Stolen Away (7 page)

I checked for a message or a text from Hot Guy a hundred times. I checked it so often my chem teacher confiscated my phone until the last bell rang; then I knocked over the janitor in my rush to get it back. Eloise was working and Devin had his nose in a book, so I went back to the café. I was hoping Hot Guy would drop by again. I could pretend to be surprised he was there, pretend I hadn’t thought about him all night and all day, pretend I didn’t tingle just remembering the way he’d crowded me against the car.

No one was that good at pretending.

I ordered an iced cinnamon latte and tried to read my novel. It was about Eleanor of Aquitaine and dead interesting, but I couldn’t stop glancing at the door every time it opened. I was probably being pathetic. I’d never see him again, but
until I was too old to even remember my own name, I’d remember the way he held my hand in the fields. Or else I’d run into him in some faraway city, Paris perhaps, on the night before his wedding and he’d weep. Or at least look devastated and kiss me as rain fell around us and the Eiffel Tower lit up the sky. I was still weaving very melodramatic daydreams when a shadow fell over me.

It took me a moment to realize I wasn’t imagining him.

He looked down at me, his smile slow and wicked. Butterflies fluttered pleasantly in my belly. “Hello,” he said in his whiskey voice, in that strange accent that was faintly British and yet not.

“Hi.”

“I was hoping to see you again,” he admitted softly.

“Same here.” I put my book down. “Do you want to sit?”

He didn’t look away from me. “How about a walk in the park? It’s rather … crowded here.”

“Okay.”

We stepped out into the late-afternoon heat, but I barely noticed the weight of the humidity this time or even the heat coming off the melting pavement. The trees circled us like dancers, shaking brittle leaves like castanets. And then the world around us receded, faded to meaningless noise and gray shadows until there was nothing but the nearness of his body, the confident, nearly arrogant, way he walked, and the set of his jaw.

“You don’t come from Rowan, do you?”

He half smiled. “My family’s from the area.”

“Oh, yeah. You have a cousin here, right?”

“Yes. And you? Do you live at your grandparents’ farm?”

“Not really, but I spend most of my time there. I want to run it once I graduate.”

He gave me the once-over, noting my long lace skirt and gypsy-style sleeveless top. “You don’t look like a farmer.”

I grinned. “I want to write books too.”

“Ah, that explains it,” he teased. “You have the look about you. They used to say that poets and madmen brought stories from the other worlds.”

Was it wrong to just grab him and kiss him?

I restrained myself, but only barely. “What do you want to do? After school?” I slanted him a considering look, just as he’d done to me. “Are you in college?”

“I’m in the family business,” he replied, his voice suddenly bland.

“Is is worm farming?” I felt a need to make him smile again. Clearly he felt the same way about the family business as my mother did. “Or degreasing french-fry machines?” I added with mock horror. “Knitting? Making doilies?”

He chuckled. It was a rusty sound, as if he wasn’t used to it. “Yes, we’re a family of doily makers.”

“I’d stick to water witching, then. Much sexier.”

“Duly noted.”

A crow gave a raucous call from a nearby tree, like a smoker’s laugh. He tensed, shooting it a warning glance. He
stepped a little closer to me. His arm brushed mine as we wandered toward the pond and the woods behind it. There was no one else around; it was just the two of us, like in Granddad’s field. Until three more crows landed on the path in front of us. I frowned, thinking of Eloise’s story about the crows.

“That’s weird,” I said. “They must getting bold because of the drought. Maybe they’re hungry.”

He snorted. “They are at that.”

A few more crows descended, strutting around us in the grass.

“I’m not sure I like the look of those birds,” he said. There was a teasing smile hovering at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were serious. He slipped his arm around my waist, walking me backward as if we were moving to music only we could hear. He didn’t stop until my back rested against a tree and there was nowhere left to go. He pressed against me as if he really did mean to protect me, as if I were something precious.

And when he kissed me, I felt as substantial as sugar. Everything went sweet, went fiery, went sharp as lightning. He wasn’t just kissing me, he was tasting me. And I wasn’t just kissing him back, I was breathing him into my lungs, into my pores. It was a short kiss, more of a branding than anything else. It shouldn’t have affected me like that, shouldn’t have made me fist my hands in his shirt or made his breath rough when he pulled away, as if he’d been underwater.

