5. The Rescue

Andrew set his phone on a heavy book on the tabletop, lifting his teacup to waft the complex fragrance under his nose. He wrote today's date in his spiral notepad and then leaned over the yellow book pages, chewing absently on a strand of his unbound hair. Someone laughed pleasantly near the register. Footsteps passed near him, paused, and then carried on more slowly. Andrew glanced up as he brought his teacup to his lips. He gasped, inhaled, and choked and spluttered on tea.

"Oh, jeeze," said Micah, turning toward the two-chair table where Andrew sat. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yes, yes," Andrew rasped as Micah hurried up to him from the bake case. Wiping tears from his lashes, he said, "I just can't believe we ran into each other again. Are you following me?" If not for the scarlet-eyed faerie, it would've been a flirty joke. Maybe.

"I swear I'm not. My tea shop is down the block," Micah said hurriedly. He tilted the black binder in his hands towards Andrew. It read QUARTERLY REPORTS. "I wanted to get some work done here."

"I guess if you work over here, I must be the one following you," said Andrew. He tried an awkward little laugh, hoping to dissolve Micah's obvious discomfort. If only he knew how much Andrew had been thinking about him. It was harder to identify times when he hadn't been thinking about him in the month that had passed since that night at The Squire. "What's your shop again? To a Tea?"

Micah blinked. "That's the one. How'd you know?"

Andrew felt his ears grow warm. "That's what it said on the cup of tea you brought me."

One side of Micah's mouth curled in a crooked grin. "Oh, yeah. I wasn't sure you would have drank it. Fear of rohypnol or something."

His ears felt close to boiling. Andrew had been concerned there was something akin to a date-rape drug in that sealed tea. "I actually didn't drink it," said Andrew. "Sorry."

Micah's eyes crinkled. "No need."

Andrew pushed his hair behind his ear.

Dressed in a plaid collared shirt with the top several buttons undone, Micah glanced at the table and tilted his head so his silky bangs curtained over his brow. The mulberry leaf jingled softly on its polished copper chain. "What're you reading? The Nature of Faerie Cha…" Micah's voice halted on a strangled note. "Charm."

Slamming the book closed so the blank back cover faced the ceiling, Andrew resisted the instinct to hide his face. How mortifying to be a grown man reading about faeries. "I'm, er, eclectic." He stole a glance up at Micah.

Micah's face was pale. He slowly ran the tip of his tongue over his top lip, blinking several times. His eyes seemed to flicker like a lightbulb dimming. He managed, "It's all good."

Suspicion licked at a corner of Andrew's mind. "Seems like it isn't," Andrew said coolly. His phone vibrated several times on the table, and he used the opportunity to collect his thoughts as he picked it up.

Andrew gasped, "Oh, shit." He swept the book into his arm and sprang to his feet, his chair clattering. "I gotta go. Sorry." He started trying to write back to Sam, but his thumb was trembling too much.

Micah stepped back to give Andrew clearance. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"It's that crazy blonde girl you were with. I think she's up to no good. My assistant Sam—" Andrew paused. He ventured, "Have you heard about Lilydale?"

Micah's complexion paled further. He was the same color as a sandy beach in the winter. His dark eyebrows rose. Then he schooled his expression, a neutral mask sliding into place as he opened his mouth to reply.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," said Andrew. He tapped the phone icon and lifted it to his ear. Sam's phone went straight to voicemail. Swearing again, he took a wide step toward the door of the café.

"I can come with you," Micah blurted. "I—I can help."

Admittedly, Andrew was terrified to return to the bluffs. But he'd been practicing with his sword, and he had his iron knife strapped to his ankle any time he left the house, and he already wore his géas everywhere he went. And Sam didn't have any of those things.

"How, and why, would you help?" asked Andrew, clutching his book as he dialed Sam's number again, to no avail.

Micah looked toward the door so the early morning sunlight glinted in his eyes, turning his irises violet. He clearly wasn't wearing contacts; Andrew was too close, and would be able to see lenses. So if Micah's eyes were naturally that floral hue…

Leaning down, Andrew asked in barely a whisper, "Are you even human?"

Micah flinched, keeping his gaze obstinately on the door. His throat bobbed. He answered flatly, "Yeah."

