Page 14

She had also shown him an inn that was close to both the underworld entrance and Poppy’s home, though it was too early to check in.

She’d given him precise instructions on how to do so, along with the information that this “motel” was the sort that was “no tell” and thus he would not be questioned once he had paid.

While it was not, she had said, as pleasant as a high mountain lake, it would provide him with privacy, access to ample water, and a “swamp cooler,” which she asserted would do him more good than the air conditioning humans preferred.

It was their final stop, though, that had filled Rai with confidence.

Now, he had the weapon he needed to wage his siege of Poppy’s lips and heart.

The one tool necessary to support his masquerade as a human businessman who was not, in fact, an idiot but rather a wise, capable, and trustworthy man who had no need of any awards in the mail to prove his worth.

With this, Poppy’s adoration was as good as his.

Rai had a phone.

It had been at the end of his long list of things he would require, after books, educational materials, cultural documents, historical references, and a way to tell time.

After listening to his litany of needs, Ofelia had replied with the unbelievable information that his phone could provide all those things, as long as it was “smart” and not “flip.”

“You’ll pay through the nose for data,” she’d said with a wave of her hand, “but you can afford it, and your motel has wi-fi.”

“I do not want to pay through my—”

“Metaphor, Rai.” Ofelia had interrupted him. “Put metaphors at the top of your research list, or your sweet flower will murder you before the week is out.”

Rai had not wanted to admit to Ofelia that Poppy had already begun gathering the means of his demise; he’d simply shut his mouth and accompanied her to a store that was white and stark and seemed entirely made of glass, where an obsequious salesman had helped him select a “prepaid” phone, one that was (at Ofelia’s recommendation) very sturdy and (at Rai’s insistence) very shiny.

He had been disappointed when Ofelia then insisted that he purchase a case that would cover the phone’s sparkling purple back and a thin sheet of glass to cover the front.

It seemed a great deal of fuss, but he was mollified by the array of phone cases he could choose from .

“That is certainly a choice,” Ofelia had said of his selection.

“It is perfect,” he had agreed.

There had been a moment of horror, though, when Ofelia had sat with him to instruct him on the use of his phone.

She’d taught him to swipe and tap, downloaded an app with which he could remind himself how to read, and then taken him on a tour of other programs. The tour had come to a screeching halt when she’d said, “And this is the weather app. Here’s where it says the temperature—in Fahrenheit, by the way, get used to it, and—”

“The weather app?” Rai had snatched the phone from her hand. “It is a program on the phone?”

Ofelia had glared at him in annoyance. Which was fair. He was quite difficult. “Yes, that is what apps are. We discussed this.”

“But weather app. It is a phone thing.”

“As you can see.”

“I cursed the weather app. With Poppy. She said the weather app had betrayed her and I—”

“Made the weather betray her?” Ofelia had sounded bored. That was not fair; he had only told her about his meetings with Poppy four or five times. Perhaps ten.

And she did not understand. “Yes, but also I said I had no phone.”

“And now you do.”

“But she will know it was a lie. I said the weather app had betrayed me, as it had her, but I did not have a phone with which to have a weather app.”

“She is going to find out you are a liar sooner or later.”

“But it is too soon.”

Ofelia had sighed wearily. “If she asks, simply tell her it was on your computer.”

“Computers also have apps?”

“Yes.”

“I have no computer.”

“Have you told her this?”

“No.”

“Then how will she know?”

“Perhaps I should purchase one.”

Ofelia had folded her arms and glared down her nose at him.

“Rai, I have said I am not in a hurry, but my patience is not infinite and does not extend to helping you make truth of every lie you have told this girl. Particularly since you insist on continuing the greatest lie of all by hiding your nature from her.”

Rai had stared at his precious phone. “I cannot tell her what I am. She will say goodbye too soon.”

“So hush your nonsense and learn to lie better.”

Rai had reluctantly hushed his nonsense and allowed Ofelia to provide her final advice before she returned to her own errands.

And while he had not been able to dispel his worries completely, he now felt confident that he would be able to survive in the human world, at least until the end of the monsoon, if his lies lasted that long.

Ofelia had been quite blunt in cautioning him not to stay after the rains dried up, describing in excruciating detail how inimical the desert was to water fae when that slight grace was gone, but surely his affair with Poppy would have run its course by then.

He had weeks to go, and if past experience was any guide, either he or she would have had their fill long before the climate grew so deadly that even constant baths could not protect him.

He did not want to hibernate, in a bath or a cactus or anywhere.

What mattered was now, tonight, tomorrow. What mattered was Poppy’s sweet face when he saw her again. And what mattered was finding a way to ensure that face held a smile, even if she didn’t know he was the one to have wrought it.

With that determination in mind, he pushed open the door of Café Legend again.

The blue-haired woman was still minding the till; she put on a smile as he approached, though he could see questions in her eyes. “Did you need more water?” she asked politely.

“Yes,” Rai said, then shook his head. “No. How does one purchase a drawing?”

Her eyebrows went up. “The usual way. You give me money; I give you art.”

“And Poppy? She will receive the hundred dollars?”

“There’s a ten percent commission. And tax.”

“I wish Poppy to receive the hundred dollars. I will pay the other.” He pulled out his roll of money and peeled off one of the bills. “How much is the ten percent?”

She smirked. “Ten dollars,” she said, with an implied you idiot on the end. “And the tax is about another nine.”

He dug to the tens in his rolled cash and handed two of them over. “Keep the change,” he said, proud of his useful new phrase.

“Let me go get it,” she said, striding toward the wall.

“I did not say which I desire.”

“Call it a lucky guess,” she said, and plucked Poppy’s portrait down .

He accepted the frame, tracing a finger over the glass that protected the paper. “Thank you.” He glared at the woman, putting the force of thunder in his gaze. “You must not tell her.”

“That it was you? Perish the thought.” She regarded him with something like pity. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”

Rai did not ask what he had bad, hearing Ofelia’s voice in his head saying metaphor.

Instead, he gazed at the work of art in his hands.

It was strange. He’d much rather look at the real Poppy, have her smiling and laughing at him, but he’d also known the moment he’d seen this drawing that he had to own it, even if it had meant stealing it.

But it was better that money would go to Poppy, and now he would have something to remember her by when he left after the monsoon.

“You want a plastic bag for that?” The woman gestured toward the window. “It looks like it’s going to rain.”

Thunder rumbled overhead, surprising Rai. He hadn’t noticed the storm approaching.

“Yes,” he said. “Please.”