Wicked Lovely Page 25
Aislinn stepped carefully over the icy ground. The guards she’d had follow them were waiting alongside Seth. They were still unfamiliar faces, on loan from Donia for the winter months while the summer fey were trapped inside.
“No one disturbs them.” She let her gaze drift over the guards, looking at each individually.
They waited, as quiet as winter nights.
She smiled as she added, “For any reason. If there’s any problem, call me.”
Aislinn nodded and held out a hand to Seth. “Come on. Let’s go introduce you to Grams. If she can accept this”—she gestured around them at the faeries and at herself—“she can accept you.”
He quirked his eyebrow. “You sure? Niall said I could bunk there.”
“Trust me.” She grabbed his hand.
He looked at his ripped jeans and battered jacket. “Maybe we could stop by the loft at least. I could change….”
“No.” Aislinn linked her fingers with his. “I showed her the other college apps you picked up for us. She thought we could go over them.”
His eyes lit up, and he pulled her closer. “I like the philo program at State best. They have a good poli-sci program for you too.”
She laughed. “We can relocate if we want. Keenan and Grams are both petitioning for that.”
Behind and in front of them, the winter guards spread out. None of the summer fey could come out in the blowing white drifts. Only the winter fey and dark fey played in the still night, solemn even in their revelry as she passed them—though more than a few snowballs sizzled into steam as the less easily intimidated fey saw her.
Even after almost three months, they weren’t any less terrifying, not really, but Aislinn felt safe for the first time in her life. It’s not anywhere near perfect, but it can be.
Using Seth’s hand for leverage, she pulled him closer. “Let’s go home.”
They walked through the snowy streets, her skin glowing enough to keep them both warm. The rest—her fears, the court’s demands, Keenan’s worries—it would all wait. When the Summer Queen rejoiced, her fey would too.
And so she rejoiced, letting that feeling spread out to her fey, feeling it echo back from Keenan, seeing it reflected in Seth’s eyes.
It’s not perfect, but it will be.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’ve been lucky enough to have some pretty wonderful people keeping me steady along the path: my lovely and fierce agent, Rachel Vater; my insightful and passionate editors, Anne Hoppe and Nick Lake (as well as the whole amazing Harper team, including Camilla, Alison, and Tasha); my readers—Anne Gill and Randy Simpson; my dear friend, Kelly Kincy; and my mentors and friends—Michael Grimwood and Tony Harrison. I am humbled by the faith and enthusiasm you’ve shared with me along this journey.
And to those who have inspired and encouraged me throughout my life—John and Vanessa Marr, for teaching me about believing, about courage, about the things beyond our sight; Dylan and Asia, for reminding me every day that the impossible can come true; and Loch, for showing me that true bliss is possible on this side of the veil. Without you, there’d be nothing.
About the Author
Melissa Marr: Although I was voted “most likely to end up in jail” in high school, I decided to get an MA and teach Lit and Gender Studies to college students across the country. Along the way, I’ve been unable to resist trying new things—including working an archaeological dig, slinging drinks at a biker bar, and getting fabulous tattoos.
I call all of this research for my writing. To fill my craving for new experiences, I’ve lived in Pennsylvania, North Carolina, and southern California, and I plan to keep roaming with my family as widely and as often as possible. This year, I think, I’m living in Virginia.
Please help feed my addiction to meeting interesting new people by visiting me on the web at www.melissa-marr.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
BONUS MATERIALS
DELETED SCENE 1
Original Ending to Chapter 5
This was cut in the final edit because it spoils the surprise of Keenan's enrollment at Ash's school. The scene followed Keenan leaving Beira's house.
When Keenan got to their loft on the outskirts of the city, Niall and Tavish were waiting. They lounged as if they were relaxing, but he didn't miss the assessing looks they gave him when he walked in.
“How'd it go?” Tavish asked as he muted the television, silencing the weather report about a freak hail storm.
Beira never misses a chance to gloat.
“Better, I think. Still awful.” Keenan would never admit it aloud, but he felt calmer being home. Tall leafy plants dominated every possible space in the loft. A number of birds flitted through the room, squawking at him and retreating to nooks in the columns supporting the high ceilings. It made the room seem open, more like being outside.
“She make cookies again?” Niall flopped into an overstuffed chair and grabbed a controller for one of the game systems.