Curling his fingers around his book, Andrew glanced from the cover back at Micah as a muscle jumped in his tawny jaw. This and several other old texts on the Folk told him that Fae beings were incapable of lying. If Micah was Fae, he wouldn't be able to say he was human.

"Look," said Andrew. "I'm not good at feelings. I was really happy when we met at The Squire, though we can agree there was something off-key about kissing there. But Sam told me everything has to start somewhere."

Micah finally tore his eyes off the door to look up at Andrew. Hope parted his lips as his eyebrows rose.

Andrew went on, "I suspect that both of us wish the night at The Squire had gone better. I suspect we're both capable of better than that. And I could use company going up to the bluffs, anyway. I don't feel safe up there."

"You shouldn't," said Micah, and then he clamped his mouth shut. "Er—"

"Right, but I kind of know what I'm doing. Sam doesn't. He definitely isn't safe up there, so I need to go. You can come, if you want. As long as you know what you're getting into." He hoped his implication was as clear as he could make it without outright saying he believed there were faeries in the bluffs.

Micah nodded. "I do." He pulled his own phone out of his pocket as Andrew tried Sam one more time. Micah's phone made the whoosh sound of a sending message. He glanced up seriously and said to Andrew, "I can drive."

Andrew's sword was in his backseat. He shook his head. "I got it. Come on." Then he snapped an elastic off his wrist and bound his hair in a messy ponytail on the back of his head. The pair of them left the café swiftly and in silence.

Micah fidgeted with the warped corner of his three-ring binder, focusing on the car vibrating under the soles of his sneakers. He'd been happy to avoid Lilydale for this long…maybe five years. But if some young kids like Sam and Cirrus were wandering into the bluffs intent to find a party or Fae-spelled foods, Micah had to do something about it. He knew nobody else from Lilydale would. It was very possible that going with Andrew was going to reveal quite a bit more than he hoped most humans in Minnesota would know about him. It was very possible that his efforts to look normal and discrete were about to go to waste. Julian wouldn't be happy about that. But to Micah, less hiding sounded like a relief. Even if it would end with him being rejected again.

He glanced at Andrew, who chewed on a cuticle with a furrowed brow while he drove. He'd missed a bit of auburn hair at the nape of his neck when he put his hair up. Micah found the oversight quite endearing.

He knew the answer, but he asked anyway, "Why'd you ask if I'm human? Did you think I might be a hobbit or something?"

Andrew's walnut-brown eyes flicked toward Micah, and then back to the road. "Do you want me to play dumb? You saw the book I was reading. You didn't make fun of me. You must know what I do about Lilydale."

Sighing through his nose, Micah hoped Andrew knew less than him. "I like playing dumb."

"Okay. Then it was a slip of the tongue. Of course you're human."

"Of course," said Micah softly.

Micah's tone was so tragic that Andrew almost felt sorry for him. Micah wasn't looking at him, with the kind of fierce intensity that told Andrew he was avoiding his gaze on purpose. It all but confirmed to him that he was hiding something. But the details weren't as important to Andrew as getting Sam out of the bluffs and away from any potential Fae encounter. Sighing, Andrew looked back at the road. On the sidewalks lining the bridge, ascetic runners and bikers trudged joylessly up and down the bridge's lantern-lined walkway. After the bridge ended, Andrew hung a sharp right to follow the steep drop-off of the bluffs.

"Looks like you know the way," Micah said.

Andrew said nothing for a moment, one slender red eyebrow twitching on his forehead. "I go running in Cherokee."

"Well, that makes my suspicion sound real dumb."

Andrew allowed him a slight grin.

The lush greenery was held back only by a bike path and intermittent wooden benches. The houses along Cherokee Avenue transitioned from shabby to chic as the neighborhood aged. A large tennis court was busy with early morning players beating the heat of the day. He pulled up to the curb near the city's overlook and his car lurched into park. He slid out of his seat and into the open air, which had cooled slightly now that they were upwind from the river. Andrew spent a moment gazing at the skyline on the northwestern side of the water, cool sepia in the first few hours of light, with the cathedral a mere mirage in the west.

