Hunt: An Urban Faery Tale (The Faery Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  He took a deep, shaky breath. “Scott’s gonna have a helluva bruised up face tomorrow. And a headache aspirin won’t touch.” But he’d be alive. That was good enough for Kevin.

  Amy shrugged. “Not like he doesn’t deserve it.”

  “I really agree,” Kevin said. “We should take him home now.”

  She nodded. “I wish tonight had turned out different.”

  He did, too. “We could’ve hung out at Rude’s a lot longer.”

  “Nah. We could’ve gone someplace else.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere,” she said.

  Anywhere as long as it was private. Tonight could’ve turned out way different. He sighed. He’d take what he could get. “We still good for Friday?”

  “We are.” Her lips curved in her quirky half-grin.

  That one smile could hold him all week. That and his imagination.

  She drove to her place, five minutes away through side streets lined with small, brick houses, most of them with the drapes shut or the blinds closed. Pines, magnolias, and oaks in the front yards, some with limbs shading the street.

  Amy’s house was dark except for the blazing porch light. She swung the car into the drive, the Mustang’s headlights sweeping across flowerbeds full of lilies and monkey grass, disturbing a black cat with yellow eyes that loped across the drive into the neighbor’s property.

  From where Amy parked, Kevin could see a set of white-painted wooden rockers and a side table with a glass half-full of dark liquid that might’ve been iced tea. Above the seats, a copper wheel hung from the eaves, twirled in the breeze.

  She and Kevin got out at the same time. He hugged her goodbye. Neither of them wanted to let go. He liked the way she felt against him.

  “Friday,” she said, her breath warming his neck.

  “Can’t wait.”

  He watched her walk up and go in. Then he settled in the driver’s seat, her scent clinging to him. Vanilla and leather.

  Something touched his shoulder. He jumped half a foot.

  “Where the hell are we?” Scott asked. “Why are you driving? And why am I back here?”

  Unbelievable. “Aren’t you supposed to be passed out, genius?”

  Scott shook his head, very carefully. The guy wasn’t mad at him—yet. He was still too fuzzy to add two and two together.

  “You know something? Rude hits like a girl.”

  Kevin laughed. “You want to ride shotgun?”

  “Not wise to move too much, man.”

  Kevin bet on it. “You gotta boot, tell me and I’ll pull over.”

  It took twenty minutes to take Scott home and get him in the house without waking up his parents. Neither of them was exactly graceful, so Kevin considered it a minor miracle.

  He considered calling his dad to explain the sitch and staying the night at Scott’s, but he just wanted to go home. Sleep in his own bed, wake up in the morning, and forget what’d happened with Scott, hoping not to have nightmares about what might’ve happened.

  He especially wanted to forget he’d ever heard anyone’s thoughts. Because that was crazy, and he was the sanest guy he knew.

  He headed out on foot.

  Two blocks down the line, in sight of his house, he felt like a dumbass for not having thought more about those cops back at Rude’s and what they’d wanted.

  A police car crouched in his driveway, behind his father’s dirty Suburban.

  Kevin ducked and ran across the street, took cover behind the Brownbackers’ rosemary hedge, outside the circle of bright halogens under their eaves. Rosemary for remembrance, his mom used to say.

  He didn’t want to think about her. Not now, please and thanks. Instead, he concentrated on staying out of sight.

  Ten minutes later, the cops meandered out of the house. Both of them were guys. One stocky Latino with watchful eyes and a gold pinky ring, and one redheaded, freckled, beer-gutted dude. Funny—they didn’t bounce right away. They hung around the car and casual-like scanned the street.

  Pinky Ring’s gaze passed over him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up like antennae, and nausea hit him like a gut punch that almost knocked him down.

  He’d been pulled over for speeding and he’d been scrutinized going into clubs and nothing like that had ever happened before. The cop had done something to him. He didn’t know what. And he didn’t want to know.