There were crows all around us, perched in the trees and standing in the grass.

He kissed me again, roughly, before casting a dark and hateful glance at the birds.

“I have to go,” he said harshly. He looked angry, wild. My lips were still tingling, and I felt as if even my bones were on fire, but he stalked away, without looking back.

• • •

I floated all the way home, stopping only long enough to call Eloise, but she wasn’t answering. I sat in my room and grinned at the dark computer screen.

He’d kissed me.

Seriously
kissed me.

I was surprised the entire park hadn’t caught fire around us. I replayed it in my head, still smiling.

Then I yelped and fell right off my chair.

Because it’s not every day your best friend’s face flashes onto your monitor.

When it’s not even turned on.

“El? Crikey!”

“Crikey? Isn’t that Australian, not British?” Cole, my annoying younger brother, paused in my doorway. “And are you talking to yourself, lamebrain?”

“Get lost, git.” I reached out and kicked the door shut in his smirking face.

“Jo?”

I froze, looked around my bedroom slowly, wondering where Eloise was hiding. There were posters of castles and
Robin Hood
and
Pride and Prejudice
movies, heaps of clothes on my unmade bed, incense burning from a ceramic dragon, but no Eloise. Even though I swore I’d heard her, as well as seen her. I checked under the bed and then checked my mobile phone, but it was off, the battery drained when it had accidentally turned itself on in my knapsack. I checked my pulse too. Maybe the kiss had shot my temperature into a fever. It was hot enough, however brief.
Focus.

“Eloise?” I felt like an idiot, talking to my blank screen.

And then I felt positively barmy when her face stared back at me, the screen no longer blank. I knew her freckles and styled hair almost as well as I knew my own face. I’d never seen her that pale before, though.

“How are you
doing
that?” I asked. I was probably looking a little wild and pale myself, come to think of it. “My computer’s not even
on
.”

“You can hear me?” She looked as if she was going to cry, except that she was smiling too.

“Duh. I can see you too. Is this some kind of trick?” I looked for a projector of some kind.

“You can see me too? It must be the pendant. I was holding it when I said your name.” She wiped tears off her face. “How come I can’t see you?”

“Okay, if Cole snuck some kind of weird drug in my tea, I’m so going to kill him. A lot.”

“Jo, listen, you have to help me.” Eloise’s voice dropped to a frantic whisper. “I may not have much time.”

“You don’t even have a curfew. Which leaves us plenty of time for me to get lots of therapy,” I added drily.

She shook her head. “I don’t even know where I am, except it’s somewhere under a hill in west Rowanwood Park.”

“You’re in the park? So just follow one of the trails back to the lawns. It’s not
that
big. And by the way? How are you
doing
this?”

“I don’t know!”

“Quit yelling!”

“You’re yelling too!”

“Well, you’re
freaking me out
!”

We shared a strangled attempt at laughter. We could always make each other laugh, even when we were clearly losing our minds.

“Jo, Lucas was right. I
was
in danger.”

“Lucas? He did this to you?” I jumped to my feet. “I’ll kill him. Where is he? What’d he do?”

“Nothing. He tried to warn me. Look, it’s something to do with my aunt, like we thought, but I don’t know what yet. This guy’s holding me hostage.”

“You’ve been kidnapped? I’m calling your mom.” I reached for the phone. “And the cops. The fire department. I don’t know, somebody!”

“Don’t!”

I paused. “What? Why the hell not?”

“Because this guy’s not … normal. He’s Fae, Jo, like in all those books and poems you read. His name’s Strahan.”

“Is this an April Fool’s thing? In October? I thought we made a pact last year not to do that anymore.” Actually, after the spaghetti incident, our mothers had threatened to ground us until we graduated.

“Jo, I know this is weird, but you gotta believe me.” Her lip wobbled, like she was trying not to cry.

“Hey, take it easy,” I said. I might be a girl, but I don’t do well with crying. That’s Devin’s department; he just lets people cry and never looks uncomfortable. I was already squirming. I was also going to find this Lucas and kick his ass. He was clearly involved, whatever Eloise might say. “I believe you, El.”

I paused, something tickling my brain. I knew something, something important about the Fae. I ran through the poems and novels in my head, then shouted into the monitor. “El!”

She yelped. “What? Don’t do that!”

“Don’t eat anything. Or drink anything either. At all. I mean it.”

