Spells

seemed silly, paranoid. For the second time, Klea had saved her from the brink of death. And not just her, but her two best friends in the world. It was a debt she could never hope to repay.

And yet, despite that, something still held Laurel back. Something visceral that told her this was not a woman to be trusted.

“Take this,” Klea said, her voice calm as she handed Laurel a knife. Disturbingly calm, Laurel thought, for someone who had just shot a man in the head. “Cut them free, then meet me downstairs. I have to flag my team in.”

She turned without another word and headed down the stairs.

Laurel ran to David and began hacking at the ropes. They came away easily under the razor-sharp blade. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered. “Not to Chelsea yet, and especially not to Klea. I’ll make up something.” She touched his ribs gingerly. “And as soon as we get back to the car, I’ll take care of your ribs and hand, okay? Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

He nodded, his face pale and twisted with pain.

Laurel hurried to the chair where Chelsea was tied and made short work of her ropes too. Chelsea’s wrists were red where the ropes came free and Laurel wondered just how long Barnes had made her sit there, gun pressed to her head, waiting for them. Refusing to dwell on it, Laurel pulled the blindfold away from Chelsea’s eyes.

Chelsea blinked against the light and rubbed her wrists as Laurel sliced at the ropes around her ankles.

“Can you walk?” Laurel asked gently.

“I think I’ll manage,” Chelsea said, staggering a little. She focused on David. “You don’t look too good, either.”

“You should see the other guys,” David said, smiling wanly. He pulled Chelsea to him, hugging her with more force than Laurel thought his ribs should be subjected to right now. But she didn’t blame him. “I’m just glad you’re alive,” he said to Chelsea.

Laurel wrapped her arms around both of her friends. “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this, Chelsea. I never intended…I never meant to…”

“Never meant to what?” Chelsea asked, rubbing at the red marks on her neck. “Nearly get me killed? I certainly hope not. Please tell me that’s not going to be an everyday thing now.” She let out a breath. “What happened here?”

Laurel looked helplessly at David. “Well, um, you see…the thing is…”

“Here,” Chelsea said, sitting down in the same chair they’d just untied her from and crossing her legs. “Let me just sit here while you think of a good lie.” She waved her hand at the far side of the room. “Maybe you and David should go confer over in the corner so your stories match. ’Cause that would help. Or,” she said, raising one finger in the air, “you could just tell me that every fall an enormous bluish-purple flower grows out of your back, because apparently you’re some kind of faerie. And then you could explain how these — I think he said trolls? — have been hunting you because you’re hiding a special gate from them. Because personally, I find that the truth keeps life a lot simpler.”

Laurel and David just stood there, slack-jawed.

Chelsea looked back and forth between them in confusion. “Oh, please,” she finally said. “Did you honestly think I didn’t know?”

TWENTY-SIX

KLEA ROWED THEM ACROSS THE WATER IN A WIDE, flat-bottomed boat. “My guys are going to take care of everything here at the lighthouse,” she said. “You two take your friend back to her car, then get yourselves home.”

They lurched to a stop on the beach and a tiny grunt of pain escaped David’s lips. The three friends unloaded and each girl took one of David’s arms, trying to help him walk without letting Klea know just how hurt he was. Though Klea had saved their lives, they had agreed that she should know as little as possible about Laurel. That meant getting David away quickly so that Laurel could take care of him without anyone observing.

“Laurel,” Klea called.

“Keep walking,” Laurel whispered to David and Chelsea. “I’ll be right there.” Then she turned and walked back to Klea.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

“You got here right on time,” Laurel replied.

“Still, if I had been two minutes later.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’m glad I had some of my guys watching you tonight. I wish—” She paused, shaking her head. “I wish you had called me. Anyway,” she continued before Laurel could respond, “how did you dispatch those other four trolls? I was amazed.”

Laurel hesitated.

“I looked at those trolls. There are no broken bones, no gunshots, no wounds whatsoever. Out like lights, and I don’t expect them to wake up for hours yet. Are you going to tell me what really happened?”

Laurel pressed her lips shut as she searched for a lie. But she came up blank. She was too tired to think of anything good. But she wasn’t going to tell Klea the truth, either, so she said nothing.

“Fine,” Klea said with a strange smile. “I get it, you have your secrets. You obviously don’t trust me yet,” she said, her voice soft. “But I hope one day you will. Really trust me. You’re clearly not helpless, but I could help you so much — more than you know. Regardless,” she said, turning her gaze back toward the lighthouse, “having actual specimens will be helpful. Very helpful.”

Laurel didn’t like the way Klea said specimens. But she remained silent.

Klea studied her for several long seconds. “I’ll be in touch,” she said firmly. “You’ve proven resourceful and I could really use your assistance in another, unrelated matter — but it can wait a bit.” Before Laurel could respond, Klea spun on her heel and leaped lightly back into the boat, gripping the pole with strong hands.

Laurel stayed just long enough to watch Klea push off the sandy beach before turning and running to catch up with David and Chelsea. They had reached David’s car by the time Laurel joined them. David groaned as he slipped into the passenger seat and Chelsea gripped Laurel’s arm. “We have to get him to the hospital. His ribs have got to be broken and that cut under his eye might need stitches.”

“We can’t go to the hospital,” Laurel said, digging in her backpack.

“Laurel!” Chelsea said, her face white. “David needs help!”

“Relax,” Laurel said, unwrapping a tiny bottle of blue liquid. “Being friends with a faerie has its perks.” She loved being able to say that in front of Chelsea. She unscrewed the top of the bottle and lifted out the dropper, then leaned over David, who was breathing loud, labored breaths. “Open,” she said softly.

David opened one eye and looked at the familiar bottle. “Oh, man,” he said. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all night.” He opened his mouth and Laurel squeezed two drops in.

“Now hold still,” she said, letting one drop fall onto her finger. She gently rubbed it against the gash on his face. “All better,” she whispered as she watched his skin knit back together.

She stood and turned to Chelsea. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Chelsea shook her head. “He was pretty nice to me, considering…” But her eyes were focused on David. “Wait a second.” She leaned over and studied the skin under his eye. “I could have sworn…”

Laurel laughed, and even David joined in quietly. “In a few minutes his ribs and hand will heal too.”

“Are you kidding me?” Chelsea asked with wild, excited eyes.

It reminded Laurel of the way David had reacted when he first found out she was a faerie. She grinned and held up the blue bottle. “It’s useful — David gets beat up by trolls on a regular basis.”

David snorted.

“Why don’t you fix your hand?” Chelsea asked.

Laurel looked down at the burns on her fingers and wondered how she had ever thought she could hide anything from Chelsea. It was hard to tell she was hurt because, unlike humans, her skin didn’t turn red when it burned. The color hadn’t changed at all, actually. But tiny bubbles—blisters, she corrected herself — had formed on her palm and trailed down two of her fingers. She stared at her aching hand in wonder. She’d never had a blister before.

Well, not that she could remember.