Page 76 of Evidence of a Folktale

“You aren’t a coward.”

“I am.” Self-loathing curled through his menacing voice. “You are the love of my life, yet I can’t look at you.”

“Hey.” Bel tugged her hands free of his grip and cupped his jaw. His self-hatred hurt worse than her bruised ribs and purple throat, and she couldn’t bear the sight of him crumbling before her. He was Eamon Stone, the devil made flesh. He was the strongest person she knew, and nothing terrified her more than watching fear eat his power alive. “You aren’t a coward.” She pulled his lips to hers, kissing him softly until his rigidness thawed. God, how she loved this man. “Don’t do this. Don’t punish yourself.”

“I shouldn’t be this weak,” he argued. “I’ve never been weak before.”

“You’re half human.” She trailed her lips across his cheek. “Weakness defines us. We either live by it or overcome it.”

“You certainly overcome it.”

“Because I’m special like that.” She winked, the absence of pain returning her sense of humor.

“You’re something, that’s for sure.” Eamon rolled his eyes as he pulled her into his arms. “God, I love you. You told Taron that I’m your best friend. Well, Isobel, you’re mine, and your accident is no joking matter, yet here you are teasing me to help me feel better. I rarely smiled until I met you. You know I care, but for the record, you’re my best friend, too.”

“Stop, I don’t want to cry.” She shoved the heels of her palms against his chest, but he wouldn’t let her go, so she surrendered to his embrace, kissing his throat until the tickle drove him to release her.

“I don’t want you to either.” He traced her smile with his thumb, satisfied with himself that his forced hug stopped her tears, but she didn’t miss the way he avoided looking at her neck.

“I must look awful.” She tried to touch her throat again, but he captured her hands and pulled them into his lap.

“I’m glad Miss Monroe was the one to save you, and not me.”

“Why?”

“Because I wouldn’t have hit him with a tree branch like she did. I would’ve ripped his head clean off, which is why I have a gift for you.”

“If you say The Wolf’s head, I’ll puke,” Bel teased, and Eamon rolled his eyes.

“Here.” He handed her a book charm necklace, and her fingers instinctively flew to her throat.

“My necklace.” She lowered her hand from her empty neck and took her jewelry from him. “Did it fall off in the snow?”

“No, I removed it while you slept,” he said. “I called more than one contact last night because while it’s best for everyone involved that I didn’t find that man’s hands around your throat, I won’t ever be too late again.”

“I know.” Bel squeezed his hand. “But what does that have to do with my necklace?”

“You’re not exactly an easy woman to keep track of. I appreciate that you called me after you jumped headfirst into a kidnapper’s vehicle, but phones can be thrown out of windows or destroyed. I lose a scent’s trail when cars are involved, and I can’t read minds. Every time you’ve been taken, your attackers removed your phone, your car, and sometimes even your clothes, but you know what they never took?”

“My necklace.” Bel stared down at the simple book charm. After the cursed Eamon had attacked her in New York City, he’d left this necklace in her hospital room. She hadn’t known who the gift was from then, but at his request, a witch had charmed it to keep her safe. She often wondered if that’s why she’d been unnervingly lucky since her move to Bajka. She always escaped. She always survived.

“They never take your necklace.” Eamon trailed a finger over the chain. “Blaubart would’ve eventually since he’s planned to transform you surgically into his wife, but my point is, he didn’t. Not right away, at least, and that’s all the head start I need. I was tracking your phone yesterday, but when The Wolf threw it into the snow, we thought you’d stopped. If Griffin hadn’t pulled over to check, we would’ve arrived before he choked you. Maybe even before the crash. When it comes to mortal life and death, seconds make the difference, and tracking your phone isn’t enough. So I sent a car for one of my contacts last night. I gave him your necklace, and he took it back to my place to work. He finished it this morning.”

“What did he do?” Bel twisted the charm in her fingers, but it looked the same as it had yesterday.

“He outfitted it with a military-grade tracker,” Eamon said. “It’s not even on the market, so no, you can’t ask how he got it because we’d both be branded enemies of the state. It’s undetectable and doesn’t require a battery source. I’m not sure how it works. All I know is this tracker’s technology is a highly guarded government secret. No matter where you go, as long as you’re wearing this, I’ll find you. And if your necklace is ever removed, I’ll already know where you’re headed, especially because of this.” He flipped the charm over to show her the back of the book. “It’s an invisible panic button. No need for phone calls or clues or breadcrumbs. Just swipe your thumb over it, and it’ll alert me.”

“Can I test it?” she asked.

“Sure.”

Bel brushed her thumb over the panic button, and Eamon’s phone and laptop exploded with a deafening alarm. “Oh my god.” She flinched with a squawk before bursting into a fit of laughter. “There’s no way you’d miss that call for help. I think all of Bajka heard it.”

“I have no intentions of missing it,” Eamon said. “All my devices are linked to your tracker. It’s coded for your fingerprints only, so your skin or a stranger won’t set it off. If you like, I can program the alarm to alert others, like your father or Griffin. I’m the default, but backup is always smart.”

“I agree,” Bel said. “If you’re away for business, Griffin and Dad need it.”

“I’ll give them access. I hope you never have a use for it, but it’s safer than a phone call.”

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