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“What?”
I swivel in the chair, looking over at the massive screen in front of me. The house lights are on; it’s just a big, white rectangle waiting for its next projection. No movie. I glance around. There’s nobody left in the theater except for me and the usher. “Oh, jeez. I didn’t realize I was sleeping for so long. Shit. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He hesitates, and then, since I’m still sitting with my ass firmly planted in the seat, he adds, “Do you need me to show you the way out?”
I shake my head. I can’t explain my weirdo behavior, though I should probably apologize for it again. It’s not his fault that I’m so freaking out of it.
I woke up so suddenly, it seems like part of me is still back in that strange place. I remember everything about where I was: the ornately carved banister, the plush rug, the crystalline doorknobs. It takes more energy than I have to pull myself back.
How much time did I lose? I remember when the first movie began, but not much more than that. Since I’m still inside of the movie theater, I don’t think I actually went anywhere. Then again, how many times did I shade-walk to the cemetery while I was at that asylum only to go back as soon as the sun came up?
Nine said it was because I felt safe, that even as I was sleeping, my body knew where to take me. Is that what happened here?
I don’t know. Considering what I overheard, I don’t think I want to stick around and figure it out.
The usher is hovering near me. With a half-smile I don’t mean, I push up out of the movie seat and slip past him, careful not to brush against him as he turns to follow me out of the theater.
The manager is waiting at the front entrance to let me out before they lock up for the night. I offer her a mumbled apology, keeping my head down as I hurry out through the glass doors.
I can’t believe I did that. Sure, I didn’t get any sleep last night after Nine left, but that was just reckless. Drifting off like that? Crap. The whole point of ducking into the movie theater was so that I got out of the Wilkes House while still staying inconspicuous.
Yeah. Fail.
No way that manager or the usher is going to forget the strange chick in the baseball cap and the gloves who kept them from closing up. Wonderful. All I need now is for the news to run an update on my story and have one of them put two and two together.
Tugging my baseball cap low, I tuck my sunglasses in my hoodie pocket—wearing them this late at night is a dead giveaway that I’m up to no good—and start to book it down the empty street.
It’s late. Cold, too. My poor hoodie and t-shirt aren’t nearly enough to shield me from the way the temperature has dropped while I was inside the theater. I rub my arms, grit my teeth, and suck it up because, hey, it’s not like it’s going to be much warmer when I get back to my hide-out.
I go back to the Wilkes House because it’s late and I haven’t come up with a better plan. As soon as I sneak around the side of the house, checking that the for sale sign is still hidden among the bushes, I wonder if maybe I’m better off finding a secluded alley to sleep in.
The back door is open.
I don’t mean just unlocked. Without a key, I couldn’t lock it behind me when I slipped out this morning. But I know for damn sure that I closed it. And now? As I climb the porch, I’m stunned to find the door thrown inward.
That’s… that’s not good.
You know what’s also pretty bad? How, without even hesitating, I march right up the porch stairs.
Once I get to the top, I tiptoe into the kitchen, careful not to make any noise at all. Just in case.
The kitchen is clear. The bathroom, too. Taking a deep breath, wishing I had a weapon and realizing too late that I don’t, I creep into the living room, my attention immediately zeroing in on the figure lying sprawled out on the floor.
I squint, then scowl.
It’s Carolina.
She’s lying on her side, sleeping on the floor, her long dark hair acting like a pillow instead of the one lying in the far corner. I don’t know what she’s doing here. She told me last night that she wouldn’t be back for a couple of days. Then again, she also told me that she was on my side.
Some human lie detector I am. I’ve got no doubt she went to the lake house otherwise my Riley senses would’ve been going off like crazy. She probably even expected to be gone that long.
Guess plotting with a Dark Fae really changes your vacation plans.
I’m feeling bitter at how she played me, coupled with annoyed at how frightened I was when I saw the back door open. Carolina should’ve known better than to leave it thrown wide like that.
Was she trying to get us caught?
She doesn’t stir as I stomp into the room, purposely walking with a heavier step just to be petty. She continues to lie there on the floor, sleeping peacefully, as if she wasn’t recently plotting on how to trick me into eating more faerie food.
