Page 18 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
Harper’s brow rose as she contemplated the pajamas. “All right. But when this is all gone, you have to come home. Deal?” Harper stuffed it all in, determined, barely getting the zipper closed. Maybe it was her way of letting Bristol go at all, believing everything would be all right, as long as she was prepared. Was she really packing to go to a hidden world? This morning she didn’t believe in such things, and now—she remembered the iridescent scales that framed Ivy’s face and her heavy black-veined wings—now it was all real.
“Deal,” Bristol answered.
Harper nodded, her chin dimpling again. She returned to her book.
“Wishes,” she mumbled as she read a sentence. “It says right here,Be careful what you wish for, because in Faerie, a wish can be a trick and not go the way you intended.”
“All I’m wishing for is answers.” But it made Bristol wonder. Myths and legends always came from somewhere, from some kernel of truth.
“It also says fae can’t lie. That’s a helpful thing to remember. And find out if they’re from the Seelie or Unseelie court before you go with them. Unseelie are very bad. Seelie are kind and agreeable. And they’re big on manners. Don’t piss them off whatever you do. They like respect. And—”
Harper was only making Bristol more nervous by reminding her of everything she didn’t know about this world. “I don’t have time for you to read the whole book,” she said, and ripped out a handful of pages and shoved them in her back pocket.
Harper’s eyes were shocked moons. “That was a library book.”
“I have to go, Harper,” Bristol said. “If I’m not back by tonight, it means I made a deal with them. I might be gone for a while. Take the art to Sonja. She’s expecting it. She has a thousand dollars waiting for you. A lot more money will be coming your way soon. Pay the bills—and get new phones that work.” She drew Harper into her arms and held her tight so she wouldn’t have to look into her eyes. “Stop worrying, all right? You know me. I always manage.”
“What will I tell Cat?” Harper whispered into Bristol’s chest.
“The truth. No more secrets. Tell her I’ve left to find Daddy, and I’m bringing him back with me.” She hoped. Willow called the trows vicious. There was no guarantee he was still alive.
“But your birthday is next week. Cat and I—”
“It can wait. We’ll celebrate later,” Bristol whispered.
“But the last time you left—”
“No, Harper. This time I’m leaving so we canstay. I’ll be back. I promise.”
She kissed the top of her little sister’s head and swallowed. A promise was not crossed fingers or a fleeting hope. A promise was a certainty, and nothing about this felt certain—except that she had to go.
CHAPTER 13
The chandeliers no longer glowed through the Willoughby Inn’s windows, and most of the panes were jagged teeth of broken glass. No cars remained in the littered parking lot. Weeds had swallowed up the front stairs. It was once again the abandoned inn it had been for years.
The neglect didn’t keep Bristol from walking up the steps. The front door was ajar, and its rusty hinges groaned as she pushed it open. The interior was dark and in shambles. The silky settee she had sat upon just hours earlier now had gaping holes, and the stuffing and springs flowed out of it like the entrails of a gutted animal.
Bristol surveyed the transformation, smelled the musty abandonment hanging in the air. Somehow it didn’t surprise her that it had all been an elaborate charade.
And now they were gone. She was too late.
Something inside her slipped, a fist beneath her ribs losing its grip on a rope. The hope she held of finding her father alive plummeted. The power that had surged inside her cooled.She missed her chance.And suddenly that chance seemed like the only thing that had kept her standing. She stepped into the lobby anyway, compulsion pulling her forward. The inn creaked with age as its darkness slid around her.
But then a dim glow caught her eye. It was small and golden, barely floating down the long hallway. A candle burned in the dining room. Did they forget to put it out?
Bristol’s pulse thumped as she walked toward the flame. Loose floorboards creaked beneath her steps, ghosts announcing her presence. When she reached the dining room, she cautiously stepped inside. The small candle flickering in the center of the table did little to light the interior. She squinted into the dark corners. They were empty, too. She was utterly alone. A small click sounded behind her and she spun—the dining room doors had closed.
“You’re back.”
She spun back around, muffling a scream behind her hand.
It was him. The one Eris called Tyghan. He leaned back in a chair on the opposite side of the table, cocky, sure of himself. The candle cast a warm glow on his face, but his eyes remained as cold as winter.
“You asshole! Are you trying to scare the shit out of me?” she yelled. Her heart hammered against her chest. She whirled, searching the corners of the room again. “Are there others hiding too?”
“Only me. I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”
She cleared her throat, trying to compose herself. “Where’s Mr. Dukinnon? I want to speak with him.”
