Page 49 of A Fae in Finance
I touched my own stomach, realizing how hungry I actually was. “I woke up too late,” I said.
He inclined his head. “Are you hungry now?”
I nodded. I found myself looking for something Fae or inhuman about him. He was taller than the average human man and had perfectly symmetrical features, like a butterfly’s wings. Even his light hair parted evenly right down the middle. Beyond that and the sun-maddened blue of his eyes, he felt comfortingly familiar.
He bent down to a brown picnic basket that I hadn’t noticed and pulled out a sandwich. I didn’t see what kind of sandwich, because I was too busy gazing at the picnic basket. It lay fetchingly on the grass, one inviting flap open to reveal a blue gingham blanket and artfully arranged rows of sandwiches. The corner of the blanket hanging over the wicker side winked into a suggestive triangle for a moment before unfolding.
I gaped at the basket. The basket—there was no other word for it—smoldered back at me, even without eyes. Every strand in the wicker gleamed, a voluptuous weave that mesmerized me. I wanted to reach into it, to feel the soft fabric of the blanket, to help myself to all the delightful comforts within—
“Woah,” the faerie said, as he kicked the flap closed. I blinked and looked down, realizing I was midstep, hand outstretched. “Sorry, she’ll seduce anyone.”
“She?” I repeated, jerking my arm back.
He held the sandwich up between us, and I took it from him. He started walking and I followed without thinking. “Been a few close encounters, if you know what I mean. It’s hard with enchanted objects. You just have to remember, they don’t mean any harm.”
“Close encounters,” I repeated, lifting the sandwich toward my face. I stopped, remembering the extremely close encounter with the toilet the night before. “Is this… poisoned?” I asked.
He frowned at me. “No. Do you want a poisoned sandwich?”
“What? No!” I said. “Didyoupoison my food last night?”
He looked even more confused. “No,” he said again. “Was your food poisoned?”
Faeries couldn’t lie. Satisfied that he wasn’t the culprit, I took a bite. It was delicious, with the signature creamy purple spread, and neat rows of crunchy green vegetables on top. “I’m not sure,” I said. “I was really sick after dinner last night. But more importantly, are you saying—”
“That I’ve had a close encounter with the picnic basket?” He laughed, though there was still a line between his brows. “I’m saying it’s quite an enchantment, my lady, and you shouldn’t feel bad for being susceptible.” He’d put his hands behind his back and strolled along with an easy grace, his chest puffed. He wore a simple white T-shirt and gray leggings.
Behind him, several rows of people lay on the grass, bodies absolutely bare. “There are sunbathers,” I said, trying not to look too closely. “But there’s—”
“No sun,” he finished. “They probably like it better that way.”
I looked at him.
“Vampires,” he explained.
“Vampires can live in Faerie?”
“They often do. It’s easier for them here than on the mortal side. No sun to burn them, and no—er, less—prejudice.”
Fascinating.
“Thank you for the sandwich.” I raised it up for emphasis and took another bite.
He nodded, a little smile on his lips. Good—it was nice to feel like some of the faeries were already on my side, especially when I’d be seeing him three times a day for the foreseeable future.
“I don’t know what to call you,” I said. “Is there a title you prefer?”
He laughed again. He had such an easy laugh. “You can call me Milo, my lady.”
“And you can call me Miri,” I replied.
“Where are you walking, Miri?” he asked. “I’d like to escort you, if you wish.”
I looked along the path. We’d almost reached the ill-fated dinner table.
“Can we—” I broke off, not sure how to ask.
He nodded. “Yes.” He led me to the flat, packed-dirt tableau, the long wooden table and three-legged stools still there. At the other end of the expanse rose a shimmering column of slightly distorted air.
