Page 72 of Enticing Monsters

Cadmus flicks his gaze to them, his brows furrowing farther, before he returns his focus on me. His forked tongue slides out from between his lips.

“You’re not from here.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question, and I don’t take it as one.

It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that the four of us don’t fit in.

All of their clothes are rumpled and loose-fitting, seeming to be made out of the same material of the tents or the fur of some unknown animals. Their camp isn’t barbaric by any means, but it’s a far cry from home. There’s no electricity, no modern appliances, no processed food. Everything is basic and rudimentary.

I squint at him. “I think you already know where we’re from. Don’t you?”

A smile bends his mouth. “I haven’t seen an Earthling in…years.”

Foster steps forward, seemingly unable to hold his tongue a second longer. Not that I’m surprised. If there’s one thing I’ve come to learn about Foster, it’s that he’s constantly curious about the world and everyone in it. He yearns to find a puzzle and solve it.

Cadmus may just be the biggest puzzle to date.

“How long have you guys been here? How are you alive? I heard that the virus rampaged through the world and killed everyone in it,” my fire mate rambles, removing his thick glasses to wipe them on the hem of his shirt.

Cadmus gives me an “are you serious?” look.

“He’s not the most tactful of men, is he?” he asks me.

Foster’s cheeks burn nearly as bright as his hair.

“He’s only asking what we’re all thinking,” I retort, reaching forward to take Foster’s hand in mine and giving it a squeeze.

He flashes me a relieved smile before focusing back on Cadmus.

Cadmus moves towards the rickety table and begins to scan some of the documents lying there. His movements are lazy, almost casual, but I can see the sharpness in his eyes that belies his easy-going demeanor.

“How much were you taught about the world you came from?” he asks, flipping through the pages in front of him.

I wonder what he’s looking at and have to fight the urge to edge forward. I need him to trust me, and that meansnotreading what could very well be classified documents.

“That there was a virus or disease or something. A lot of fae died.” I purposely keep my answer vague, wanting Cadmus to fill in the blanks for me.

I have a feeling that if I play my hand too early, he’ll get skittish and clam up.

But I’m so damn close to answers. I can feel it in my bones.

There are still fae in this world. Communities.

Could my parents be here?

A sharp, shooting pain lances through me at just the thought. I love my family more than anything, and I’d never regret them adopting me, but sometimes, I can’t help but think of the biological family who left me to rot. Did they love me? Are they still alive? Why did they let me go?

Those questions tumble around and around in my head like a ragweed caught in the wind, billowing across a field.

“All of that is true,” Cadmus confesses as he flips over a piece of paper to read the writing on the back. “But that’s not the full truth, of course. Haven’t you learned that there’s more to the world than what meets the eye? Look at the fae on Earth, for example. They could easily pass as human. Only someone with intimate knowledge of our world can see the creature that lurks just beneath their skin.”

“Have you been to Earth? Is that why you speak such good English?” I ask.

Cadmus’s smile is sharp and brittle, the barest uptick of lips. He doesn’t glance up from the paper that seems to have captivated his attention. “I don’t think I would fit in there very well, do you?”

“People might just think you’re a strange cosplayer.” Tristan ruffles his caramel-brown hair with a frown. “Humans always search for explanations when they don’t understand something. Or someone.”

“Cosplay?” The man frowns.

“It’s when people dress up like their favorite character from a book or television show or comic book,” Tristan explains.

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