“Why not? Isn’t it bad enough I’m stuck here, I have to starve too?” Nothing made Eloise crankier than being deprived of food. I’d seen her kiss a piece of chocolate mousse pie once.

“If you eat or drink Fae food, you’ll be stuck there forever.”

“Oh God,” she groaned. “Now all I can think about is mashed potatoes. And olives.”

“Gross.” I ran a hand through my hair, dislodging the messy braid. “Right. Fae abductions. I’ll see what I can do. Then I’ll look up the nearest psych ward,” I muttered.

• • •

I spent the rest of the evening doing research. I googled things I never thought I’d google, like Fae history and Fae charms, and all the different names they went by: Faery, Fairy, Fey, the Good Neighbors, the Wee Folk. I even googled the topography of Rowanwood Park. Some of the websites made my eyeballs hurt, some were helpful, some were boring as dust. I tried another search on Eloise’s aunt but came up empty. I dug out all my English papers and flipped through my books and took notes in a journal with color-coordinated felt-tip pens. I loved researching bits of history or mythological trivia. I even loved reading all of the old fairy poems—just not when my best friend’s life might possibly depend on it. Talk about pressure.

The next morning I skipped school and went straight to the public library and found a quiet corner in the back. We often came here to do homework on Sunday afternoons. Well, Eloise did homework. I looked at the cute guys. Like the one standing by the photocopiers right now, his hair long and straight and his jeans frayed at the bottom. He looked a little bit like Hot Guy. Whose name I still didn’t know, I realized.
I gathered my books to go say hello, but by the time I stood up, he was gone.

Just as well
, I told myself sternly. I had more important things to worry about than flirting, even if I liked flirting as much as Eloise liked strawberry tarts. I forced my attention back to the yellowed books piled all around me. Most of them were old, with folded pages and cellophaned covers.

In the movies, this was so much easier. There was always an old woman who hobbled over to give you the clue you needed the most, even if it didn’t make sense at the time. Here, there were only guys throwing spitballs at each other, people studying, a girl talking on her mobile phone, and librarians. And the only old woman we’d seen had pelted us with acorns.

When my journal was half full of little bits of information that might or might not be useful, I decided to take myself off to Rowanwood Park. I was starting to feel overwhelmed and discouraged, and besides, maybe if I could find the hill Eloise was talking about, I’d figure out a way to get her the hell out of it.

’Cause, you know, that made sense.

I really, really wanted to call Devin. And Eloise’s mom. If Eloise was missing, wouldn’t her mom have called me looking for her?

I reached for my mobile and dialed Eloise’s house line. Jasmine answered groggily. “ ’Lo?”

“Hi, Ms. Hart,” I said. “Sorry to call so early, but is Eloise there?”

“She left me a note saying she was sleeping at your place last night.”

Oh. Shit.

“Oh, um, yeah, but she stopped at home to pick up some books,” I lied hastily. “I just wanted to remind her not to forget her … history homework. Her mobile died.”

I could hear Eloise’s mom moving around. “Not here.” She yawned.

“Okay,” I said as cheerfully as I could. “She must be on her way to the library. Bye!” I hung up as fast as I could. Luckily Eloise’s mom was never quite coherent in the mornings since she worked so late at night. She probably didn’t notice I was lying through my teeth.

Eloise didn’t leave that note.

So who did? And why? To put us off her trail? Which meant she was really missing. She’d really been stolen away by the fairies.

I ran all the way to the park.

The wrought-iron doors were open, tall dry grass on either side. The low stone wall that ran along the front of the park was full of people, eating hot dogs, drinking coffee, just sitting in the leaf-shadowed sunlight.

No one had giant glittery wings or ferns for hair.

That was comforting at least.

I went down the path, which was clogged with Rollerbladers and dog walkers, and passed the gazebo where they held outdoor concerts and Shakespearean plays in the summer.
I went every year without fail, usually alone since I couldn’t get Eloise or Devin to come with me anymore. They’d grouped together in a strike and would now only meet me for ice cream afterward. Was it my fault they were culturally deficient? How could you not love Ophelia running around in a whalebone corset, tossing flowers, and making mad pronouncements? It was brilliant, plain and simple. I thought of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
all of a sudden and hoped fiercely that no one would come away from our little situation with a donkey’s head.