Fae of the South (Court of Crown and Compass Book 3) by E. Hall (good books to read in english TXT) 📗

Before I hit a cement pylon, I stop short. Adrenaline surges. The demon slams into the structure and then hits the ground. Its gaze is fuzzy and a rash of red bumps and bits of gravel cover its skin.

Lea rushes over with the sword aloft then slays Demon Number Three. Like the others, it evaporates into the air with a hiss.

We both stand silently in front of the Lamborghini, catching our breath. The headlights shine from behind us, casting our shadows onto the start of a construction project.

I let out a long exhale and turn to Lea. “You were good with that sword.” I named it Fire Eater but don’t share this dorky info.

“I took a cue from your ax-throwing habit.”

“That’s Huxley’s doing. Anytime I mess up, I have to throw axes until I hit the target a number equal to the cost of my screw up.” It’s not as cool as it sounds.

“I’ve been practicing throwing knives, juggling them even.” Lea’s lips quirk.

I’m not sure if she’s joking. The thing about Lea is it’s probably true.

“Aren’t we a violent pair,” I mutter. The word pair does something to me. It makes me want to close the space between us. Hold her. Hug her. Chase away the demons in her mind that she can’t seem to shake.

“I’d argue that we’re compassionate. Three fewer demons in Brooklyn.”

“Hope the girl got home okay. Did you notice her eyes? They looked lavender,” I say.

Lea doesn’t reply. She still has the sword in hand and then lets out a nervous laugh. With the tip of the blade, she writes Leajka was here in the sandy gravel. Sometimes, I worry about her.

“Maybe we should invest our time in more wholesome activities. Want to go ice skating this weekend?” I ask.

She snorts.

“You used to love it.”

“Used to.” She turns away from me. “I didn’t know demons could appear to look like humans. It’s getting worse. I should talk to Ivan.”

“I should get the car back. But about those wholesome activities, I take it the promposal didn’t go well.”

“I could take up baking. Pie was always your favorite,” Lea says instead of answering. “The cream-filled kind are also good for smooshing into people’s faces.”

I take this to mean that’s what she’d like to do to Lucas. He wasn’t good enough for her anyway.

“Hungry?” I ask.

She has a scratch on her cheek and I wipe it with the edge of my shirt. The sight of blood makes me ill, but I hate to see her wounded.

She lifts her hand to the spot and our fingers brush, sending a jolt through me. She dips her head and gets in the car.

I’ll be spending the rest of my life trying to clean this thing, if I still have a job, so since the damage is done, I pull a cool-guy move out of the movies and slide across the hood. I nearly trip when I land but recover with a smile and a salute as I get in the passenger seat. “Good work, soldier.”

She laughs and peels back toward the street. Instead of taking the turn to the garage, she gets on the parkway toward Long Island.

“Are you running away?” I ask.

“Is that an option?” Lea replies while changing lanes.

“Use your blinker,” I remind her.

She zooms around another car without using her blinker.

“I could see the two of us, way out there in Montauk, in a little cottage, throwing sharp objects,” I say with a laugh because when we were kids my parents would take us to the beach every weekend. The most trouble we’d get in was not wiping the sand from our feet before we got back on the bus.

“I don’t think there are any little cottages left in Montauk.”

I don’t want to take her reply as a subtle rejection just a fact.

Passing traffic casts Lea in light, shadow, light, shadow. I want it to pause long enough to see the fullness of her face, for her to smile in that way that lights up her eyes, and to notice that I’m the one looking and not Lucas.

“Not Montauk. Somewhere else, anywhere. Spin the globe. Close your eyes. See where your finger lands.” I silently command that she not close her eyes while driving for this symbolic activity.

“I’ve always wondered where my parents were from. Other than that, I’ll get back to you.” She closes the door on that convo.

“For the record, Lucas’s name rhymes with mucous. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good name. I have a cousin named Lucas. But Lucas from school is—”

“Like a wad of spit. I agree. Whatever.” Again, she closes further discussion on the topic.

I push on the imaginary brake pedal on the passenger side when she comes up behind a delivery truck. “If you’d asked me to prom, I would’ve said yes.” Oh, my sword. Did I just say that aloud? My cheeks heat. Thankfully, she’s focused on the road.

Lea answers by driving ten miles over the speed limit.

“This isn’t our car,” I say. “If we get pulled over, we could get arrested.”

“It’s not stealing if you have the keys.” In a flash of a streetlamp, I catch her sly smile.

“You have your license with you, right?”

She doesn’t answer.

“That’s a problem.”

“Not unless you make it one.” She exits the parkway somewhere on the north shore of Long Island.

A canopy of trees, boughs dipping low, open to a broad road.

Lea is quiet while the engine does the talking for us.

She veers across the double yellow lines to pass a caravan of dirty sedans, a minivan, and a work truck. The Lamborghini handles like a bolt of liquid lightning as she blasts past numerous shopping plazas.

My knuckles turn white as I grip the seat.

I want