Andrew began to ground himself the way his therapist taught him. Five things he could see. Leaves, skyscrapers, blue sky, his knuckles, the river. Four things he could hear. Children's laughter, wind rustling, his heartbeat, cars crunching on asphalt. Three things he could touch. His iron necklace, his hair, the cool glass window. Two things he could smell. Grass, and tea clinging to his shirt where he'd spilled it. One thing he could taste.

Mulberries on Micah's lips.

As the sensation of that kiss at The Squire returned to him, all the grounding unraveled.

"Grounding yourself?" asked Micah, his sweet-tasting lips quirking into a grin as he popped into Andrew's line of sight.

The breeze licked at Micah's hair, which gleamed like jeweled blades of grass over his brow. Typically, Andrew felt underwhelmed by the fashion hair colors people had adopted in the last decade. But the unnatural hue suited Micah perfectly, even if it made him seem even less likely to be human.

What would Andrew do if he learned Micah was Fae after all? Five years being haunted by the scarlet-eyed faerie had run him straight into the arms of another one of the dangers he'd been training himself to avoid.

"You know about grounding?" Andrew asked.

"Yeah. It helps my dad." Micah looked past him at the rolling hills scattered with trees. Families meandered on the grassy expanse and people threw tennis balls down hills for excitedly stumbling dogs. Several groups of picnickers were spread on large plaid blankets. When he first came to Minnesota, he loved this park. It felt like the border between two worlds, both human and not. The love faded as his relationship with the city changed, as he became rooted in humanity with school, degrees, property.

Micah looked distracted. Swiftly, Andrew bent and reached behind his driver's seat. He grabbed the hilt of a short sword in a black sheath and slid it into the holster he wore under his shirt.

Clearing his throat, eyes back on Andrew, Micah said, "Was that a sword?"

Andrew flushed from his neck to his scalp. "What?" He slammed his car door shut. "What are you talking about?"

Micah stared at him.

Andrew squirmed. "I thought we liked playing dumb."

"Not about weapons," said Micah with a frown.

He kept his hands on the roof of the car, like he was being arrested. "I can't—I won't go in there without it."

Micah pursed his lips as he looked at the sky. After a few beats, he asked, "What's it for?"

"People who can't protect themselves."

Guarded, Micah's gaze dropped down to meet Andrew's eyes. "Are you going to hurt me?"

Andrew's stomach turned over. "Why would I need to?"

For a heated moment, they stared at one another over the hood of the Saturn, at an impasse.

With a knot of shame, hunching in embarrassment, Andrew shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry. I know I'm a disaster. I'm, um—I'm gonna go. Ta-ta."

Then he hurried out of the street and to the walking path that led into the bluffs, his legs like rubber.

He couldn't look back to see if Micah was following him because he didn't want to know. Andrew had pulled a goddamn sword out in front of someone he barely knew. It had to look terrifying. All that waiting to run into Micah again, and he'd ruined everything immediately. But he wouldn't go near Lilydale unarmed, and if someone had touched Sam, then he would need the sword. He ran his fingers along the black chain link fence and peered through the thick underbrush as if maybe he could already see Sam's shaggy head. Vivid red columbines and purple phlox kissed the green expanse, but there were no people.

Micah fell into step beside him. Huffing slightly, he remarked, "Where can I get a pair of your gangly long legs? I'd make much better time in the world." When Andrew spared him a tremulous smile, he smiled back and added, "You think you get to ditch me just because you're a little crazy and dangerous?"

Not breaking his stride, Andrew said without looking, "I was giving you permission to ditch me."

"I'm not going to ditch you," Micah told him patiently. "I'm going to help you find your friend. And have a word with Cirrus." His gaze slid down over Andrew and he asked, "Any other weapons on you?"

Nodding, Andrew bent and pulled up his pant leg to show the iron dagger strapped to his ankle. "I always wear this one. Partly for the Folk, partly because I never know if I'm about to get hate crimed." They stood near a park bench and at the entrance to the Brickyard Trail. The path underfoot turned from asphalt to loose rocks and wood chips, and the trees bowed overhead, casting them under a soft green shadow.

"Ah. Hate that," said Micah with a sigh. He asked after a moment, "No guns?"

