Chapter 9

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I do not dream of bad fathers; I stress crochet.

Library, library, library, library, library.

Decidedly, the library. The library—OBVIOUSLY—is where I get more answers.

I can't believe it didn't connect yesterday when Andromeda alluded to the fact that Willow volunteers at the library and reads to kids. Well, okay, I can believe it. Because what she told me surrounding that information implied more horrors that consumed all my thoughts, and then I had dinner with her family, and then I ran away from that dinner crying, and then I dreamed about her father playing the lead in a spicy Y/N monster romance.

Today, I need to survive.

And then…then I need to go to the library. Because today at the library is the children reading hour. And Willow might be there. And I may get to talk to her about everything.

"Hey…Kass?" Zahra's voice reminds me I need to breathe, so I toss a look up off my hook and yarn. "You okay, fam?"

My eye twitches, and I glance over the empty classroom. It's lunch break. I can hear the sounds of non-dying children chattering in the dining room next door. I take a breath, let it out. "I am stress crocheting."

Zahra presses her lips together. "Mmmhm…I can see that, Kass. Whatcha makin'?"

I lift the little pot. I need to stuff it. And crochet the succulents for it. And put a little "I'm totally okay and don't dream about horrible fathers" smile on the pot. With tiny blushies. Because tiny blushing succulent pots are important for my mental health.

"Very cute," Zahra offers.

"Not yet," I counter.

Planting her hands on my desk, her purple-rimmed green eyes peer through my very soul.

I swallow, as though she can see what I was doing last night. She knows I can still feel a hand around my throat, and I was totally into it. She knows the heat of monster-Pollux's skin is lingering like a summer cold. For having had a dream eater visit me, I've been left inundated with dreams ever since I woke up. I've shoved them into the corners of my mind and crushed them under the floorboards in my skull, but they keep growing from the cracks like a black mold.

I can't stop myself from replaying the gentleness, the looks in his deeply disconcerting eyes. I can't stop tracing every black line on his pale skin. If he shows up again, my brain has already practiced several hundred ways I want to touch him.

Which is terrible.

Because in much less fantasy shades, I will see Pollux Strakh again.

And instead of wanting to stab him for whatever he's done, the slideshow in the back of my brain will be running a different PowerPoint.

"Your face has gone redder than your hair," Zahra, kindly, informs me.

I slap a hand to my cheek, and narrowly miss stabbing myself in the eye with my hook.

Zahra's eyes spark. "Ooh. Didja meet someone last night?"

"No!"

"Totally met someone last night. Tell me who."

"I did not. I was in my room by nightfall. I started cutting a pattern for oven mitts. I made the oven mitts. I brought the oven mitts." I suck in a breath. "I nearly forgot about the oven mitts."

"What's the deal with oven mitts?"

I pull them out of the bottom drawer of my desk. They are small. With bees on them. Because the lining for one of my many bee dresses was the fabric I had available. "They're for Meda. To use at home."

"Those are criminally adorable."

"Thank y—"

"Ah, ah." Zahra waves a finger in my face. "Just so you know, I've decided that I identify as not only a problem, but also a faerie, and if you thank me, I will take your soul away to my little faerie house and put it in a cute little bed and care for it forever."

My entire world has gone mad.

Zahra leans back against my desk and peers at her nails. "Also, I've been teaching the kids to say my gratitude and I have appreciation for your actions instead of ‘thank you.' Complete with tiny bows. Because, duh."

Yep. My whole entire world has gone mad. Squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, I give my head a slight shake. "I don't know if their parents will appreciate that?"

"Tough. I care about these kids, and in case you haven't been paying attention, there's a bad unseelie on the loose near here. He's not getting my beans' souls. Period. They're still being polite, so their parents can suck it."

I think I need something with more kick than stress crocheting.

Like stress knitting.

Stress needlepoint.

Stress macrame.

As far as evil faeries go, I met one last night.

And I wanted to kiss him.

So.

There's that.

I don't recognize when my head has hit my desk until Zahra's murmuring, "Ow…are you all right?"

"Physically or mentally?" I mumble against my lesson plan book.

