Neon Blue by E Frost (best book reader .TXT) 📗

Then we’re there. The horse’s hooves thud softly against dirt. The dizzying sense of movement stops. I open my eyes and look around. Nothing’s familiar. Definitely not the Arlington woods. It’s warmer here than in Boston, for one thing. By at least ten degrees. And wetter. The trees are dripping; rhododendron leaves shine in the moonlight. Maybe North Carolina. The horse likes the North Carolina woods. We go there a lot. Not that the Squire – or the horse – ever tells me where we are. I only know that the warm, wet woods are in North Carolina because I recognized the towering mountains in the distance while I was watching Last of the Mohicans on Turner Classic Movies one lazy Sunday.

Once we went to China. I nearly stumbled across a panda bear while I was looking for Oriental Ginseng. A real panda bear. It looked like a black and white teddy. Only really big. And smelly. But the Chinese woods were full of things. Watchful things. Things that didn’t feel all that friendly. The Squire had his sword out the whole time we were there. We haven’t gone back.

But, then, I haven’t needed wild Oriental Ginseng since then. The horse seems to know what I need and takes us to wherever it’s growing.

The Squire takes my hand from around his waist and helps me down. Down is easier than up, although I’ve ended up on my ass more than once. Once I’m on my feet, the Squire swings off the horse with liquid grace.

I smile at him. “That’s beautiful to watch.” I’ve learned that the fae like to be complimented.

The Squire inclines his head. It’s his due, mortal admiration. I’m glad I can give it to him. Lilliwhite says he doesn’t have any other contact with the mortal world anymore. That makes me sad, because there are certainly plenty of mortal maidens in need of protection. I guess they’ve forgotten how to ask.

He follows me a few steps to the edge of the clearing where there’s a clump of Smooth Solomon’s Seal growing. I’m out, having used all I had on Toby. Kneeling, I gather several handfuls of the droopy-leaved stalks. Then more. More than I need. A vague idea forms in the back of my head.

“Like calls to like,” I tell the Squire. I’ve gotten into the habit of talking to him during our midnight jaunts. He never answers, but he seems to listen. Lilliwhite tells me he likes the sound of my voice, even if he doesn’t always understand what I’m saying. “Solomon’s Seal to Solomon’s Seal.”

I can almost see my Dala shaking her head. She has very little use for sympathetic magic. I’m the only one in our family who’s been able to do it in generations, anyway.

“My family thinks I’m crazy.” One nice thing about talking to the Squire, he’s very non-judgmental. “They think I should leave Manny to the wolves.” I shake my head as I collect more stalks. “If he was Rom, they’d expect me to donate a kidney. But because he’s not, it’s fine to just forget about the debt I owe him. Hypocrites.”

I spit into the grass. Both in anger and to clear my mouth after speaking ill of my family. My spit sizzles, smokes. Not a good sign. I’m hyped up. Being in the woods usually calms me down.

Well, it’s been a rough couple of days.

“You should be on the look-out for ghosts,” I tell the Squire. “Well, one really angry ghost. I’ve been haunted for the last couple of days.” What I’m saying suddenly clicks in my conscious brain. “Those weird phone calls . . . it’s the ghost.”

I sink the tip of my churi into the dirt and begin drawing a circle around myself before I think about it. The Squire steps to the edge of the circle and looks down at me, his helmeted head tilted to one side.

I stop in mid-motion. “Summoning the ghost here would be really stupid, wouldn’t it? That’s what you’re thinking.” I sigh. “You’re right. I should do it in my hearth room, where I’ve got the permanent circle. It’s just . . . well, I feel safer when you’re around. Guess that makes me a coward, doesn’t it?”

I turn back towards the stand of Solomon’s Seal.

The Squire’s sword sinks into the ground next to me. Through the line I’ve started in the moist earth. I glance up at him.

He taps his gauntleted fingers against his chain-mail breast-plate, then extends his hand toward me.

“What?” I’m not sure what the gestures mean. “Sorry, I’m bad at charades.” And we haven’t played them much before. He doesn’t usually try to communicate with me.

He circles his finger in the air, completing the circle around me. Then taps his finger against his chest again and points at me.

“You’ll, uh, you’ll stay with me while I talk to the ghost?” I ask, hopefully. Wish-projection, my ex-therapist would call it.

The Squire nods.

“Oh.” Blood rushes to my cheeks for no good reason. “Do you want to do it now?” I half-rise. I don’t want to impose on him, and I’d really like to get it over with. Having ghosts howl at me does not make my day.

The Squire shakes his head and gestures towards the woods.

I smile. He may be traditional, but he’s also very generous. I finish gathering the Solomon’s Seal and head deeper into the woods. My knight in faerie armor trails after me.

The trip back seems to take longer than it should. Or maybe it’s just that I’m so tired that I fall asleep against the Squire’s back and he lets me sleep there until the horse’s soft nicker wakes me.

I jerk awake and nearly fall off the horse. The Squire’s firm arm guides me down to the ground. I stand uncertainly on the curb, yawning and shivering. It’s much colder here than it was in the woods.

And that’s when I realize that it’s dawn.

I look up at the armored fae. “You’ve missed the