Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“Were there any issues tonight?” I asked the girls.
Delia shook her head. “No. There was a thing at the store, though.”
“Oh? What happened?”
“Some guy tried to throw a rock through Uncle Troy’s window, but you know,” she said with a shrug, “you can’t.”
The front windows of all the stores in the center of Osprey were shatterproof glass. To make sure the buildings always looked picture-perfect, even before the flood of visitors, that had been added to the town charter years ago. There had been too many storms with flying debris to not make that change.
“So then what, the rock bounced back and hit the guy in the head?” I asked her.
She nodded. “That’s what Uncle Troy said. And after that, Deputy Rooney cited the guy for attempted destruction of property, along with the others.”
“Others?”
“Yeah. I guess there were a bunch of tourists trying to do the same thing. Uncle Troy said that Deputy Rooney wrote several tickets and handed out a lot of ice packs.”
“Well, I’m glad they got tickets,” I told her. “Even though nothing happened, they should still know we take that kind of thing seriously.”
“Yeah,” she asserted, but she looked almost sad.
“What’s wrong?” I prodded.
“Nothing.”
“Please tell me.”
She sighed heavily. “I just can’t believe that Mrs. Flint and Mr. Slater think my uncle would ever hurt anyone else’s bees when he takes such good care of his. That’s crazy. I thought they knew him better than that.”
But the weird thing was, they did, and now that I was thinking about that, it bothered me. They were all friends, or had been. I’d forgotten that earlier, mostly because Diana’s hatred of me colored my perception of her and her actions. But Troy she had always liked. The same with Ken Slater, who, honestly, I hardly ever saw. We lived on opposite ends of a small town but still far enough away not to interact.
“You don’t think Uncle Troy is in any danger, do you?” Delia asked me.
“Of course not,” Father Dennis answered her.
She smiled at him, but she was waiting on me. I’d helped her in the past, was her guide on her magical journey, so she was looking to me for answers.
I offered her my hand, and she grabbed it fast. “I think everyone is being a bit crazy at the moment, but as you noted, people love your uncle, so I wouldn’t worry about him at work. And at home, as Father Dennis pointed out to me earlier, there’s the geese,” I reminded her.
She nodded, giving me a trace of a smile. “Yeah, the geese are no joke. And even if they don’t hurt you, they make so much noise, it’s crazy.”
“But if anyone asks?” I prodded her.
“They’re not pets, even though they have their own luxury cabin that—”
I coughed.
“Yeah, fine, they’re totally wild animals.”
“That’s right,” I agreed with a wink.
When I looked at Father Dennis, widening my eyes, it took him a moment, but then he nodded. Delia had lost both her parents two years ago. She could not lose either her aunt or uncle. She’d rebuilt her world around them, and they were her safety net. We both had to exude certainty that Troy and Rita were safe as houses.
“Okay, I’m outta here,” I announced. “I’ll see you all later.”
Turning back the way I came, I noticed a woman with iridescent wings walking with a man with deer horns and ears. Clearly, they would soon be performing on the main stage under the big white tent.
Passing others, though, I noted eyes that were seemingly too big for faces, smaller horns on others, like those of goats, and colors of skin, the palest blue, a flash of pink and gold, all leaving me with a singular deduction: it made sense that on a warm, sultry summer night, in a small town so close to the woods, there would be fae about.
Most of the time, it was hard to get a good look at them. They were those people you glanced at, noticed something different, something amiss, looked a second time, harder, only to realize it must have been a trick of the light, as they were so obviously merely people. But that wasn’t true. What had been revealed for that brief moment when the glamour fell aside was the being beneath the mask. Everyone could see magic at times, recognize what was apparent to our ancestors because they were raised to believe. Now, if people saw glittering purple eyes in the moonlight, they brushed it off, certain that was impossible. But I wasn’t like that. I’d been raised to see and to distinguish something other from the mundane. Added to that, I’d been branded by a god to recognize every trace of magic in the shadows, on the breeze, and, of course, walking around fairgrounds.
I felt two things at once: First, dread in the pit of my stomach. It was ballsy of them to be strolling out in the open without a care. Normally they were far more careful, so the fact that they weren’t meant that some piece was out of place. Some deterrent was missing. Second, when I stepped between two food stalls and stood still, checking my surroundings, I saw them everywhere. Not everyone at the carnival was a fae, but there were more than I’d seen in ages.