Page 47 of My Faire Lady

I purse my lips. “I’ve never seen them before, but I’ll see what I can do.” I fold up the paper. “Can I take this with me?”

She hesitates, reaching her fingers toward the note, but curls her hand into a fist and drops it to her side. “Of course.”

The horn sounds from outside, signaling the end of the faire, and Kelsey fills the doorway. The skeleton key swings from her finger, and she raises a brow, glancing between Scarlet and me.

“I’ll be right there,” I say, too quick, tucking the paper into the pouch at my waist.

She nods and disappears around the corner. I turn back to Scarlet, but the words are heavy in my mouth, cemented in. So many words go unspoken between us, unwilling to taste the air.

Shifting on her feet, she cracks a knuckle on her left hand. “I’ll see you next weekend.”

17

Each time Boden taps his pen against the desk, I consider drawing a rune that would turn his hair into grass.

“That wouldn’t be very kind,” he says, studying the ledger.

Tap.

I grit my teeth. Outside the window of his office, clouds billow in the sky—swollen and heavy with rain. Along the horizon, the sky is a dull grey, and the stars disappear as the sky lightens to morning.

I slouch deeper into the seat opposite his desk. “We’re halfway through the season. How do the numbers look?”

He furrows his brow and twists the pen in his grip, scribbling a series of numbers on a scrap of paper. The immortal has never taken too kindly to calculators, claiming humankind has become far too lazy for their own good. Yet in the time it’s taken him to cross multiply, I’ve tapped the numbers into the calculator on my phone.

It’s still foreign—carrying the weight of my phone in my pocket most hours of the day. But with Lottie having a copy of the scroll, I don’t want to miss a message if she deciphers it.

Boden huffs. “Don’t lie to yourself. You’re just hoping she’ll text.”

“And you’re still hung up on the fact that Kelsey thought your ears were elven.”

He bares his teeth, pressing his pen so hard against the paper that it leaves a divot. “It would be like Lottie thinking you’re a magician.”

Fair enough.

Scratching a line through his longhand math, he grumbles under his breath and starts over, glancing at the receipts piled on a manila folder.

“Eight thousand, six hundred and twenty-three,” I say, setting my phone on the desk. “Now, tell me what it means.”

The pen in his hand moves faster, scribbling numbers at a rate I can’t keep up with. He scowls and pinches his lips between his fingers, smudging ink on his chin. My stomach somersaults. I don’t know what will come first—losing the land or losing the magic, but right now, nothing is within my control.

He drops the pen and straightens. A smile spreads across his face as he slides the paper toward me. “This means, my dear Scarlet, that if we keep pulling in this crowd every weekend, we’ll have just enough to pay the taxes.”

I snatch the paper, pulse racing in my throat. The numbers blur together, and it’s not until I swipe my fingers beneath my eyes and they come back wet, that I realize they’re tears muddying my vision.

“We did it,” I whisper.

“You and Lottie did it,” he says, easing the paper from my hands. “But we can’t get too ahead of ourselves. There’s the bigger issue at hand.”

“I know.” I wring my hands in my lap. “Have you managed to find anything?”

He shakes his head. “I checked every place we haven’t touched in decades, and I’ve found nothing. Your ancestors must have managed to keep me out of their minds better than you, because I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Our attention falls on the scroll in the center of the desk—the tie at its middle like a noose around my throat. We have no timeframe and no leads to what the code says. Or if it even has anything to do with the magic.

“And the rest of the creatures?” I say.

“Some are understanding, and others are…well.”