Escaped (Imprisoned by the Fae 2) - Page 20

“How?”

“It’s easy. Just layer glamour over the brand. It won’t fool anyone with the sight, but it’ll cover it up enough for most.”

“Ach. Never mind.” And I would’ve like to, too. After the way that Rys left me on my own, I’d rather not wear his “brand”. “I can’t do that. Don’t have any glamour.”

“Oh? Really? Huh. Humans really are as fascinating as I thought they’d be.” She gives me a curious once-over. “So you look like this all the time?”

Embarrassment heats my cheeks. I haven’t had a chance to look in a mirror in ages so I have no idea what she’s seeing when she looks at me. I can’t imagine it’s anything good. I’ve been living out in the woods for about a week now. If there was dirt on my cheeks or grass in my hair, I wouldn’t even be a little surprised.

“I guess. Where I’m staying, I don’t have any”—what was it Rys called them?—“facilities.”

Shit, I’ve been using melted snow as drinking water. It’s all I have. I haven’t stumbled upon a fresh source of water during my travels, so washing up has become second to keeping me from getting thirsty. I might be a little ripe. Hey. I’m pretty impressed this city chick has made it this far.

“No, no,” Morgan says, trying to explain. “I meant… your hair. I’ve never seen such colors like that before.”

“Oh.” I run my hand over the length of my loose braid. It’s somehow both brittle and greasy. God, I really do need a wash. “It’s dyed.”

“Died? Your hair was alive?”

How long has she lived in the woods by herself? “No, I colored it. It’s something we do in my world. I took some of the blonde pieces and turned them blue with chemicals.”

“Alchemy,” she breathes out.

“Sure. I guess.”

Gesturing at her porch, I watch as two large shadows darken to the point of being completely impenetrable. They’re two big blobs of black for a few seconds before they scatter and disperse, leaving two crystalline stools in their place. Tall and spindly, I almost think they’re ice.

“Please, take a seat. I’d love to hear more.”

“Um. Okay.”

The stools look like ice, but like everything else in the grove, there’s no chill. Smooth and strong, the seat cradles my butt, my legs hanging off of the ground like I’m a kiddie sitting at the bar. Makes sense. As a fae, Morgan is at least a foot taller than me. When she eases gracefully onto her stool, it’s the perfect height for her.

“So, uh. What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

We talk into the night. Morgan is amazingly easy to chat with. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had anyone to talk about my home with in so long and she’s the perfect audience for it. Maybe it’s because she’s obviously as lonely as I’ve been. I mean, I haven’t talked to anyone except for Grimly in days and he’s only concerned with his stupid tasks.

His tasks… I don’t even realize it but, even as I’m rising up from my stool and Morgan is asking me to come back sometime to talk some more, I never once ask about her hair. It’s like I completely forgot why I approached her in the first place, and it isn’t until I follow the petal all the way back to my circle that it dawns on me.

Oops.

Welp. That’s okay. Grimly said it would be difficult. He won’t expect me to have pulled it off in one day. And, not gonna lie, I’m looking forward to visiting with Morgan again.

I kind of like the idea that I’ll get to go back.

6

Days later, Grimly is pacing outside of my circle, so agitated that he hasn’t noticed that his pipe has gone out. He’s just puffing away, his cheeks hollowing, in and out.

I pick at one of the springy blades of grass, shredding it with my thumbnail. There’s barely any polish left on my nails, one of the last reminders of what it was like to live in the human world. They’d been a shocking shade of pink more than five weeks ago, and thanks to the gel manicure, they lasted even longer than I expected. I’d hoped to be back home again before I needed to change my polish and now, look at me, I’m staring at the last stubborn remains on my grown-out, mostly broken fingernails if only because it’s better than listening to the gnome complain.

“I can’t believe this. Where’s my hair, girly?”

I shrug. “Don’t have it yet. Sorry.”

“Why in the name of Oberon haven’t you retrieved it for me? It’s been days.”

Tags: Jessica Lynch Imprisoned by the Fae Fantasy
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