Andrew grunted. "Guns are evil."

"At least we agree on that," said Micah with a thin smile.

Andrew swallowed. He crossed his arms uncomfortably.

"What? You look like there's more you want to say."

"There's a—there's a faerie from Lilydale who's been stalking me." He looked down, silent for a long time. "I know how it sounds, but I swear it's not—it's not psychosis."

Watching Andrew anxiously fix his necklace and push his hair off his brow, Micah's heart wrenched painfully. He wanted to take Andrew's hand, to assure him he knew quite well that fearing the watchful eye of the Folk was exhausting. He also wanted to know who it was, but…

At his prolonged silence, Andrew lifted his umber eyes, unsure.

Micah gave him a gentle smile. He said softly, "I don't think you're crazy."

As he allowed his eyes to go unfocused on the leaves overhead, Andrew rubbed his face and tried to sort through his thoughts. If he was about to go into the bluffs and straight into danger, then he wasn't going to miss his opening. "Micah, can I make a confession?"

Flushing, Micah said with a faintly nervous smile, "Okay."

"I might not have been altogether coherent that night, but…my brain doesn't seem to care. I haven't been able to think about anything besides kissing you since."

Micah's heart climbed in his throat. He could swear—he could hope—that he recognized desire in Andrew's dark gaze, which remained fixed on his face. Micah murmured, "Same here." He lifted his chin as Andrew took a small step closer, a decisive crease appearing between his brows.

Andrew bent slightly, let his eyes slip shut, and brushed their lips together. His cool hand cupped Micah's cheek. Micah inhaled sharply and strung his arms around Andrew's slim waist. It was different than at The Squire. Slower, gentle. Sort of shy. A kiss of strangers.

They separated with a soft sigh. Before he even opened his eyes, Andrew stepped closer so their chests brushed together, brought his other hand to Micah's face, and kissed him again. Micah melted into his touch, clutching Andrew's hips. A faint moan freed itself from his throat before he could trap it, but the sound made Andrew hold him tighter. When they parted, Andrew's lips were bruised with color and his auburn lashes fluttered.

With a shaky laugh, Andrew rubbed his face and said, "Better than the kiss I'd been imagining."

"You'd been imagining us kissing?" asked Micah with a crooked grin.

Chewing his lip, Andrew looked away and muttered, "Never you mind. I, ah…let's…I can't forget why we're out here." He took a step away and then swayed uneasily, letting out a shaky breath.

Micah started to move closer to him and then froze. "You okay?"

"You're just intoxicating," Andrew said with a laugh. "That's the only explanation." He turned to the trail ahead, and then tripped on a protruding rock.

Micah's stomach twisted. "Intoxicating? What do you mean? Do you feel okay?"

Andrew glanced over his shoulder, his eyes crinkling. "Very much so. Do you?"

While the woods absorbed them into its cool shade, Micah ground the inside of his cheek between his teeth. He still felt stuck on the word Andrew had used. Intoxicating. It was a little too close. A little too suggestive that maybe Micah was, by nature, like a drug. Like his smell, and his touch, and his breath were imbued with more power than he wished. He clearly wouldn't be able to enjoy himself until he was sure he wasn't going to hurt anyone accidentally. Micah glared into the treetops overhead and considered what to do when he got off the path. At this point, if he liked Andrew at all, if he wanted this to go…anywhere, then he needed more than advice to protect Andrew. He needed some way to guarantee he couldn't hurt Andrew, no matter what. He wasn't knowledgeable enough to determine what to do on his own. But he needed a failsafe. An absolutely surefire way to ensure he wasn't doing anything…magical.

An outcrop of limestone jutted into the greenery, almost a cairn. Andrew went to move past it, but Micah caught the hem of his shirt. "I think we should get off the path here." He was next to an aluminum sign that read HIKING PROHIBITED.

Andrew lifted his face toward the wild bluffs that beckoned him with a sharp, curled finger. He kicked his boot against his ankle knife, adjusted the sachet of berries under his shirt, and swiped stray hairs back from his eyes.

Micah smiled faintly. He climbed into the underbrush and then turned back, holding his hand out to Andrew. "We'll be fine."