“Chocolate.” Keenan picked up a half eaten slice of pizza from the box on one of the geode tables scattered around the room. He sniffed it and took a bite. Not too old. “She re-did the condo again. Torture art.”
Niall glanced up from the TV. “She's not going to change. You might as well just accept it: she's cold. It's who she is, what she is.”
“She might change, but it'd only be for the worse.” Tavish held out a hand for the box of leftover pizza. “You need protein, not that. Why you two insist on eating mortal food is beyond me.”
Because I've had to live among them so long? But Keenan didn't say it; it didn't matter. They were right—about all of it. He knew it, counted on it. In nine centuries of advising him, they'd seldom been wrong.
“We have a plan yet?” Niall kept his attention on the screen. With a muttered curse, he tilted to one side and then the other in the chair—as if that would make the on-screen image move. It was hard to believe he could speak more languages than a faery would ever need: give him a toy, and he was hopeless.
With a stern look, Tavish held out one of the green drinks he was forever insisting Keenan drink.
When Keenan didn't take the tasteless thing, Tavish sat it on the table and crossed his arms. He'd become far more tense the past few years. The seemingly endless contests wore on all of them, but Tavish had begun to grow more solemn over their inability to find the Summer Queen.
“You told the ex and the Winter Queen. What's our next move?” Niall's feet thunked on the coffee table, precariously close to the drink, but not close enough to spill it. “We get to play ‘guardian uncles’ again?”
Keenan thought about it: Aislinn didn't seem the sort to trust him enough to come to his place for a party. No, parties won't be the way to woo her. In fact, he couldn't think of a single reason that'd convince her to come home with him or, for that matter, go anywhere with him. Asking her to go for coffee hadn't even worked. Something innocuous, that's what he needed.
Where does she go? He'd been watching her for weeks now. She went to the pool hall, where he'd be conspicuous, and the library, which wasn't conducive to chatting, and on most evenings she either retreated to her home or the old train where her friend lived. The mortal in the train was too reclusive to approach, and going to her home wasn't an option either. Oh, excuse me, did you live here? I was just passing by and saw you....He snorted. Yeah. Right. After how frightened she was when he spoke to her, she'd never believe that. The only place left was...“School!”
Tavish grimaced like he'd swallowed something unpleasant. “School? Surely there's another way. It's bad enough being stuck in this—” pausing, he gestured out the window at the grey sky spread out over the dingy buildings that proliferated even in the nicer sections of Huntsdale, “—awful place again.”
“No.” Keenan smiled, pleased with the idea. “It makes perfect sense. You can encourage the principal to pair us up to ‘show me the ropes.’ That
's what I need: opportunities to talk to her. Now that she's been chosen, I need to get moving.”
The more he thought about it, the better it sounded. Unlike for most fey, the prevalence of cold iron there wasn't an obstacle for him. As he was the Summer King, iron had little effect on him.
“Enroll me. She goes to Bishop O'Connell.” He tossed a pen and a pad of paper to Tavish. Then he got up and started to pace. “We need records of some sort. Proof that I've attended school somewhere.”
Niall had already set down the controller and pulled out his cell. “Got that one.”
Tavish followed Keenan to the window, standing beside him as they looked at the bleak sky. It was even colder than usual—Beira's way of reminding him that she had all the power.
“Attire...” Keenan let his gaze drop to the park across the street. One of his rowan men saluted. Glancing back at Tavish, Keenan added, “They all wear the same thing, like Beira's old guards—navy trousers, dark jackets...There's probably a shop they all use.”
The unpleasant-taste expression returned to Tavish's face. He could pretend to blend, but his elitism showed more often than not. “Pre-made clothes? We could call Christophe's shop, get something similar in a proper fit, better cloth.”
“No.” Keenan would blend with the mortals, walk in her world. It'd been several years since he'd done so on a regular basis. Maybe it'd help him woo Aislinn if he could see what they were like up close. They changed so often—their music, their clothes, their words. It fascinated him.
Glancing at Tavish's still-sour face, Keenan added, “And a bag to carry books. Nothing too nice—maybe one that's worn a bit, looks well-used.”
He turned back to the guards in the park. They'd need to arrange shifts to accompany him to the school. A few hours at a time so none of them became too ill. “It'll work. I'll court her, learn what she wants, and give it to her. I have a good feeling about this one.”
DELETED SCENE 2
In an early draft, Donia's final confrontation with Beira took place in the hospital where Aislinn's grandmother had been taken after she was attacked by the fey. The draft is very rough and was abandoned in this partial stage.