  Even thinking that was crazy.

  Kevin braced his hands in the grass to steady himself. Waited for the cop to catch sight of him. To call him out.

  He could run if he had to.

  And even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew how stupid that would be.

  But the officer moved on, checking out the next-door neighbors’ yards. He and the redhead looked at each other, shrugged, and got in the car.

  Kevin watched them drive away until their taillights faded into the night. He had another dumbass thought. No way those two were really cops.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HIS DAD OPENED THE DOOR before Kevin had a chance to dig his keys out of his pocket.

  Franklin Landon was six-one and wiry, still in the light blue button-down shirt he’d worn to his job as an accounts payable clerk at a law firm, sleeves rolled up and the muscles corded in his forearms. He pushed his dark hair out of his eyes, one strand sticking up because of a cowlick. All the normal worry lines etched deep into his face. And he was seriously pissed.

  Judging by the exaggerated way his dad clenched and unclenched his fists, Kevin gauged Tonight’s Beer Consumption at five. Franklin stepped out of the way, gave Kevin space to come in, to see the muted TV running police procedural reruns, to hear the computer chirp as it downloaded a virus scan upgrade.

  The screen showed a picture of a bunch of guys riding horses through the air in formation like a flock of geese, along with a bunch of search results for something called the Wild Hunt, whatever that was. Sometimes his dad looked at unusual stuff online. Not porn or politics. Folklore. How weird was that?

  Franklin shut and locked the door behind them so quietly Kevin could hear the tumblers click home.

  When he turned around, he held Kevin’s gaze. “I’m only going to ask you this once, Kev. Did you know a girl was killed at your friend’s house tonight?”

  “What?” Of all the things he’d expected his dad to say…. He didn’t believe it. He’d just been there. He’d known all the people at that party except one girl, and he’d at least recognized her. “Who was she? What happened?”

  “The cops wouldn’t tell me much, Kevin. You did see the cops in here, didn’t you?”

  Kevin stared. It was an unconvincing denial. “Yeah.”

  “She was some kind of singer, they said. A singer in a rock band.”

  Someone he didn’t know after all. Thank God.

  “You were at the party with this singer?” his dad asked.

  “I was with Scott. At Rude’s.”

  “Uh-huh.” His father sighed. “How the hell do you end up in these situations? No—what I want to know is why, Kev. Why?”

  That was unfair. And what did he mean by “these situations”? Kevin didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t be snark. I’m a bad seed. I’m the black sheep. Or the best reason, Because I can. “I don’t know, Dad.”

  “Oh, I think you do.”

  “I just want to be with my friends.”

  “Peer pressure.”

  “Sure, whatever.”

  “I taught you better than that. Your mother taught you better than that.”

  The ace card in his father’s Deck of Guilt, played so soon. Bringing up Mom was fighting dirty. Kevin shut off the feelings that threatened to well up. Somebody had to be logical here. Someone had to be in control.

  “You’re grounded,” his father said. “Two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?”

  “You were at an illegal party. A girl died. Police came to the house.”

  “I have a date Friday night.”

  “C
ancel the date,” his dad said.

  The hell he would. He started to say so.

  His dad held up a hand to cut him off. “You’ll cancel it, or it’ll be three weeks.”

  Kevin bit his tongue to keep from making things worse. As far as his father was concerned, his word was the law around here.

  But as far as Kevin was concerned, his dad could not keep him in this house. He would not miss his date with Amy. He’d figure something out. He forced himself to say the only words his father would tolerate right now.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You go to school, you come straight home. Dinner had better be on the table when I get here. You do the dishes when we’re through eating. You go to your room and do your homework. No Internet unless it’s school-related. Wake up in the morning and do it all over again. Understood?”

  Sonofabitch. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” Franklin folded his arms across his chest. “Your friend Rude—doesn’t he have another name? A given name?”

  “Yeah, he does.” Kevin couldn’t have thought past his rage and confusion to remember it.