Andrew wanted to believe that they would be. But he had a better idea of the danger the bluffs posed now than when he was here last time, and that did not reassure him.

Drawing him back to the present, Micah said softly, "I swear."

Partly out of respect for Micah's sincere expression, Andrew relented. He used Micah's hand as an anchor and climbed off the trail. As soon as they left the Brickyard Trail, the cloud-smeared sky widened above them.

Around them in the groves of black walnut and ash trees, deer watched them cautiously as they passed. Squirrels scampered past with big green walnuts in their mouths. Velvety brown rabbits froze when they were near, but did not scamper out of sight. They kept nibbling the reeds, big black eyes shining. Red-winged blackbirds dove for seeds and then fluttered away, the neon patches on their wings like airplane signals in the dark. A blue jay yelled at them. Cicadas hummed, and the rush of the river below was a constant purr deep from the earth. The air carried on its current the sweet smell of the prairie grasses that could almost be tasted. Micah stole a glance at Andrew over his shoulder.

Andrew's cheeks were bright with concentration but he bent and folded himself to the contours of the land with ease. Rather than treating the life around him like an inconvenience, each footfall was carefully placed to avoid breaking flower stalks and long-stemmed reeds. Andrew moved without causing harm and touched leaves with just his fingertips. He was honoring the natural grace of the land.

Andrew looked up and found Micah staring. His lips twitched and his eyes danced but he kept on without saying anything.

Micah looked away and muttered bemusedly, "I'm in trouble." Especially because, out of context, this felt like a date. The weather was pleasant, the hills were hushed except for the wildlife, and the company was sweet.

But for Andrew, every step took him back five years to when he was looking for his mum. Every step brought his attention back to his shattered sanity. The likelihood he'd run into that scarlet-eyed faerie was way too great. At least this time, he knew Sam was out here, closer every minute to having his own deadly encounter with the Folk.

Andrew's ankle buckled. He fell hard on his hip and swore, elbow jamming into mud and clover. On the steep incline of loose earth there wasn't anything to grab to stop himself. His boots scrabbled for purchase as he started to slide. Deafened by his panic, Micah lunged and clasped both hands around Andrew's waist, yanking him to a halt. Andrew gasped, hanging onto Micah's biceps, which bulged to support him. His thigh had come up against a large root crawling with earthworms and beetles and smelling of fresh soil.

Micah stared in confusion at the root. He swore it had emerged out of the ground just to rescue Andrew. He shook off the oddness of it and then looked back at Andrew, whose expression was pained and whose cheeks had turned the bright red of embarrassment.

"You good?" Micah asked, scanning Andrew's foot to see if any angles looked wrong. "Your ankle okay?"

Heart pounding, Andrew held onto him for a few deep breaths to let his sense of panic abate. Then he nodded curtly and managed, "Physically, fine. Emotionally, mortified." He used Micah's shoulder and dug his boots into the silty ground and stood, gingerly testing his weight on his ankle. It was a bit tender, but didn't give out.

One corner of Micah's lips quirked. "‘Physically fine but emotionally mortified' is the story of my life." He clapped the mud off his hands and took a step back up the bluffs so he was equal in height to Andrew. They traversed in silence for some time, leaving the shelter of trees, the powder-blue sky swallowing them up.

They were further into the bluffs than Andrew had gotten when he met the scarlet-eyed faerie. The land was unfamiliar, and growing more fearsome. Ahead, a large limestone cliff loomed above scraggly brambleberry bushes and some short crabapple trees. Sparrows roosted in the branches, chirping, picking at the fruit. The face of the cliff was scrawled with powdery white graffiti tags and carved with signatures and profanity, and quite a few crudely drawn penises.

Micah glared at the defacement, using his thumb to try to scrape away some of the profanity. "Fucking scoundrels," he muttered. He laid both hands on the limestone and glanced back at Andrew, looking uncertain. "Hey, I have to—"

"Oh my god. Andrew?"

Under the shadow of the southern edge of the cliff, Sam clambered to his feet, ducking out from under a crabapple branch and slapping at fountain grass like a cat.

Andrew's heart lurched and his stomach dropped, bringing him a nauseating flood of relief as he cried, "Sam! Sam. Sweet mercy, you're all right."

