Lament: The Faerie Queen's Deception by Maggie Stiefvater Page B

trip, probably thinking I was nauseated. But I could tell she was cooking something, and I was right. She turned down the radio.
    “Last night—” Here it came. Frustration welled inside me like a red, ugly blister and exploded.
    “I don’t want to talk about Luke,” I snapped.
    I might as well have slapped her. She even put her fingers to her lips, as if I really had. I was violating another rule, of course. I was supposed to sit and just let her ream me out, and then nod mutely and do whatever she said. Screw that.
    Bad choice of words.
    Just screw her . I can’t wait. Finish it. I angrily tugged down the edge of the fitted blue dress Mom had bought for me. I hated the dress. Made it look like I’d raided an old woman’s closet. All I needed was a big gaudy string of pearls and I’d be ready to hit the Moose Lodge.
    So what? Luke was in league with the friggin’ rabbit? Why even bother to tell me about faeries then? To gain my confidence so he could get in my pants?
    Mom jerked the car to a halt and I looked up with surprise, thinking she was preparing for a huge confrontation. But no, that wasn’t Mom’s way. We were already at the church.
    “What are you wearing around your neck, anyway?” Her voice was cold enough for polar bears.
    My hand went to the chain that held Luke’s key.
    “It looks like crap with the dress,” Mom said. Wow. Minor swearing. I’d really pissed her off.
    “Whatever.” Like I felt like wearing it right now anyway. I unclasped it and curled the chain and the key in my palm.
    “Put it in your harp case so you don’t lose it.” Mom pressed the button to open the trunk. “Take your phone.”
    I took the phone. “You aren’t staying?”
    Her voice dropped a few more degrees. “Granna can pick you up. I’m going home, I have work to do. Call her when you’re done.”
    “Fine. Okay. See you later.” I could be just as icy. I pulled my harp from the trunk, dropping Luke’s secret into the pouch of the case, and headed into the church. Mom was already pulling out of the lot by the time I let the massive oak door close behind me.
    Inside, the church lobby was dim and spacious, lushly covered in red carpet. It had that smell that only old churches get, something about lots of people and lots of candles and lots of years. There were already knots of people gathered, all discussing details of flowers and timing and music, and in a rush, my stomach remembered how it was supposed to be feeling.
    “You must be the harpist.” A woman with blond hair glued into place popped up by my side like an overwhelmingly perfumed jack-in-the-box, complete with permanent smile. “I’m Maryann, the wedding planner.”
    I nodded dumbly. If I opened my mouth, I’d toss chunks all over her stiff hair, melting it.
    “Your mother explained all about you,” Maryann said through her rack of teeth. “The bathroom’s right through those doors.”
    With equal parts gratitude and humiliation, I tore through the doors and found the tiny, antique bathroom. I shoved aside the fake flower arrangement that was one thousand times too large for the room and promptly puked. Afterward, my stomach immediately felt better, and all that was left was the faintly sick feeling that I’d had since I’d heard the conversation between Luke and the damn rabbit.
    I scrubbed my hands with the potent lavender soap and rinsed them under a blast of water. Something firm and heavy rolled between my fingers, and before I realized what it was, I saw Granna’s ring quickly circle the drain and disappear.
    I swore and stuck my finger into the drain, but it was an old sink with one of those gaping drains that was just waiting for personal effects to fall in. My ring was unreachable, somewhere in the plumbing. And of course Granna was the one picking me up today. She’d go through the roof.
    Friggin’ ace.
    I returned to the lobby, where I found Maryann and worked out the details of when to play during the wedding. And of