Page 139 of Cherish

“Tell me what you really want,” Hudson answers dryly.

Macy pouts. “Hey, that’s not how the lyrics go—”

“I’m aware of how they go,” he answers. “That’s my way of telling you that it’s never going to happen.”

“Aww, come on. You’d make a great Posh Spice.”

I can all but hear Hudson roll his eyes as he answers, “And here I was going for Scary.”

The door closes behind them, so I don’t hear anything else. Still, I can’t help smiling as I strip down and step into the shower. Maybe I should have let Hudson handle the Macy crisis with me. The two of them just have a way of making each other feel better that defies logic but somehow works anyway.

On the surface, fashion is the only thing they really have in common. Yet, from the beginning, they’ve just kind of gotten each other, Macy’s abysmal chess-playing skills notwithstanding. It makes me happy that two of the most important people in my life like and respect each other as much as Hudson and Macy do.

Figuring my mate used enough water for all of us, I take what might be the quickest shower of my life. When I’m out, I pull on my last clean pair of jeans—guess it’s a good thing we’re heading out today—and twist my hair up into a clip at the back of my head.

Then I stroll down to the small restaurant in the lobby. A parmallow muffin and some fruit sounds really good about now.

Hudson already has Smokey sitting on a chair next to him when I get downstairs. He has a cup of tea in front of him, and Smokey is watching every move he makes like she’s afraid he’ll disappear again—or worse, like she already knows he will, which means I guess they’ve had “the talk.”

Instead of taking the seat next to her, I grab a chair on the other side of the table, as far from the pissed-off little umbra as I can get. She’s never actually hurt me, though I’m pretty sure she’d like the chance to try right now. So distance definitely seems like the better part of valor at the moment.

The waitress comes up to take my order as soon as I sit down, and our friends straggle in over the next few minutes. But before my food can arrive, I look out the window just in time to see a familiar face walking toward us, one of Marian’s choux pastry bags in his hand.

“Well, isn’t that perfect timing for once,” I murmur as the door to the inn swings open. Maybe our luck is finally changing.

Hudson turns to find out who I’m looking at, a huge grin splitting his face. “Just the person we need to see.”

75

What the Well

Fifty-six minutes later, we check out of the inn and head across the square to the wishing well in the center of the park. It’s strangely empty this morning—maybe that’s why Polo was so insistent that we meet him now. The iridescent purple coins I remember filling the well are gone, replaced by anextremelyominous black hole that looks like it goes on forever. Because that’s not scary at all.

“Remember to stay close to me,” I tell Heather, who looks surprisingly unworried despite the warning I delivered to all of them as we finished our breakfast.

“I’ve got her,” Eden says quietly. For once, the cocky grin I consider her signature look is missing. She seems serious and more than ready for whatever is about to come our way.

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part.

We’re almost to the well when Polo appears out of seemingly nowhere. We were completely surprised when he came to find us at the inn, but he’d insisted if we wanted even a chance of surviving our escape from Noromar, we had to leave immediately.

“You’re late,” he says when we stop in front of him seconds later.

“Actually, we’re a minute early,” I shoot back.

But he’s not listening. His dark-brown eyes are locked on Heather, and I can practically see him tallying up “the human’s” weaknesses.

“She’s not going to make it,” he says after a moment. “You should leave her here.”

“And just have her spend the rest of her life in Noromar alone?” I ask, insulted.

He shrugs. “Guess so. She’s just a liability. She’s going to get you killed.”

“She comes,” Hudson says in a steely voice I rarely hear him use. “We’ll get her through.”

“Thank you,” Heather murmurs, eyes wide.

Polo looks like he wants to argue, but in the end, he just throws up his hands. “Whatever, man. But I’m telling you now, if things go south, I’m leaving your bloodsucking ass and getting the hell out of Dodge. My daughter is not growing up without her father.”

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