Sam staggered toward him, squeaking as he tripped on a tangle of roots and landed on one knee.

"Hold on, stay right there. Don't slip." Andrew vaulted over a boulder and reached out for his apprentice's arm. When he had a good grip on him, he snatched Sam into a tight embrace and clapped his back. "What a relief." Andrew clutched him by the shoulders and demanded, "Are you hurt?"

Sam shook his head and dashed tears from the corners of his wide eyes. "No. Just very lost. I don't have any cell service. Cirrus ditched me basically right away." He blinked and looked past Andrew. Then up. "Um, holy shit." Sam pointed.

They both turned as Micah reached up and found handholds on the steep crag. After a brief search, he hauled himself off the ground, feet deftly finding purchase. He carried himself straight up the looming cliffside without looking down. Inspect, reach, pull, foothold, repeat. No line, no hesitation, no stumbling. Wearing Vans. Micah clambered out of sight but then his head popped back out, silhouetted against the glare of the rising sun.

"I'll be right back," Micah called. "Don't move, you two." A handful of limestone pebbles cascaded down from where he disappeared.

"Wait," said Sam, pointing at the cliff, and then at Andrew.

Hands on his hips, Andrew stood with his head thrown back, staring, and then barked a small laugh.

"Hold on." Sam's mouth hung open. "Was that Micah? How did you end up out here with him? I thought you were at a café!"

"Later. I need to get you out of here."

"Oh my god. I'm so excited for you."

A tendril of frustration flared in Andrew. "Yeah, okay, but you shouldn't fuck around in Lilydale, Sam."

Sam flinched. "I'm sorry. We were already practically lost when Cirrus started spouting some gibberish. She thinks faeries are real, and people think they live out here with some…some goth Lady in charge—"

Andrew groaned. "She was talking about the Folk? I knew it."

Blinking, Sam said, "What? Is she right?"

With gritted teeth, Andrew repeated, "Later." He grabbed Sam's arm and helped him past the jutting cliff face. It was so steep beyond it, they were practically crawling. "Why did she ditch you?"

"I don't know. She said she wanted to party. I told her I had to work soon. So she was just like, ‘bye, square,' and then ran into the trees. Bitch."

Andrew growled in annoyance. "Can I get her number from you? I want to rip her a new one."

"It's not—whoa!" Sam's free arm pinwheeled. Andrew grabbed the collar of his shirt and hung on until Sam steadied himself. Sam continued, "It's not worth the drama. I'm just lucky you bailed me out." He was just in an oversized tee and biker shorts, and his sneakers were too chunky to be practical. It was impressive he made it out this far into the bluffs without getting hurt.

"You are lucky," said Andrew. "Micah found you right away."

"How?" demanded Sam. "You've been talking about him all month, and then—"

"I kissed him this morning." Andrew bit his lip, ears burning and his stomach doing a flip as he thought about it again. How impulsive could he be?

Sam squealed, "Are you serious?"

"But he's hiding something. I think he—he might be a faerie."

"A what?" Sam grabbed Andrew's elbow and spun him around to face him. "Wait, are you using that as a slur?"

Indignant, Andrew scoffed, "What? Absolutely not."

"So you mean faeries are real? Like, the magical creatures with the little wings?"

"Why do you think Lilydale is so dangerous?" Andrew said.

Someone stepped out in front of them as if parting an invisible curtain. "Why, indeed?" sang a sweet, high voice.

Sam screamed, and Andrew spun around and drew his sword before he even saw what their threat was. He crossed the blade protectively in front of Sam.

Clutching Andrew's arm with both hands, Sam yelped, "Sword!"

A short, busty woman blocked their way forward. She had a thick rope of silvery-white hair draped over her shoulder, strung with wildflowers and glinting stones. She was in a silky pink bra and white frayed shorts that displayed her ample curves. "I've heard about you, tall one. Where are you two headed in such a hurry?" Her sharp ears protruded horizontally, pierced with delicate golden bars and snug hoops. Her skin was the color of green tea with cream.

"Let us pass," said Andrew.

"I bet you're hungry," said the faerie. She held out a green apple, technicolor-bright.

Dreamily, Sam said, "You're beautiful." He tried to pass Andrew, reaching for the apple.

