With a Kiss (Twisted Tales) (25 page)

“Oh, you don’t want them to hear what we have to say. Why is that, I wonder?” The Merrow looked intrigued and swam around us, ducking and diving. “You don’t want
her
to know?” Hobs winced. Had they read his mind this time? It seemed they got it spot on. We were in their playground.

“Bugul, just keep rowing and shut your mind off,” Hobs whispered. His mouth was close enough to my ear for me to hear what I wasn’t supposed to.

“Your own mother . . . ?”

Hobs splashed the Merrow maiden in the face and she choked on her words. He laughed a little, but sobered immediately, trying to get me to the snowy shore. “Don’t look back.” He practically carried me through the seaweed and up onto the bank, his legs fighting for footing through the ankle deep water once we found land. The water maidens shouted after us, but I didn’t want to hear what they had to say anymore. They used truth to deceive and turned us against each other . . . unless? Nothing they had repeated from my mind had been wrong—not entirely. It had all been based on a nugget of truth. I didn’t know what to think.

Bugul and Babs had docked to the side of us. Hobs had me by the arm and together, we slipped over the slushy rocks to meet them. I pulled my ridiculous sixties skirt back to my knees—the shock of the cold air hitting me as I left the steaming water. My boots felt heavy and sodden as we retreated onto the blanket of snow against the bank, though not fast enough to miss the Merrow’s next words. “She is your
Leannan Sith
, is she?” Hobs got red and he mopped the wet hair from his face. The Merrow ducked their heads, pretending to simper out congratulations.

I turned to him, my body shaking with the cold. “What’s . . . that . . . that mean? Leannan Sith?”

He hesitated, but in the end, couldn’t resist sharing the joke with me. “It means faery sweetheart.” His lips trembled with the cold. “I
told
you their truth is distorted . . . unless you’re falling for me, of course.” He laughed at my look of surprise, though I noticed it was slightly shaky. “Didn’t think so.” He pulled me closer, and I clutched his warm body, desperate to get some heat out of him. He took full advantage of it, so he could cover my ears with his hands. I felt his rough fingers catch in my hair, shutting out all the background noise. He shouted back at the Merrow. He shouldn’t have bothered. It was muffled, but I could still hear—I just couldn’t understand the language. The Merrow drew back in sudden surprise.

I fought his hands away from my ears. “What did you tell them?” I demanded.

He let me go, peeling his wet shirt from his stomach to wring it. “I gave them something they couldn’t twist. The truth. They don’t like it.” Hobs let his dripping shirt go in defeat. It was hopelessly crushed against him. He splashed over to the boat instead and dragged it further up the bank. He gathered Babs out of it and set her on the snow, not letting go of her wet hand. He grabbed mine as well. Bugul gave him a disgusted look and pulled out of the boat. “What?” Hobs asked. “I’m out of hands. Maybe next time,
best friend
.”

With an expression of intense dislike, Bugul retrieved his club from the hull. Even Hobs couldn’t pretend to mistake his meaning. His reluctant eyes went to me. “I should get you out of those wet clothes.” My sodden sixties outfit was freezing; the murky swamp water steamed up into the chilly air. Soon, I’d be a block of ice. “I don’t know, though,” he said, “I kind of like your wet look. It makes your hair go black.” Hobs let me go to tuck a piece of wet hair behind my ear.

I blushed. “You just like to see me uncomfortable.”

“That’s not the only reason.” Bugul took a threatening step closer, and Hobs sighed in defeat and reached out to tap me on the head. My wet clothes sizzled and dried. The go-go boots evaporated into my old fur-trimmed ones from home. The sixties skirt grew and slid down my legs, transforming into jeans. Soon I wore a coat and a blissfully heavy sweatshirt. The unexpected comfort came as a relief. After changing Babs’ clothes into dry ones with a similar tap to her head, Hobs went back to studying me. “Hmmm, I got something wrong.” He touched me again and my coat turned from white to black. “Yeah, more you. Matches your heart.”

I tore away from him, but at least I was warm—for the moment.

Chapter Sixteen

Do you remember how the dreams of glory
Kept fading from us like a fairy treasure;
How we thought less of being fam’d in story,
And more of those to whom our fame gave pleasure.
Do you remember in far countries, weeping,
When a light breeze, a flower, hath brought to mind
Old happy thoughts, which till that hour were sleeping,
And made us yearn for those we left behind?
Do you remember this
?

—Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton,
Recollections

T
he light from the fire danced across our tired faces. I was cold. My hair was still wet, and my stomach rumbled with hunger. And I had some faery song stuck in my head, and there was no way it was coming out. But at least I could sleep now. And I didn’t feel sick . . . not like I was in the Otherworld. Wait—the Otherworld? Now I was thinking like the faeries. Home was
not
the Otherworld. This place was the foreign one.

Night had descended on the Sidhe. The forest branches creaked over us, heavy with the weight of the snow. The trees stretched long spindly fingers into the starlit sky. In just a moment, the branches would have us all in their grasp. My mouth lifted at the turn of my thoughts. This place made me paranoid.

With a kiss, one, two, three, the sun circles. Another world you’ll see. Then one and two, midnight strokes. Break these bonds and end this hoax.

According to the faery queen’s curse, I had one more day left in the Sidhe. One more day—until the stroke of midnight to get Babs back to her mother.

And if I didn’t? What would happen?

I looked across the fire at Hobs. He had changed from his wet clothes to a warm brown jacket and worn-out jeans. The fire was playing tricks with his hair, turning straw into gold. He hunted through our backpack, taking an inventory of what was left. But his gaze wasn’t on the faery gifts—it was on me. As soon as I became aware of it, he looked away and smiled bitterly with just a hint of something that I couldn’t read. Well okay, I could a little bit. It was like he was waiting. I didn’t know why, but his eyes betrayed him, because in them I sensed something impossible, like he knew me more than I knew myself. I couldn’t figure it out, but I could tell he was frustrated. Something stirred inside me when I looked at him too, something I never felt before. Affection?

