Wicked Lovely

CHAPTER 27

When Aislinn woke the next morning—still curled in Seth's arms—she knew it was time, past time really, to tell Grams the whole truth. How? How do I tell her any of it?

Aislinn had checked in last night, a brief call to ease her grandmother's worries. Grams hadn't objected to Aislinn staying at Seth's place, only reminded her to be careful, to "use precautions and good sense." And Aislinn realized that her grandmother knew why Aislinn was staying. Despite her age, Grams was a believer in all sorts of women's equalities—a detail that had been shockingly apparent in her "birds and bees" talks not too many years ago.

Aislinn slipped out of bed for a quick bathroom trip. When she returned, Seth was propped up on one arm.

"You okay?" There was obvious worry in his voice. "With us?"

"Very." She climbed back onto the bed and snuggled close to him. Being with him was the one thing she truly felt right about. "I still need to go soon."

"After breakfast…" His voice was low, almost a growl, as he slid his hand under the edge of the T-shirt she was wearing, the one he'd had on last night.

"I should go. I need to talk to Grams about things and…" She swallowed as he pulled her onto his chest and sighed against her throat.

His breath was warm on her skin, tickling her. "You sure? It's early still."

She let her eyes drop closed again, let herself relax in his arms. "Ummm…just a few minutes."

His laugh was dark, different in a way she couldn't have imagined, filled with unspoken promises. It was wonderful.

Almost an hour later, she got dressed and assured him she didn't need him to walk her home.

"Come back later?"

"As soon as I can," she whispered.

I will, too. She wasn't giving Seth up. It wasn't an option. If I'm really their queen, who has the right to tell me what to do?

She was still smiling when the faeries outside bowed to her. Several of the ones who seemed to be guards followed her as she walked across the city, keeping a slight distance, but undeniably there. Behind them trailed the scarred faery who'd posed as Keenan's uncle at school.

In the bright morning light—after a long night with Seth—it seemed somehow less awful, not easy, but possible. She just needed to talk to Keenan, tell him she'd take his test if she could still keep her real life, too. The other option—giving up her mortal life to be either a Summer Girl or the Summer Queen—didn't work. Now she needed to figure out how to tell him and where to find him.

But she didn't need to find him: he sat in the hallway outside her apartment—invisible to her neighbors.

"You can't be here," she said, more irritated than fearful.

"We need to talk." He had a weary look on his face, and she wondered if he'd slept at all.

"Fine, but not here." She grabbed his arm and pulled. "You need to go."

He got to his feet, but he didn't leave. He glowered at her. "I've waited most of the night, Aislinn. I'm not going until we talk."

She pulled him away from the door, away from Grams' home.

"I know, but not here." She folded her arms over her chest. "This is my grandmother's house. You can't be here."

"So walk with me." His voice was quiet, filled with that desperation she'd heard at Rath and Ruins.

She'd worried that he'd be angry after she ran, that he'd be unwilling to compromise, but instead he looked as overwhelmed as she felt, if not more. His gleaming copper hair looked dull, as if the shine had vanished. He scrubbed his hands over his face. "I need you to understand. After last night—"

Grams opened the door and stepped outside. "Aislinn? Who are you talking—"

Then Grams saw him. She moved forward as quickly as she could, grabbed Aislinn, and pushed her backward. You.

"Elena?" Keenan started, eyes wide, hands held open in a nonthreatening way. "I mean no harm."

"You are not welcome here." Her voice shook.

"Grams?" Aislinn looked from the near-panic in Keenan's eyes to the fury in Grams'. This wasn't going well.

Grams pulled Aislinn through the open door and started to push it shut.

Keenan stopped the door with his foot as Grams shoved on it with all her strength.

He stepped inside and pushed the door shut behind him. "I'm sorry about Moira. I wanted to tell you before…"

"Don't. You have no right to even say her name. Ever." Grams' voice cracked. She pointed at the door. "Get out. Get out of my home."

