Page 88 of Crown of Tides and Fury

Maybe I’d been wrong to go searching for the ocean…

Once the gates came to a halt, Wickham, Ivy, and I stepped across the border of the property, out from under the enchantments that kept us invisible to the naked eye—human or otherwise. Suddenly, Wickham reached out and snatched my hand. The unexpected gesture caught Ivy's attention, and she laughed, as if Wickham had mistakenly grabbed the wrong woman. But when he didn’t let go, she sobered.

I bit my tongue and let Wickham do the explaining.

In a clumsy recovery, he seized her hand too. “It’s simple, love. I cannae risk Griffon taking off with her again." Ivy didn't seem upset, probably because she could see I wasn't thrilled with the situation. But he was right to be cautious, especially after Griffon's unexpected appearance on tower rock, where he snatched Fallon and flew away.

"Looks like he's not coming," I said, trying to break the tension.

Wickham turned to the right and after cocking his head, he started walking up the road, pulling us with him. We marched quietly for a hundred feet when the dense growth on the left opened up. An animal path cut into the forested area beyond.

Wickham stopped, cocked his head again, and this time we all heard it—distant laughter.

Gripping my hand even tighter, he led us through the dense growth until the narrow path opened into a clearing. There, we found a blue nylon hammock strung between two trees with a matching tarp stretched above it to shield it from rain. There was a small fire pit ringed by cantaloupe-sized rocks, and a green pup tent peeking over the shoulders of two young men seated by the smoldering fire. They looked like typical Oxford students, clean cut, though a little worse for wear, like they’d been camping a long time.

"Run out of rent money?" Wickham asked casually.

The boys jumped to their feet, their eyes darting back and forth, as if expecting others to leap from the bushes.

"Just taking a break here," the taller one stammered.

"A break from what?"

"Guarding the road," said the other, as if the answer were obvious.

“From what are ye guarding my road?”

The boys’ eyes widened. The tall one shrugged. “Not guarding it, my lord. Just watchin’ like.”

Wickham’s flaring nostrils warned he was losing patience. Ivy noticed and took a little step forward. “Please explain,” she said sweetly.

They both smiled brightly, as if her white hair made them forget Wickham altogether. The short one pulled a cloth cap off his head. “We’re to watch the road day and night, and if certain vehicles come along—” He tilted his head, trying to look past us. “Where’s your car, then?”

His friend whacked his chest with the back of his hand. “Just lookin’ fer pretty lasses, amusin’ ourselves until the fall semester begins. Tom, here, fancies the cars of the rich and famous, you see. We didn’t mean any harm. If you like, we can move our camp elsewhere…”

“Sackett, shut your gob and call him.” A third young man came around on the left, staying as close to the clearing’s perimeter as possible. He was taller than the other two, older, and held a shotgun, the barrel aimed at Wickham’s middle. The way he held it told me he was capable of using it and likely accurate when he did.

The shortest one’s eyes rounded again. The one called Sackett was thrilled by the turn of events. His hands shook as he dug a flip phone from his pocket and pushed the keys. He cursed, started over, then put it to his ear.

I wondered why Wickham didn’t pop us out of there and come back with Kitch and Urban. Had he forgotten his wife wasn’t trained to fight? Or was he worried he wasn’t fast enough to outmaneuver a bullet?

“Wickham?”

“They’re mortal,” he whispered, without taking his eyes off the one with the gun.

“What does that mean?”

“Not Orion’s.”

The gunman shook his head. “I’ll thank you to keep still, sir.”

Wickham inclined his head in answer, which seemed to satisfy him.

“Sir, it’s Connor Sackett,” the other boy said into the phone. “We’ve detained three people here… No, sir. No car. The gentleman says the road is his.” He went on to describe Ivy’s white-blond hair, Wickham’s dark hair that passed his shoulders, “and another woman. Brunette hair that…that comes to points…in the front.” He stared at my chest, but it wasn’t my hair he was looking at. Then he turned aside to concentrate on the call. “Yes, sir.” He addressed me. “You Miss Todd?”

I rolled my eyes.

“She won’t say.” He smiled and clapped the phone shut. “He’ll be here directly. I am to respectfully request that you all have a seat. Our employer would like a quick word.”

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