Aislinn's grandmother was a sitting up in her hospital bed when Donia got there.
“You're one of them.” She glared at Donia, surprisingly fierce for an injured old woman.
“I am.” Donia sat down in the chair beside the bed.
“Get out.”
“No.” She leaned close to the old woman. “Who did this?”
“You. Faeries. The ones that who stole my daughter, who do all those horrible things...” She poured a glass of water.
“Who did this? Describe him or her? Please.” Donia understood her hatred, her anger, better than most fey ever would. “I know about your daughter and about Aislinn.”
Grams pressed the call button. “Nurse is coming. You need to leave.”
Donia faded, hiding from the approaching nurse so it would look like Grams was alone. “If you don't tell me, she's in more danger.”
Grams scowled at her, but she said, “I'm listening.”
The nurse walked in. “For what?”
“You to tell me I can go home.” Grams offered the woman a weak smile. “How about it?”
“A few days, ma'am. Let the doctor make sure you're okay.” The nurse paused to add, “The call button is if you need something, ma'am. Okay?”
Grams nodded.
Donia prompted, “Who did it? Who hurt you?”
“Her.” She pointed to the doorway.
Beira (add visual). “Well now, look at this. Consorting with the enemy. Betrayed me. Now, that mortal— ” she makes ugly face “—has undone everything.”
Grams watching. “Aislinn?”
“Do you know what your precious granddaughter did?” Pause. Beira sat on the side of bed, between Donia and Grams. “No? She broke the curse, set Keenan free.”
Donia stepped closer, and Beira slapped her, knocking her back.
Grams asked, “How?”
“I wanted her see this” Beira pointed at Grams, “so she'd run from him. And did the little chit do that?”
“She'd braver than that, Beira,” Donia said.
B: It seems she ‘s not the only not doing what she should. (pulls Donia to her) But don't worry (kisses both cheeks) I'll get to her in time. For now, though, I believe I told you what would happen. (seals lips to hers)
D struggling, feeling that ice slide down her throat, choking her, her lungs filling with it. Behind her she sees A's grandmother pull her hand out from under the cover. In it she had a rusty iron cross. With surprising strength for a mortal, she jams it into Beira's neck.
B lets go of D who falls, Ash & Keenan careen into the room, neither one visible to the mortal eye....
AN EXCERPT FROM RADIANT SHADOWS
by Melissa Marr
As Ani slid through the outstretched arms and gyrating hips, she saw him: a faery stood on the periphery of the crowd, just close enough that she could tell that he was someone altogether new. Solitaries passed through Huntsdale regularly. Having several regents in one place was an anomaly, and faeries were ever intrigued by anomalies.
The faery on the edge of the crowd was oblivious to the appraising looks he was getting, but he would've stood out even if they were at a faery club like the Rath and Ruins. His hair was so pale that it looked white, and Ani suspected that the shimmers of color weren't just the reflection of the club lights but a little bit of his true appearance. He was eye candy. And he's staring at me.
She stopped moving and asked, “Are you coming over or just looking?”
No one around her would hear her asking, but the eye candy in question was a faery. He heard her and answered, “I really don't think that's wise.”
Ani laughed. “Who cares?” Like many faeries she knew, he was sculpture-perfect, but instead of being wrought of shadows like those in her court, this faery had a tangled feel to him. Shadow and radiance. He didn't look much older than her, until she saw the arrogance in his posture. Then, he reminded her of Irial, of Bananach, of Keenan, of the faeries who walked through courts and crowds confident that they could slaughter everyone in the room. Like chaos in a glass cage.
“Come dance.” She turned her back then and let herself be swept into the crowd. Hands and emotions were all around her; it was like drowning in euphoria and need.
And he's watching.
She glanced toward the shadows where he stood. He hadn't moved. So she held his gaze while she danced, not for the mortals in the room, not for the feelings that every brush of skin brought to the surface.
“Come dance with me,” she whispered.
Copyright © 2010 by Melissa Marr. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Permission to include this text excerpt has been granted by HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
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Credits
Cover art © 2007 by Mark Tucker/Merge Left Reps., Inc.
Cover design by Christopher Stengel
Copyright
WICKED LOVELY. Copyright © 2007 by Melissa Marr. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition MARCH 2010 ISBN: 9780062009371
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