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Even worse? I’ve started to care about her.
When Carolina leaves m
e at night, I have to battle with my guilt over leading her on. She thinks I’m working on this great plan to confront the Fae Queen when, in reality, half my time is spent on wondering where Nine is. The other half? I’m trying to figure out my next step.
I can’t stay in the Wilkes House forever. Despite her repeated offers, it doesn’t feel right to drop in on Carolina’s parents. I have this sinking suspicion that they’d take one look at me and have me on my way back to Black Pine within the hour.
No, thanks.
As the days go by, I can’t stop obsessing over Nine, either. Since the first time he visited me in my room at the asylum, this is the longest I’ve gone without him crossing over to see me. I don’t like it. I’m not ready to swallow my pride and invite him back, but I wouldn’t send him away if he showed up.
He… doesn’t.
At first, I wonder if he expected me to linger in that nasty sewer. I mention it to Carolina my third morning after I spent two sleepless, dreamless nights worrying where Nine went. Almost apologetically, she reminds me about the touch—and how the brand it left behind on my akin means he can follow me anywhere. He’s just not because I told him to stay away.
Good going, Riley.
Seriously.
Carolina says that I should’ve expected it. To the fae, humans like us—even part humans, I guess—are looked at as toys, basically. They play with us when they have nothing better to do. Once they’re occupied, or they no longer have any use for us, we’re discarded.
Thrown away.
Forgotten.
Trash.
It’s not really a surprise to me that, without Nine to keep me company—or even Rys to argue with—I rely more and more on Carolina. It’s easier now that I’m out of the asylum. It almost feels like how it used to be with Madelaine. And it’s not just the food and the clothes and the bonding over how much the fae have ruined our lives, though that’s definitely up there.
It’s the way she makes me feel like a normal twenty-one-year-old woman and not some kind of crazy, broken chick. Sure, she looks at me like she expects me to solve all of her problems, but I’m kind of doing the same thing.
Together, we can put the asylum behind us. We can pretend that there’s nothing wrong with us.
In the abandoned Wilkes House, we can be as free as two fae-touched humans can be.
12
At the end of our fourth day together, when Carolina is getting ready to head out for the night, she starts to apologize.
I barely pay attention to it. Honestly, that’s nothing new. She has a tendency to “sorry” everything to death. I’ve gotten used to it.
I let it roll off my back, brushing the crumbs of my dinner from my lap before I stand up. I always walk her to the back door so that I can lock it behind her, then make myself a nest of the blanket and pillow she brought for me.
I don’t mind the alone time. It’s almost like light’s out at the asylum all over again. No television. No books. Just me and the shadows.
Nowadays, though, when I say shadows, I mean that.
Literally.
I haven’t told Carolina because I don’t want her getting her hopes up, but I’ve been practicing with pulling the shadows toward me. I haven’t gotten the nerve to try shade-walking again—and, thank God, I haven’t made any nighttime trips while I was sleeping—and I still don’t know how to consciously conjure a shadow thick enough for it to pass as a blanket.
I’m making some progress, though.
Hey. I’m the Shadow. I might as well figure out what that means since, apart from the limited lines scrawled on Carolina’s paper, no one has been able to tell me what I’m supposed to do about it.
Seems as if I’m gonna have more time to sit around and practice by myself when Carolina nervously clears her throat and makes an announcement.
“So, um, I should probably tell you. I’m not going to be able to come back for a couple of days.”