Never.

I shouldn’t try to read him anymore. It would make me too close to him, and it wasn’t like he was my Prince Charming. I knew his stats, had Googled him even—a good faery to have around when he wasn’t stealing kisses and making girls cry. It all added up to one thing: player. I shouldn’t try to read myself, either. My stats were just as bad as his. I had a cold heart jumpstarted by a faery queen. Now that I was bombarded by these strange new emotions, it only made sense that I would latch onto the first guy I felt something for—and a faery at that. It was forbidden. I looked at Babs, her head heavy on my arm. This strange place was messing with my heart.

I lowered Babs to my lap, smoothing her blonde hair back from her sleeping face, a face that had grown so precious to me. Light freckles stood out on her cheeks and I unconsciously connected the dots between them by the light of the flickering fire. Her future was completely dependent on me. Another scary thought. I didn’t know how to help her. Was her mother even her real mother? And if she wasn’t, did she at least want the best for the kid? I dearly hoped so, because if Babs ever loved me back, I had a very good chance of disappearing . . . or at least, doing something really stupid. It was really hard for me not to do something stupid.

“You need a kiss.”

My head lifted. Hobs didn’t look away this time. My heart lurched when I met his eyes. Had the nymphs turned a love potion on him after all? Knowing how they felt about me, and him, that was doubtful. Bugul growled in annoyance.

Hobs pulled his dark eyes from mine, giving him an innocent shrug. “What?” Bugul continued to glare and Hobs pushed past the faerytales in the backpack to dig out a gift from the nymphs; I recognized the container that held their nymph kisses. “Since you won’t take mine, this is the best I can do.” He stood up, edging past Bugul and the circle of fire to kneel beside me. He squeezed out the goo of nymph kisses from its container and rubbed it into my hand. It looked like lotion, except it was hot. His head turned to catch me with his probing look again. “It will warm you up.”

In what way? But the temptation to be warm was too much and I let him roll up my sleeves. His fingers trailed a path of heat through my arms. I felt it ooze over my skin and tingle through my senses as he rubbed it in. Soon, I wasn’t even shaking. The stuff worked better than hot chocolate. It made my hands glow. I loved it. I snatched more from the container and tried to rub it onto Babs’ exposed face.

 “Don’t.” Hobs blocked me with his arm. “It will burn her up worse than a fever. She’s warm enough.”

Babs was covered in furs, her cheeks rosy. She sighed happily and curled up against me. She looked content. I squared my shoulders and pressed my luck. “Got anything for hunger?”

“Not unless you want some faery food.”

And then what? Be stuck here forever? Bugul frowned in disapproval, and I had to adjust to the idea that he was the one the faery queen had sent to protect Babs. The wolves, nymphs, and Merrow had all confirmed it, so if I didn’t accept it, I’d be an idiot. But what did that make Hobs? Nothing the Merrow said about him made sense. I tried to put it together in my head—he was a prince. Though not necessarily sent by the faery queen, he had come to help us. Why?

He still watched me. The usual jaded look was gone. The concern on his face was foreign and it made my stomach twist—no guy ever watched me that way before, but then again, I was incapable of accepting affection until now. “You’ll be alright,” he said after a moment. “The faery queen killed you with her curse.”

Any peace I felt disappeared. “What?”

“I mean,” he grimaced, “she rid you of your human tendencies and barriers. You don’t need food. No one here does. You just think you do. Time is slower in the Sidhe.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean—we’ll fix it later. You’re not going to starve to death. No one ever has here. No worries.”

I tried not to think too hard on it. I stole Babs’ swirly toy from her limp fingers. Without having to say anything, my home appeared on the face of it. At least it
looked
like home. The leaves were golden and orange. They dropped gently over the green grass on our lawn. The sun was brilliant against the flat red roof. Below that, next to the balcony on the trampoline, I spied dark and blonde hair, two heads pressed together in laughter, their hair entwined. The blonde was Daphne, of course. The dark hair had to be mine . . . but no. It was my shadow’s. They were both having too much fun for it to be me.

The two lay on the trampoline, staring up at the clouds—comparing them to animals and celebrities and . . . me. They were laughing and making jokes. Daphne was in her gray sweats. She had snagged my shirt—it didn’t match, but I doubted she cared. It was mine. She loved everything that belonged to me. My shadow didn’t look like she cared, either. Her taste in clothes leaned more on the preppy side, with pink bubble shorts and a flirty shirt. They kicked their bare feet in the air and elbowed each other for no apparent reason. I smiled when they laughed so hard that they snorted and choked. Finally, they settled down and talked. I mean, they really talked. I frowned, feeling horrible.

It should’ve been
my
moment, except I hadn’t been capable of it. If none of this had happened, if I hadn’t been stolen away to the land of the faeries, if I had been there instead of here, this moment still could never have been mine. What had happened to make me this way?

The hands.
Still, I couldn’t blame them entirely. I was selfish. I had never appreciated my family like I should have. They loved me—and I always supposed that being their daughter was enough, but now I realized that it wasn’t. I didn’t do anything for them. I was mean. They never had any fun with me,
ever
. Was it too late to change things? Was I incapable of changing things? Even if I was unable to love, I still could have shared moments like these.

Hobs leaned next to me to look into the toy, and I felt the warmth emanating from him. His presence was somehow comforting. “Months have passed at home. You got homecoming queen, by the way. Well, your shadow did.”

“Months?” Besides the threat of becoming homecoming queen, I didn’t like the idea of losing so much time so fast. My hand landed against his chest. “What do you mean months?”