I laughed. “Isn’t it basically just the one?”

“Nonsense. There are loads. Every beach has its own, you know.”

I laughed and rolled my eyes and we reached for the pile of napkins at the same time. His fingers brushed mine, then he slowly pulled his hand away.

“Go head.”

I took a napkin and nudged the pile in his direction.

“Do you have plans with all your menfolk this weekend? Or can I spirit you away from this place and show you my favorite slip of beach?”

The chance to see the actual ocean—in motion this time—overwhelmed me. It must have shown on my face because he looked terribly pleased with himself. And it looked like nothing displeased Wickham as much as the professor looking pleased. But the last thing I wanted was to piss him off and ensure I never got to socialize again.

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