Page 16 of Kiss the Fae


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Oxygen returns to my lungs. I wobble as though I’ve been sleepwalking, as though I dreamed the whole thing.

But I hadn’t. Although he didn’t touch me, I still feel those graceful digits scraping every exposed part of my body.

My sisters shout again. I bolt out of the enclosure, surging through the hedges at a breakneck pace and crashing into them outside the wagon. Juniper’s spectacles have been knocked askew, and Cove’s hair is a knotted mess. They cry in relief. We fling our arms around one another, shaking and muttering over each other.

“Are you all right?” and “What happened?” and “Where were you?”

I pry myself from the hug. “What do you mean, where was I?”

“You disappeared,” Juniper says frantically, then turns to Cove. “So did you.”

“That’s n-not true,” Cove bleats. “I-I was here. You two were gone. I searched everywhere.”

We trade confused glances. The caravan brims with warmth. Did they relight the lanterns? Or had the wicks never blown out?

No. It was real. He was real.

And tonight was an introduction, I realize. That Fae came here to play with me, to show how easily he can take away what matters most, even before the real fun begins.

Actually, it hadn’t just been him. When he issued that exit threat, he hadn’t been referring only to himself.

…now you know we can.

“Did you hear anybody?” I ask. “Or see anybody?”

A gust pinches our nightgowns. Juniper presses her lips together, and Cove shuffles her bare feet. They’re holding back. I know those gestures too well, but while Cerulean cautioned me to be wary of what I tell my sisters, like hell am I gonna let that monster control me.

I open my mouth, however Juniper cuts me off. “There was no one.”

“I didn’t see anyone, either,” Cove claims.

So I muzzle up, too. We absorb the lies, pretending we can’t tell, pretending to believe each other.

5

Raindrops slide down the sashes, droplets tapping the roof. It’s morning, time for the rooster to piss everyone off. At the first bumpy string of crows outside, I groan and roll onto my back. I’d slumbered too fitfully last night, then jolted awake as the sun rose.

Cerulean’s fiendish whisper surfaces in my mind—residue of the ruthless dream I’d had.

Very, very careful.

Blessedly, the grub bell rings, pulling me from the memory. It’s Juniper’s turn to cook breakfast, and she despises tardiness, especially in times of crisis.

I flop out of bed, slip into a pair of leggings underneath my nightgown, and toss on Papa’s long knit sweater. While piling my hair into a lopsided bun at the top, I descend the stairs on a hunger mission.

My family’s got a sturdy home built from logs and stones. It’s got nicks and chips, but it fights the hard weather fight, and its bones will last longer than I will. With two floors and an attic, shutters framing the iron windowsills, and a wrap-around porch, the Fable Dusk Sanctuary is our whole world.

Papa and Cove have decorated the living room with a tapestry rug, a cluster of lanterns in a corner, and watercolors mounted on the walls. The smells of coffee and freshly baked pastry flood the kitchen. In the corner, a pail of milk sits on the floor next to a barrel of fluffy spelt flour, and a dozen eggs nest in a basket on the counter.

Protectiveness wells in my belly when I spot Juniper at the stove and Cove at the dining table. I remember the poacher judging us for being strays—foundling fleabags, as he’d called us—who grew up on the streets until we were ten. And well, he’s right.

Trade poachers had been forcing Juniper to work for them. Apparently, tykes have a better shot at being quiet while hunting. Hence, her tattoo.

As for Cove, she was a left-handed pickpocket, though she doesn’t practice that skill anymore because she’s no longer hungry.

Me? I was a chimney sweep with a cloud of white tresses buried under a layer of soot.

I don’t like talking about my past any more than my sisters do theirs.