  He’d gone to a party. Big deal. He hadn’t seen any singer. He hadn’t seen any dead girl. He’d be willing to bet no one else had, either. And there had been way too many people around not to have noticed.

  Plus, what was with the cops—coming after him before they’d even got to the party? Before they’d found her? And the faux-officers who’d paid his dad a visit?

  What the hell had happened tonight?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SUNDAY: THE SILENT TREATMENT. His father spent most of the day in his room, the TV blaring consecutive football games. He came out once to point at the terminal mess that was Kevin’s room. And Kevin took that as his cue to smooth the rumpled sheets, to haul the pile of dirty laundry from the floor at the foot of the bed into the hamper in the closet.

  Nothing else to do, really. No knickknacks to shake the dust off of, unless you counted the six-pack of Coke tucked into the corner of his bookshelf. No framed pictures needing their glass shined. The lone poster on the wall? Wolverine had been there since Kevin was, like, ten. The mutant could take care of himself.

  Once he pronounced the room presentable, that pretty much left the essay due Tuesday afternoon for English. Not that he could concentrate on it. It was hard to analyze Beowulf’s battle with Grendel, with particular attention to Grendel’s outcast status, with all the TV noise bleeding down the hall. Time for headphones. And blessed relief.

  Also, he couldn’t help but wonder what his father was thinking, and on top of that be extra glad that he didn’t hear it.

  Clearly, last night he’d lost his mind. Had some kind of psychotic break at the party. Or maybe a psychic break.

  Except he didn’t believe in that kind of stuff. The psychic hotline on late-night TV, the shows about ghost hunters, the curandera with the storefront over on Westpark with the signs in the window about palm readings? Bunch of un-provable crap.

  Problem was, he also didn’t believe that ignoring things made them magically go away. He just didn’t know what to do. Besides his homework, anyway. That, and sleep.

  The Monday morning alarm rang way too soon. His dad had already been up, made toast (judging by the dirty dishes in the sink), and headed out for work early. That had never happened before.

  And it left Kevin to walk to school. Which would take longer than he’d planned. He booked out the door with a breakfast bar in hand, hoping he hadn’t forgotten anything.

  He barely made it to homeroom before the bell. Amy smiled at him from her desk across the room when he walked in, and that was something. It made up for a lot.

  She wore a patchwork hoodie she’d made herself. It hugged her body rather than camouflaging it. And it was unique, like she was.

  They had first period Probability/Statistics together. She walked with him—by no means a small victory. The sexy scent of her perfume, the way she leaned into him while they made their way to class, the warmth radiating from her skin—it made him feel good.

  And nervous in a way not helped by the fact that her girlfriends followed just out of earshot. What were their names? Oh, yeah. Britt-Don’t-Call-Me-Brittany and Zoe.

  “They talking about us?” he asked.

  Amy mocked him with her eyes. “Why would they? Get over yourself, Kev.”

  “But I’m a brilliant, movie-star, athletic god.”

  Her mouth quirked into her special half-smile. “All right, yeah. They’re talking about us. And also about you, but not about how brilliant you are.”

  “They already hate me?”

  “They heard what happened after you left the party.” Amy’s grin faded.

  He also tensed up even more. “What’d they hear?”

  “That you knew the dead girl at the party. That you’re a suspect.”

  “No. And no. Was there really a girl who died at Rude’s house? I mean, how many people were there? Did anyone we know actually see her?”

  She cocked her head at him as if to say, If the cops said there was, then it happened.

  The whole situation was so wrong, he couldn’t come up with a word for how wrong it was. “That look on your face—what’s it about?”

  “The cops came by my house yesterday. I told them you were with me at the party. Never left my side.”

  “Not exactly true.”

  “Close enough for government work. Whatever that means. Anyway, I believe you, Kevin.”

