“Zaid,” I said as he was clearing the plates. “Thank you for fixing my butterfly lamp for me. I don’t know how you managed to put—”
“Wasn’t me,” he replied tersely, then moved to the dishwasher to start loading it.
I didn’t bother arguing or trying to press more platitudes on him. His tone was clear, and I believed him when he said he hadn’t fixed it. I’d come to read Zaid well over the past month and a half. He was a truth teller.
Which meant Carrick had done it, so I owed him my gratitude. It would be heartfelt too, because while I have no regrets about throwing that lamp at Wade as he charged into my room, there was a large hole in my heart from knowing it was gone. It was my last, best memory of my father before he shot himself, and it was irreplaceable.
Back at the kitchen counter sipping on a last cup of coffee, I check the time on my phone. It’s nearing eight. That’s when Zaid told me Stan would be coming to Carrick’s condo. I have no clue where we’re going to be able to step through the veil that separates earth from Faere, but I’m ready. My backpack is on the floor beside my stool and within it, I have two changes of clothing, my whip, a water bottle, a brush, toothpaste, and a toothbrush, as well as a few hair ties.
Past that, I didn’t know what else to bring. I have to assume food will be provided and if I was supposed to bring something specific, Zaid or Carrick would have told me.
I had considered bringing my sketchbook, but I figured that would be a waste as I doubt I’d have the time to sit back and leisurely sketch this new world.
“You ready to go?” Carrick asks from behind me and I swivel around to see him entering the kitchen. He has his own backpack, which he sets on the floor beside mine before moving around the island to the coffee pot. It’s the first I’ve seen him all morning.
“I am,” I say as I take in his clothing. He’s dressed for walking and maneuverability, once again sporting a pair of cargo pants, this time khaki in color. He’s got on hiking boots and a long-sleeved navy t-shirt that fits his upper body just a little too well. His hair is damp, meaning he just showered, swept back in waves from his forehead, and he’s clean-shaven.
As always, he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever known. It’s odd to me that I find him more attractive as time has worn on, despite my feelings sometimes ranging from frustration to bitterness toward him. But through it all, I’ve been learning to trust him more, and we’re developing some sort of partnership through this journey.
After pouring a cup of coffee, Carrick moves back around the island, whereby he checks me out. He takes in my white long-sleeved t-shirt over which I have a vintage Grateful Dead short-sleeved tee, but I don’t have my lower half dressed for hiking the way he does. I put on a pair of cold weather Under Armour workout pants in black, and I have on my favorite pair of UA tennis shoes.
I went with these pants, which hug my legs tightly because I’ve strapped the dagger to my thigh. Carrick’s eyes don’t linger on the dagger long as his gaze comes to mine. “You’re going to have to put that in your bag or leave it behind.”
“Why?” I ask, frowning. Without hesitation, though, I remove the holster.
“It would be an affront to openly wear iron in Faere,” he explains, which makes sense to me.
As I hop off the stool to slide the dagger into my bag, I take the opportunity to show my gratitude. Crouching over my bag and loosening the drawstring top, I say, “Carrick, I really appreciate you fixing my lamp.”
He doesn’t respond right away, so I look up at him. I almost expect a denial or even a brush off, but his eyes lock on mine and he merely inclines his head. “You are most welcome.”
I don’t have time to consider how nice his response is or that perhaps we turned a corner in our relationship, because the elevator doors open up.
Within moments, Zaid is leading Stan into the kitchen. He gives a half-smile, that seems more like a grimace, to Carrick, his expression broadcasting he isn’t happy to be doing this. He barely glances at me, but I see distaste written all over his face.
Not surprising. He’s not just a Light Fae, but he’s also a member of the royals, according to Carrick. Since I know there are only one prince and one princess, neither of whom are Stan, I deduce he must be a royal noble. I wonder if his name is Stan in Faere or if that is just an earth name. It certainly doesn’t sound fae, not when the royals have exotic names like Nimeyah or Callidan and such.