"Yes."

"No."

She sniffs. "Huh. That's less than ideal, then."

"Mrs. Role?" Andromeda calls, so I plant my prettiest I don't have scandalous dreams about your father smile in place and look up.

"Yes, sweetie? Is everyone behaving over there unsupervised?"

"I don't know. I was outside since I can't be around the other kids with you all the way over here." Andromeda lifts a large bundle that looks like a box wrapped in cloth. "Yama-nii-nii just dropped this off and said Daddy wanted me to let you know I got it."

"What is it?"

She sets the stack down, undoes the tie, and presents a multi-tier, Japanese-style lunch box. Pulling the wooden lid off, she displays rice and nori seaweed sheets cut and shaped to look like pandas, tiny veggie hot dogs cut into squids, fruit in heart and star shapes, egg rolls, tiny cubes of cheese with dice dots, smiley fries, pizza bites. She grimaces. "Lunch, he said."

It is the most beautiful lunch I have ever seen.

I'm sorry.

What?

Why is this starting now? All of a sudden?

Why did he specifically want me to know she had it, today of all days?

"It's an awful lot," Andromeda murmurs. "I'm normally still full from breakfast, and then we have lunch right when I get home. I'll make a snack in the evening. And then Daddy and I go hu…to work. So that's more food."

I stare as she uncovers another section with an assortment of friendly-looking baked goods.

Zahra grabs a chocolate chip cookie. "Yoink."

"Zahra," I snap.

She pops it in her mouth. "What? Stealing food from single children is good for them. It teaches them defenses that can only be attained with siblings."

Andromeda brightens and pushes the boxes toward me. "Maybe Daddy really made this for you."

Dearest.

My heart hits my ribs as I force my smile to stay right in place and my hands not to tap against each other. I've been hyped up on energy ever since my dream, hence the chaotic crocheting. "Meda, why would your father make a lunch for me?"

"He's shy." She giggles as her attention falls on the little oven mitts I forgot I took out just minutes ago, then she gasps. "Bees!"

"Kass made those for you," Zahra says around another stolen cookie.

I swat her hand. "Stop eating her lunch."

"It's a lot of lunch for such a tiny creature. It's my duty to make sure it isn't poisoned."

I scowl, then I realize Andromeda's huge blue eyes are pinned on me. "They're for me?" she asks, so softly, like she can't believe it. Like she can't believe anyone would ever get, or make, her anything.

My heart squeezes. "Oh, sweetie. If it's okay, yes, I made them for you. Do they fit?"

She drops her gaze, picks one up, and puts it on. Putting the other on, she holds her hands up and stares. "My very own real ones?"

"Well, you are going to be eight in a few months, so it seems an appropriate enough early birthday present."

She looks past the mitts. "Birthdays have presents?"

If her father appears in any more of my dreams, I willsomehow manage to stab him. I swear.

"Cake, too." Zahra steals a perfectly cubed brownie. "Do faeries not have birthdays?"

"Faeries tend to not have obligatory sorts of celebrations. The elves do throw a night party in the woods each month, but Daddy says it's a not-for-children party. And Zy likes to go. So I'm not allowed. It's every third Tuesday, if you're interested." She claps her mitts together, seeming dazed. "Even normal humans can hear the essence of the music and smell the faerie wine if they believe hard enough."

Zy.

The library.

"Do I need to be able to see the faerie wine in order to drink the faerie wine?" Zahra asks.

"The party is thick with natural glamour, so you wouldn't really be able to perceive anything too well. All the food and things are brought from Faerie, so they won't be perceptible to humans until the essence of magic wears thin. Daddy has faerie wine, though. If you want to try it, I'll ask him. It reacts funny with humans, but it's very sweet."

Of course her father has "faerie wine," and of course she's tried it. Leaving a little kid in a big house full of unlocked liquor cabinets is a recipe for disaster.

Andromeda tells Zahra about different kinds of faerie wines while my teaching assistant picks apart the child's lunch, so I take the time to remind myself about my attainable goals.

I just have to survive today.

And, if possible, stop thinking about last night.