  He shoved his hands into his jean pockets. The cops who’d come to the house Saturday night hadn’t asked his dad to bring him in for an interview. They hadn’t called. They hadn’t showed again.

  But they’d harassed Amy.

  The cops who were supposedly after him. The cops who weren’t cops.

  “Thanks.” He meant that, and forcing himself to smile was so not about her.

  She sidled closer to him as they walked. Mrs. V’s room, coming up fast on the right. One hour of super-hard math, half of which he couldn’t understand to save his life, coming right up. Amy squeezed his hand before she went to her seat at the desk in front of his. A heartbeat later, the bell rang.

  “Phones off,” Mrs. V said sharply, and jumped straight into the lesson.

  He focused on Amy to get through it, hoping she’d help him with his homework. Not only did she have the beauty, she had serious Brain Power.

  Not like Britt and Zoe, each of them a whispering, mean-eyed mass of curly black hair and cutting looks when Mrs. V turned her back. They stared at him like he was some kind of freak.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SECOND PERIOD WAS NO BETTER than first. Kevin tried to concentrate, to pay attention. But instead of taking in Chemistry factoids, he kept thinking he heard soft voices in the halls, all of them containing some telephone-game version of his nighttime visit with the police. How people knew that was a mystery. But they glanced at him when they thought he couldn’t see.

  Mr. Nance, the School Counselor™, stopped in him the hall after second period. In fact, Kevin almost ran him down by looking everywhere except where he was going. He caught sight of the guy’s shined brown dress shoes just in time to avoid bowling him over. He actually had on a suit, brown like the shoes, with pinstripes, no tie. He wore his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, though a couple of strands fell across his face on account of the near-impact.

  Kevin had only been to see the man once before, when the counselor helped him with college applications and scholarships. He’d been all business then and generally hard to read. Still, Kevin had gotten the impression that the guy understood how important that scholarship money was to him. That was cool.

  “I’m sorry to hear about the events of the weekend,” Nance said.

  “Why would you say that?” Not that Nance’s mysterious knowing would be any different than anybody else’s, but to stop in the middle of the hall and talk about it? Very not cool.

  “Isn’t it better to have something said to your face?” th
e counselor asked.

  The question made him scratch his head. By the time he figured that maybe Nance had done him some kind of weird favor, the counselor had given him a cat got your tongue? look and walked off. Which made him feel dumb.

  And if Kevin thought all that sucked, lunch positively sucked out loud.

  He’d made it through the line to pick up his free meal (tomato-sauce-drowned meatloaf-looking thing, mashed potatoes with lumpy gravy, the ubiquitous green beans of doom) and barely sat down in his usual seat when Scott filled the space across the table from him, plunking down his tray so hard his milk spilled over the side of the carton. His left eye was a rainbow of painful black and purple, his cheeks were puffed out and ready to burst like he had something to say and had held onto it until now.

  He went heavy on the sarcasm. “Thanks a lot, Kev.”

  Kevin predicted he’d react this way, so he didn’t feel blindsided. Still, not a good time, as times went. “I had to stop you, man.”

  Scott settled down in his chair and shoveled beans into his mouth. “I’m not talking about that. Christ.”

  “Then what are you talking about?” Kevin asked. He couldn’t figure anything else he’d done wrong lately, at least not to Scott.

  “The detectives who came to your house. They came to mine, too. Asked me a bunch of stuff I couldn’t answer without getting in deep with my dad, so I didn’t. You know what they did?”

  Kevin could guess.

  “They told my dad where I was Saturday night. How much I had to drink. That I was wasted. I’m so screwed.”

  No shit. Scott’s dad should’ve been a Marine. He kept Scott on such a tight leash, the guy couldn’t go out anywhere without lying about where he went and who he went with. Scott’s dad had always been that way as far back as Kevin remembered, since kindergarten.

  No matter how bad those cops wanted an answer, it wasn’t right that they jammed up his friend like that. “How long are you grounded for?”

  “None of your business,” Scott said.