A Want So Wicked by Suzanne Young Page B

to someone I loved. Fresh hurt opens in my chest.
    Abe’s eyes check me over when I reach him. He brushes the back of his finger over my cheek. “You were crying,” he says, shooting an alarmed look behind me. “Did she hurt you again?”
    â€œNothing like that,” I say, afraid to tell him why I’m really here. Afraid to tell him about the stories, especially since I refuse to believe them myself. “I just wanted to ask her why she attacked me.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œIt was an accident.” I shrug. “Case closed, I guess.”
    Abe watches me, a small smile crossing his lips. “You are a terrible liar, Elise. But if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. Just know that you can.”
    â€œThanks.” I rub my face, trying to get my bearings now that I’m outside.
    â€œShe gave you a mint?” Abe asks, sounding amused. I turn quickly to him.
    â€œYou know about that?”
    He grins. “She gives everyone a mint. How else will they believe the garbage she tells them? I just hope you didn’t eat the whole thing.”
    I shake my head. “No, I didn’t. But I am a little foggy.”
    â€œHere.” He offers his hand to me. I catch his gaze for a second, his expression sweet. Inviting. I let him take my palm and feel instantly better.
    When we get to the car, I’m back to myself—or a slightly calmer version. Marceline’s stories are pushed away, almost silly now. What was I thinking, listening to a psychic? I’m embarrassed for myself.
    I turn the ignition of Lucy’s car, but there is only a series of metallic clicks. “Not now,” I say, and groan. I try it again. This time I get nothing.
    I glance over to Abe. “You don’t happen to be a skilled mechanic?” I ask.
    â€œSee this face, Elise,” he says, using his finger to circle his features. “Do I look like the kind of guy who can fix cars?”
    â€œNo,” I say, sounding disappointed. “You’re way too pretty to get dirty.”
    â€œExactly. You should call home.”
    I fish out my phone and dial the house, but it rings without anyone picking up. I try Lucy’s cell, but she doesn’t answer that either. It’s still too early to call my father, so I’ll have to wait until his services are over. Great. What am I supposed to do until then?
    â€œNo answer?” Abe asks.
    â€œNope.”
    â€œHuh. Well, I live close. You can come to my house, at least until your dad can pick you up.” He raises his eyebrow as he looks over, and I have to smile.
    â€œIs this just a clever ruse to get me to come home with you?”
    â€œYou think I tampered with your spark plugs and unhooked your home phone line? That’s at least two steps further than I would go for a girl. So what’s it gonna be, Elise? Hang out in front of Madame Marceline’s house for all to see, or come check out where I live?”
    â€œWhen you put it that way . . .”
    I grab my purse, locking the car door before pulling my hair into a low knot to keep it out of my face. But as we start to walk, Abe reaches over to undo it, letting the strands cascade down my back.
    â€œI like your hair better like this,” he says, running his fingers over it. And then he smiles to himself and we walk toward his house.
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    As we tread the cracked cement pavers to Abe’s front door, a sudden nervousness starts to twist in my stomach. This is the first time I’ve gone home with a guy—technically. But I have other worries. Lots of them. Marceline’s story tries to come back into my consciousness, but I push it away. It’s ridiculous.
    â€œWelcome home,” Abe says as he opens his front door. I meet his eyes, feeling a bit uncertain. His gaze is steady and intense. And after a long moment, I walk inside.
    The living room is small, dark even in the afternoon light. It smells mildly of