Page 6 of Crown of the Fae King

“Move along, man,” Andy growled. “Stay out of this or I’ll--”

“Smear me like jam across the parking lot? Aye. A terrifying thought.” The stranger leaned forward and I’ll be damned if Andy Weaver didn’t flinch. “I want no part of yer squabble. But needs must.”

Andy laughed. “Needs must?What the hell does that mean?”

“It means ye’re leavin’. One way or t’other, standin’ or prone. Decide now.”

The bigger man leaned to the side and sneered at his sister. “You crazy bitch! If you spent good money on this guy, you’re an idiot.”

Lynette grinned at him like a toad with a fly in its mouth, took a sip of coffee, grinned some more. The feverish look in her eye—wet and intense—was the only physical characteristic she shared with her brother.

“I’m only a bystander,” the stranger said, then nudged Andy toward the door with a hand to his arm. “Go on, now. What ye’re scheming to do this night will end badly for ye. I suggest ye go into the big city and take a nice long holiday from that winch. Gain some perspective.” He pulled the door open and waited.

Andy yanked his arm out of the guy’s grasp, and by doing so, took himself out the door. “Did you call my sister a winch? Speak English! I don’t even know what that means!” But he’d understood enough not to come back inside.

The door swung closed, and the entire dining room stared for a minute before exhaling as a whole. I’d been watching Andy’s face through the glass, though, and realized I must have missed the meat of their conversation because he wasn’t as pissed as he was spooked.

“Sir,” Lynette called out, “I’d like to buy you a drink.” Her voice was childlike, flirty. Poor woman thought she was still young and blond and cute. To the rest of us, she was old, white-haired and skeletal and looked closer to ninety than sixty, probably the result of a spiteful life.

The stranger turned and scowled at her, then headed for her table. He put a hand on the edge and leaned in. Rena and I leaned too.

“Barring distraction, yer brother means to set fire to yer house this evening. Ye’ll be dead and he’ll be jailed. Though this town might be better off without the pair of ye, let alone that vile house that spawned such creatures, I believed it fair to warn ye. Spend yer day wisely.” He straightened and turned, his gaze boring into mine. “Where might a man wash his hands?”

I pointed down the hall,to the door past Pete’s office, and as the stranger passed me, something…primeval woke inside me, reminding me I was a woman, albeit a defective one. Though he was easily the sexiest man I’d ever seen, I wasn’t exactly turned on. I was just…alive again. And suddenly, I wanted to strip off my orange dress and stained apron—not to jump the poor guy, but just to remember who I had once been without that polyester straight jacket.

Or maybe I was just feeling my oats after standing up to Pete.

Rena didn’t stray far from the restroom door. I tried to ignore the scratch of my clothes against my skin as I seated the lunch crowd and got them started with menus and water. While we waited for the Scotsman to come out again, I couldn’t help wondering how he knew Andy Weaver’s plans, or if he was just trying to put the fear of God into Lynette, a woman he couldn’t possibly know.

Or could he?

Rena ducked into Pete’s office, then came out grinning. I wanted to suggest a few more questions for the interrogation she had planned for her new favorite customer, but the bathroom door opened, and time was up.

Rena smiled politely. “The owner would like to buy your lunch, sir.”

The man shook his head. “No time, but I thank ye.”

She laughed. “You mean you just came in here to save us all from Andy Weaver?”

He sidled away from her. “Not all. No.”

Janice, the slightly useful teenager, appeared at the back of the hall. Her mouth fell open and her gum fell on the floor, ignored, while she stared at our hero. Pete stuck his head out of the office with a sour look on his face, like he’d changed his mind about buying the man’s lunch after all.

“Relax,” Rena told him. “He’s not staying.”

The Scotsman came into the dining room and didn’t stop. I backed up a few steps to keep him from running into me. “Come now, Lennon. Are ye not ready to be finished with this place?”

I glanced down at my nametag, or rather, where my nametag should have been. I searched his face, confused. “Just how do you know my name?”

He took a deep breath and rubbed one hand down his face. “I got ahead of myself.” He took a step back and held out a hand. “My name is Wickham Muir.”

“Lennon…Todd.”

“Pleased to meet ye.”

“If you don’t want to eat, what are you doing in a café?”

“I have come to collect ye. To convince ye to come with me, to leave all this…” He gestured around the room.

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