"In all these centuries, I've never walked away for another, only for her. Only Moira. I offered her time." Keenan reached out as if he'd take Grams' hand.

Grams slapped his hand away. "You killed my daughter."

Aislinn couldn't move. How could Keenan have killed my mother? She died in childbirth…

"No. I didn't," he replied in a low voice, sounding as assured as he had the first night Aislinn had met him, sounding the way he had at Bishop O.C. He laid a hand on Grams' shoulder. "She ran from me, lay down with all those mortals. I tried to stop her, to—"

Slap.

"Grams!" Aislinn grabbed Grams' hand and tugged, pulling her away from Keenan, steering her to her chair.

Keenan didn't even flinch. "Once the mortal girl is chosen, there's no way to un-choose her, Elena. I'd have taken care of her, even after the baby was born. I waited, stopped seeking her when she was with child."

Grams was weeping now. Her tears rolled over her cheeks, but she made no move to wipe them away. "I know."

"Then you know I didn't kill her." He turned to Aislinn, his eyes pleading with her. "She chose death by her own hand rather than joining the Summer Girls."

Grams stared at the wall where the few existing pictures of Moira and Aislinn were. "If you hadn't hunted her down in the first place, she'd be alive."

Aislinn turned to Keenan; her voice came out half strangled when she said, "Go."

Instead he crossed the room, coming toward her, walking past the portraits of her mother without even a glance. He put a hand under Aislinn's chin and forced her to look up at him. "You're my queen, Aislinn. We both know that. We can talk now or later, but I cannot let you turn away from me."

"Not now." She hated how her voice shook, but she didn't back away from him.

"Tonight then. We need to speak to Donia, arrange for your guards, and" — he looked around the apartment— "decide what you'll want to move, where you want to live. There are other, lovelier places we can live."

This was the faery who'd stalked her—confident and compelling. As quickly as lightning across the sky, he'd gone from pleading to demanding.

She stepped behind Grams' chair, out of his reach. "I live with Grams."

Smiling beatifically, Keenan dropped to his knees in front of Grams. "If you want to join her in our home, I'll have your things brought over. It'd be our honor."

Grams said nothing.

"I am sorry that Moira was so afraid. I've waited so long, I'd almost given up. If I'd known that Moira would be the mother of our queen" — he shook his head—"but all I knew was that she was special, that she drew me to her."

The whole time he'd been speaking, Grams had not moved: she'd clenched her hands in her lap and glared at him.

Aislinn reached over and gripped Keenan's arm. "You need to leave. Now."

He let her pull him to his feet, but the look on his face was awful. Gone were all traces of kindness, of pleading, of anything but raw determination. "You will come to me tonight, or I will find you—find your Seth. That isn't how I want to do this, but I'm running out of choices."

Aislinn stared at him as his words registered. She'd begun the day prepared to reason with him, to accept the inevitable, and he was threatening her. He was threatening Seth. She made her voice as cold as she could, "Don't go there, Keenan."

He ducked his head. "It's not what I want, but I—"

"Leave," she interrupted him.

She grabbed his arm and led him to the door.

"We can talk later, but if you think for a minute that threats are going to help" — she broke off as her temper flared—"you really don't want to threaten me."

"I don't," he said softly, "but if I have to, I will."

She opened the door and shoved him out. She took several deep breaths, leaning on the now-closed door, and started, "Grams, I—"

"Run before he comes back. I can't protect you. Get your Seth, leave, go somewhere far away." Grams went to the bookshelf, brought down a dusty book, and opened it. It was hollowed out in the middle. Inside was a thick stack of bills. "It's running-away money. I've been saving it since Moira died. Take it."

"Grams, I—"

"No! You need to go while you can. She didn't have money when she ran; maybe if you do…" She went into Aislinn's room and pulled out a duffle bag, resolutely shoving clothes into it, ignoring everything else—including Aislinn's repeated attempts to talk to her.