Andrew stuck Sam with an elbow to his gut. Sam grunted but stayed back. Andrew said coldly, "We do not want your food. We're just trying to get back to the park."

The faerie pouted. She said, "You can't leave before you've played with me. How about a riddle?"

Sam whispered, "I like riddles."

Andrew shushed him sharply.

"Chamomile, you little shit!" Micah's voice crashed through the underbrush with him as he jumped onto the path between Andrew and the female faerie. "How did you give me the slip? I'm gonna cut your goddamn hair."

With a dismissive click of her tongue the female rolled bright eyes heavenward and said, "Calm down, Nightshade Boy."

"Nightshade Boy," Andrew repeated under his breath.

"Calm down?" Micah laughed sharply. He stalked toward the female he'd called Chamomile. "You braided my shoelaces into thistle and then hunted my friends!"

Andrew seized the distraction. He lunged at the female, closing the distance between them with two quick strides. His blade arced through the air, the point landing on the hollow of her throat.

Her bright blue eyes widened. She became quite still.

"Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa." Micah straightened. He hooked his arm through the crook of Chamomile's elbow. He held his other hand out toward Andrew. "Andrew, put the sword down," he urged softly.

Andrew kept the blade against her. He said, "She tried to feed us Fae-spelled food. I don't fuck with that. If I hadn't been here and she'd offered it to Sam, then what? He doesn't know any better."

The faerie scoffed and glared at the heavens.

Hesitating, Micah adjusted his hold on her. Then he said gently, "It was an apple from the supermarket. I saw the bag she had. There's a sticker on it."

"Hold on. Huh!" Sam stepped into view holding the green apple. "Look at that. It's from Trader Joe's."

Chamomile's luminous blue gaze shifted to Micah as her white eyebrows arched.

Something wasn't right with that sticker. Andrew's géas was tingling as if to tell him it was a lie, but in a trembling whisper and not a scream. Suspicion growing, he looked at Micah and set his jaw.

Micah continued, "Chami is my friend. She wanted to meet you."

Narrowing his eyes, Andrew said to the faerie, "How do you know me?" To Micah, he asked, "And how do you know her?"

Chamomile raised her chin defiantly. She tried to pull free but Micah kept his grip on her elbow, not taking his eyes from Andrew.

"I told her about you," insisted Micah. "I shouldn't have done that and I'm sorry. After The Squire, I needed—well, she's—like Cirrus, it's the music scene…" Micah trailed off at the look on Andrew's face.

Andrew shook his head, once, sharp. He pressed the tip of the sword harder against the faerie's throat. "I'm not buying any of this."

The faerie tilted her head down and gazed at the blade. Several small red blisters bubbled to the surface of her skin. Lifting hateful, hooded eyes to Andrew, she said flatly, "You have a reputation here."

Andrew froze.

Her pink lips spread in a cruel smile, revealing jagged silver-bright teeth. She traced her thumb across her forehead, in the same spot where the scarlet-eyed faerie had marked him with her blood.

As Micah watched the color drain from Andrew's face, he looked again at the faerie's blistering throat, grabbed her by the elbow, and yanked her back.

Andrew did nothing but allow them to move away from the reach of his sword. His adrenaline and pounding heart locked him in a fighting stance with right foot forward and left foot back at an angle. Andrew's fear made him an animal, hunched down and poised to strike, his umber eyes blank as stone.

After a heavy silence, Micah said, "You guys should get out of here."

"What about you?" Sam asked. "Shouldn't you leave with us?"

Letting his sword arm fall, Andrew said, "He'll be fine. Won't you, Nightshade Boy?"

Micah grimaced.

Andrew grabbed Sam by the wrist and strode purposefully past the pair. He stopped beside Micah, their shoulders almost brushing as he faced north toward the park and Micah faced south toward Lilydale. Looking down and locking eyes with Micah, he asked softly, "You've done a lot of lying today. Haven't you?"

By Micah's elbow, Chamomile snickered.

Micah's face turned blotchy red. He searched Andrew's face for a silent moment, lips stretching into a deeper frown. He finally said, "I don't know how to answer that."

Andrew nodded. "You just did."