Page 12

Chapter nine

Underworld

R ai was not ancient, as fae went. He’d seen much of the Americas, but by the standards of his kind, he was still barely into adulthood, one of whom little was expected in wisdom or deeds. Even so, he was wise enough to understand the truth of his situation.

Poppy still perplexed him with her insistence on comparing him to boys—and now, mystifyingly, boys who were also cows?

But also manly?—and her unwillingness to discuss her artwork.

But as their exotic coffee date continued, he had come to realize that his plan to surfeit himself on her was simply impossible. He wanted more. He needed more.

The problems, however, were legion. Starting with the fact that the “dry heat” Poppy had joked about was certain to kill him if he spent another night outdoors.

He had known, intellectually, that the morning would be hot and dry.

He’d felt it in his skin, braced himself for the experience, and thought himself ready for the challenge.

But knowing what was to come had not adequately prepared him for living through it, for waking at sunrise in a bone-dry wash, the stream of stormwater gone, the heat building as the sun rose higher until he’d felt he might shrivel up and blow away on the wind.

With his dehydration had come weakness; though he’d made his way to Poppy’s house safely and found a shady spot to watch for her, he’d barely had strength to shield himself from sight, and had almost missed her when she did step out into the sun because he was so dizzy.

And when he had actually joined her, his glamour of humanity had been patchy and thin, at least until they’d gone inside and been given blessedly cool water that one could apparently request without limit.

He’d lost track of how many cups he had consumed since arriving. Hydrate or die-drate , indeed. He had been perilously close to die-dration; it was his least favorite way to court death.

What was worse was the creeping realization that to Poppy’s eyes he must seem a prodigious fool. He’d been so since they’d met, such a mooncalf he was now amazed that she’d endured him at all. It was fortunate that she found him desirable.

And while he wanted to tell himself it wasn’t his fault that he did not understand humans, that he did not have the correct currency or know what coffee was or remember how to read English, he knew that was false.

He could have learned, could he not? He knew there were fae in this town—had glimpsed several on the street just this morning—and where there were fae there was likely an underworld, yet he had not bothered to challenge his own ignorance by seeking out knowledge, had allowed himself to lazily go with the flow even when his foolishness was an obstacle to what he wanted.

To not know might be tolerated, but refusing to learn was unforgivable.

If he were to do this, if he were to stay in this arid hellscape to court Poppy as he wished, then he would have to learn how to function in her world. And looking at her now, across the table, he knew there was no question. He was going to stay.

And he could not do it alone.

Poppy’s phone chimed, vibrating on the table, and she broke off her description of a festival she had attended to glance at it, frowning. It had chimed several times recently, with increasing frequency.

“Is all well?” Rai had made a deliberate effort to stop asking Poppy why like a child, but he burned with curiosity.

“It’s fine. I just lost track of time.” She tipped her coffee cup, drinking the last of it. “And now all good boys and girls must hide in their homes until the sun god stops trying to kill us. ”

Rai held back a snort. Everyone knew the sun god did not exist. “Your mother requires your assistance.”

“You catch on fast.” She stared at her phone, but in a way that made Rai think she did not want to meet his eyes. “She’s a wonderful mom, you know. She just… She needs me.”

Rai could not think of a way to respond that was not rude prying; he drank the dregs of his coffee instead.

It was thick and gritty, rich with the spice she’d offered.

“She is very fortunate,” he said at last. Poppy had told a number of tales about her childhood, in which her mother had been a source of laughter and joy.

It was hard to reconcile them with the way she spoke now, or with the glimpse he’d caught of her mother the night before.

“Yeah, we’re the lucky ones.” Poppy’s hand tightened on her phone, and she raised her gaze to him again. “Thanks for hanging out with me. I had a wonderful time.”

It was another dismissal; Rai’s first instinct was to insist their time was not over, to convince her to let him accompany her home, but there was nothing to carry, no simple pretext. And he had business to attend to. “I did as well.” He looked at his empty cup. “I will repay you.”

