He’s got wavy blond hair. Medieval-style clothes—we’re talking a cloak, soft gray wool trousers, and a woven green shepherd shirt that goes down halfway to his knees. Bare feet. His face is covered with bruises, his nose is bleeding, and every inch of bare skin looks scratched up. Raw red nicks and cuts everywhere.
There’s no way in hell I would have missed him! He simply wasn’t there before.
At the sight of me, he immediately cringes away, scooting back, shoulders hunched up to his ears, like I might come at him at any moment.
But then he stops. His eyes—a striking bright blue Ican see from halfway across the room—scrunch with recognition.
“Alvin? What areyoudoing here?!”
My breath catches mid-inhale, while my brain tries to process that bizarre question. (This is the second complete stranger who seems to know who I am today. Is this guy in cahoots with the elf? But then why would he be surprised? And why does he look like he’s been rolled through broken glass?)
The boy reaches up and grips the edge of the desk, trying to get to his feet. But not halfway up, he winces in sharp pain and his legs buckle. And since my brain is still in some kind of overflow loop, before I even think about it, I’m lunging forward, down onto my knees, to keep him from falling.
“Oh! Crap! Here, let me, uh…!” I blurt out, like I’m helping a sweet old lady with a bag of groceries that’s slipping from her hands.
I get my hands under his armpits, and just like that,my arms totally wrap around the guy.
Before, I was freaking out over the smallest thing. Now, I’m rushing in close to someone who literally appeared out of nowhere—because he knows my name? (Or is it because he looks cute and vulnerable?) I mean, what for the love of all that is holy iswrongwith me?!
I get that I don’t have any real training as a paranormal PI, but I don’t even have words to tell you how stupid I’m being right now. A “hot guy in distress” suddenly appears out of nowhere and acts like he knows who I amwhile I’m in the middle of stealing a powerful magic artifact from someone’s house. (Someone who, for all I know, is a wizard asdangerous as Ms. Stryker.) This could be a trap. This guy could be a monster in disguise. Hell, why choose?! He could be both a trapanda monster in disguise!
But here I am! Pressed up next to him, like a total idiot. All my tender vitals right within easy claw-scooping distance. He grips both hands around my shoulders as we rise together. He’s only, like, an inch taller than me, so we’re basically face-to-face. I mean, he’s close enough for me tosmellhim! (Cloves and campfire? Not unpleasant at all, to be honest.) (Oh, for Pete’s sake, can I please focus?!)
This should be about when the fangs come out. You know, right before he swallows my head. But all he does is smile, new tears forming in his eyes.
“Jaysus. It reallyisyou! Thank the Gods!”
Even through the blood and scratches, he has the most gentle face. Handsome in a sweet, boy-next-door kind of way. And he folds himself against my chest and belly like hugging me is the most natural thing in the world. Like he couldn’t be happier. Like no one else has ever done with me before. And it feels?—
Oh. My.God!
I really need to get it together!
I peel myself off his body and try to look stern. (Or, at the very least, not like an easy meal!) “Look.Howdo you know me? Who are you?” Actually, let’s not beat around the bush! “Whatare you?!”
His eyes widen. “Right! Of course, you wouldn’t—” He glances up and off to the left, and his eyes shimmer. (Accessing some kind of clairvoyance, maybe?) “Oh. Oh. I see! You weresentto find the watch. Ah, shite! My name isCollin. And I promise I’ll tell you everything, but you need to get out of here before?—”
A loud creak sounds out from the lower floor, and the boy immediately tenses. But you don’t need to be some kind of psychic to know exactly what madethatnoise.
It’s the front door opening. Someone’s home.
“Oh, no,” he says. “It’s too late.”
5
We both freezefor two full seconds. Not even breathing, just holding each other. And then Collin’s eyes clear, and his face snaps tight with determination.
“Don’t worry. We’ll be grand! The front door has a magical alarm—that’s probably why they’re here. If they don’t hear us, they’ll search the downstairs rooms first. This way!” Collin grips my wrist and points down at the floor. His hand is warm and soft. I finally notice he’s speaking with an accent. British? No,Irish.(I think.)
In the direction of his finger, glowing blue footsteps emerge on the carpet and go out into the hallway. The phantasms are shoe-shaped and look like what you’d find in an old-timey dance-instruction book. The projection would be an impressive display of spellcraft, exceptI’m not sensing any magic at all. Not from the shimmering guides or my new Irish buddy.
The boy gives my arm a tug, and meets my eyes, earnest and urgent. “You just need to follow the steps,Alvin. Keep your weight centered on the middle of your foot, and the wood won’t creak. I promise!”
Uh-huh.
So, yeah, it looks like I’ve got two choices. I do what this guy is telling me to—even though I have no idea how he knows me, how he’s creating this glamour, who he is, or evenwhathe is—and hope he isn’t leading me to a dismal end. Or I can stand stupidly in this room, trying to come up with a better plan, all the while freaking the hell out, until whoever just let themselves in makes their way up here.
I start my little dance forward on those glowing shoe prints.Cha cha cha!
