Page 12 of My Faire Lady

I press my tongue against the roof of my mouth and staunch the sting that curls up my spine.

Glen’s brows lower, and he sighs. “Sorry, Scarlet.”

He grips the rope and pulls it, lifting the end of the bridge off the ground.

Tires crunch over the rocks.

A small sedan whips into the closest spot of the grass parking lot. The door swings open, and Lottie hops out of the driver’s seat. She flicks her curls out of her face, and the sun bathes her in a warm glow as she rounds the back of the car.

Glen gives me a smile, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “Spoke too soon.”

Lottie’s long, linen skirt sways around her ankles, and balloon sleeves hang off her bare shoulders, waist cinched tight within the bounds of a sky-blue corset. My heart flips over itself, but I grind my teeth and tear my gaze away from the freckles splattered across her collarbones.

Professional.

“You’re late,” I say.

“Sorry,” she says, breathing heavy as she steps across the bridge. “I accidentally pulled up to the King’s Gate. You know, you should really make the street signs clearer.”

I shift on my feet, my guard rising, and this indescribable urge to defend myself latches onto my sternum. “Or perhaps you weren’t paying close enough attention.”

She blinks, but before she can form a response, Glen appears from the shadows. A scream jerks from her throat, and she slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide, face pale.

She drops her hand and lets out a weak laugh. “I didn’t realize you’d already be in costume.”

“No worries, darling.” He strides back to his seat and picks up his comb, starting on the other arm. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone screamed when they saw me.”

I give him a pointed look. He knows the risk of humans knowing too much. There’s only so much the protection spell can erase from their memories before we have to bring in the hydra. He returns my glower with an unapologetic shrug.

Lottie nods and runs her palms down her skirt, turning to me. Our gazes lock, and a beat of time stretches out, where neither of us say anything. Her chest stops rising, and something shifts in the air, thickening like honey as magic churns under my skin. Speaking to her on the phone last night was effortless, but now, in the light of day with her right before me, I can’t string words together.

But she doesn’t seem to mind the silence.

I clear my throat. “Right. Well, follow me.”

Giving Glen a nod, I lead Lottie down the path, putting extra weight beneath my footsteps and raising my voice more than usual. We don’t open for another two hours, and some of the creatures might still be wandering around, unaware there’s a human around.

Lottie scans the buildings as we pass. “There were no other cars in the parking lot. Do you…live here?”

I press my lips into a thin line, sorting through how much I should tell her. If I lie, she’ll wonder how we all got here and where our cars are. But I have to tread around the truth, or she’ll ask to see our living quarters.

I kick a pebble down the path, and it disappears into the bushes. “I was raised here, actually.”

Her eyes widen, and I don’t miss the grimace she fights back as she studies a building leaning precariously to the side. “Did you like that? Growing up here?”

“Does anyone like where they grow up?”

She shrugs, and her curls swing around her face, brushing against the arch of her cheekbone. “I don’t know. It seems like every little kid’s dream to live somewhere like this, don’t you think? Pretending to live in the woods, or captaining a pirate ship. Like you’re free.”

I scoff. “There’s nothing free about it.”

Her steps slow, and she watches me out of the corner of her eye. “Then why’d you choose to stay?”

My molars dig into the flesh of my cheek, and in times like this, I’m thankful I’m not cursed with Boden’s inability to lie. “When my parents passed, the people who live here raised me. They’re like family. I can’t leave them.”

A shadow crosses her face, and she lowers her gaze to the dirt. My stomach clenches, and I press my tongue into my cheek. Humans aren’t as comfortable with death as those with magic are.

We come to a fork in the path and turn left, passing under a copse of trees. My gaze flicks up to the leaves, but I don’t spot any of the sprites flitting about. They’re behaving, then. For now.