“No hurry,” she said, flushing pink again. “Maybe you can treat me next time?”

“Tonight?”

She grinned. “Not unless I want to stay up all night.”

“I can stay up all night.”

“Famous last words,” she said, eyebrows going up. Her heart was beating faster, as well. Curious.

He had been trying so hard not to sound a fool, but he had to ask. “Why are the words famous?”

She laughed. “God, you are dangerous.” She stood and collected their cups.

“Indeed. I am glad you understand.” Rai stood as well, following her across the room. “I wish to visit tonight.”

“I’d like that,” she said, depositing their coffee cups in one plastic bin and the water cups in another before turning to him. “Yes. What time do you—”

Rai kissed her.

He had not planned it, or not this way at least, not at this time.

But she had said yes , and I’d like that , and he was so tired of discussing times and numbers and things he did not understand when her lips were right there waiting to be sipped.

She gasped at the contact, leaning into it, her mouth warm and sweet, but then there was a clatter of crockery nearby and the lights flickered, and she drew back.

She was looking at him like he had grown antlers, and he hastily tightened his glamour, just in case he had revealed too much.

“I like the cinnamon,” he said. She’d tasted of it, of spice and coffee and woman, and he wanted to kiss her again, but the blue-haired woman was watching them, smiling like they were a comedic play.

A flash of annoyance rolled over him. He was tired of jokes he did not understand, of conversations that were puzzles and traps. And while Poppy could laugh at him if she wished, he was not here for the amusement of these other ants. He took Poppy’s hand and strode toward the door.

“Have a nice day,” came the blue woman’s voice as they exited.

Rai stopped on the sidewalk, the heat striking him like a blow, stealing half the moisture from his flesh in an instant. Poppy was beside him, her hand still in his, and she was looking at him with an unreadable expression.

“Well,” she said at last.

“I am not sorry,” Rai said fiercely.

“Good.” She squeezed his hand. “I really do have to go now.”

“Yes.” Rai forced a smile onto his dry lips. “My greetings to your mother.”

“And I’ll see you tonight? It can be whenever.”

“Yes. I will knock on the guest house door.”

“Okay.” She searched his face, then set a hand to his cheek.

Her skin was warm and damp, and he was leaning into the touch, soaking up the moisture, when she tipped up her face and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was over before he even managed to drag his brain out of the dry heat to enjoy it. “I’ll see you tonight.”

She smiled at him, wide and bright, then walked away and around the corner.

Rai watched her go, ignoring the instinct that told him to follow. He had to learn how not to be a fool first. Even if he had no idea where to begin.

He knew nobody in this town, had no connections and no maps beyond the one Poppy had given him to find his way to the coffee shop. He might have his wits and his apparently famous words, but he could not simply flag down a human on the sidewalk and ask them to teach him their mysterious ways.

Yet he could not ask Poppy for further support, either.

While he was still trying to remember the written alphabet, the time he had spent assisting her with her grocery shopping had successfully reminded him of his numbers as she’d read off and added and discussed prices aloud.

He might not know what a dollar was, in terms of gold, but he knew that the bread Poppy had chosen had cost two of them, that she had paid five dollars for her own coffee but six for his, and that the drawing she did not wish to discuss had a price of one hundred, which seemed a very small amount to him but was clearly a large amount to her from the way she’d agonized over the bread.

How many dollars would it be to repair her vehicle?

He did not know, but he knew it was more than she had available, and it chafed at him that he had deprived her of any.

This was something he had to do for her, not expect of her; that much was abundantly clear.

He stretched out his senses carefully, aware that he was already losing strength but unwilling to delay further even to seek shelter.

There—a short distance down the street, he could feel the pervasive tingle of an underworld ward.

He strode in that direction, not wanting to risk flight.

Despite the heat and the oppressive sun, this was a busy thoroughfare, vehicles flowing past on the street while the sidewalks were clogged with pedestrians, and he did not trust his power to shield him.