The Shadow Reader by Williams Sandy

Author:Williams, Sandy [Williams, Sandy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group
Published: 2011-10-23T16:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

IT’S MAY IN Texas. The night isn’t cold, but it’s not quite warm enough to chase away the lingering chill of the In-Between. I’m not sure that’s why I have goose bumps, though. Maybe they’ve sprouted across my arms because of the lightning-covered fae sitting on a tombstone to my left. I told Lorn it was rude to sit there, but he didn’t believe me when I said humans bury the dead under the ground.

I guess this cemetery is as good a place as any to wait for Aren. A thick hedge separates it from the road behind us and from the palatial building lit up by landscaping lights at the top of the hill ahead. There’s a twenty-acre garden between the cemetery and the mansion’s side entrance. That’s where we’re supposed to meet Kyol and Lena. I just wish Aren would hurry up and get here already.

“Eager to return to your little scandal?”

I don’t give any indication I hear Lorn’s words.

He chuckles. “Don’t worry, McKenzie. I’m a master at keeping secrets. Why, you could give me the location of the Sidhe Tol and I wouldn’t tell a soul.”

I give a short laugh and finally turn his way. “I was wondering why you were here.”

He puts a hand to his chest and looks wounded. “What? I just wanted to contribute to the cause.”

“Forget it,” I say. “You lost your chance in Lyechaban. I don’t need anything from you anymore.”

“Everybody needs something from me. You just have to decide—”

A new set of goose bumps spreads across my skin. Lorn mutters something under his breath about timing as the cemetery is lit by a flash of light. Aren steps out of a fissure, and my stomach does a little flip. He looks good. More than good, actually. He’s wearing an expensive suit, probably stolen from Neiman Marcus or some other high-end store. The pants hug his butt and his jacket all but begs for hands to slide underneath it, over his firm chest and up to his muscled shoulders.

He’s staring at me. At first, I think he’s watching my reaction to him. Then his silver gaze lowers to my chest, to my silk-wrapped stomach and hips, then finally to my bare legs and peep-toed heels. I shift. I rarely ever wear dresses—I never know when Court fae will pop into my life and ask me to read the shadows—and I feel vulnerable and exposed.

Aren’s eyes snap back to mine. He blinks once, clears his throat, then holds up a shimmery blue tie. It doesn’t quite match the color of the chaos lusters striking across his hands and face, but it comes close. “What do I do with this?”

“I believe it goes around your neck.”

Aren whips around to face Lorn. “What are you doing here?”

He rises from the tombstone. “Just keeping the nalkinshom company.”

Aren turns back to me. His gaze travels over me again. This time, it’s almost as if he expects to find an open wound. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah,” I answer, frowning. Lorn met me at a gate a few miles north of the tor’um’s home.

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