Stolen Away by Alyxandra Harvey Page A

just as I was beginning to wonder if it was possible to get singed lips from a kiss. “What is it about you, Jo?” he asked, his voice ragged.
    I swallowed, my breath trembling in my throat. “What is it about
us
?” I corrected him gently.
    “I’m not good for you.”
    It was a warning.
    As if I couldn’t already tell he was steeped in secrets and angst. He wore a cloak of solitude and arrogance, but I was beginning to see where it was thin and frayed in spots.
    “So?” I kissed him again, a soft nip. “Earnest and true isn’t my taste,” I murmured. “What about your taste?”
    A crooked smile touched his sullen mouth. “I prefer … darker.”
    My pulse danced a complicated jig as muggy white clouds nibbled on the sun. The shadows around us darkened, like bruises. He glanced at the sky. “Storm coming,” he said softly, as if he was calculating. “Not tonight, but soon. Too soon.”
    “Good,” I said, taking a sip of my drink to steady myself. “We could use the rain.” Secretly, I thought our kiss might have been powerful enough to end the drought.
    I reluctantly slid off the fence. “I have to go,” I said.
    “You should,” he agreed, self-mocking in his tone. He reached out and wiped a smear of chocolate from the corner of my mouth with his thumb. “See you soon, Jo.” I shivered. Soon was not going to be anywhere soon enough.
    But at least this time I was the one to walk away, while he leaned against the fence and watched me, his hands in his pockets.
    • • •
    I parked in the lot just inside the park, by the swing sets. I would have run all the way to the pond if it wasn’t so bloody hot. Or so far away. I hooked the bundle of thorn twigs to my knapsack and slung it over my shoulder, grateful for stamina granted to me by years of helping out in the orchard. It kept me from passing out when the heat clogged my lungs and from collapsing in a nervous breakdown when I thought about what was happening. Nanna said it to me all the time, especially since the rains had stopped:
farm folk keep on.
    By the time I reached the pond, the back of my tank top was soaked in sweat. I guzzled an entire bottle of water and then stuck my wrists in the pond to cool off. The swan was gone. I scanned the grass, the weeds, the wilted dandelions—saw nothing resembling a mouthy Fae dressed like a flower.
    Assuming Devin had managed to sneak out of school between classes, he’d be here soon. If nothing else, he was so calm he’d help me feel less crazy. Or I could call Hot Guy and see if he wanted to distract me some more.
    I set out the matches I’d packed and then arranged the twigs in a little teepee shape, the way Granddad did when we had summer bonfires. I stuffed crumpled paper in the hollow center and then filled my empty bottle with water from the pond. I carefully soaked the grass around the thorny branches so I wouldn’t accidentally set the whole field on fire. I wiped my palms on my skirt.
    “Okay, here goes,” I muttered, reaching for the box of matches. I lit the hawthorn branches, fanning them with my math binder until the flames caught. They crackled and smoked. I sat back, scanning the grass, the pond, the birch trees. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to see. Which didn’t really matter since nothing happened.
    Nothing at all.
    I coughed on the smoke, deflated. “I was really hoping it would be that easy.”
    “You ijit,” a small, feral voice snapped.
    I jumped, lifting my fists in a classic boxer stance.
    The flower fairy snorted. “Going to punch a wee thing like me, are you, then?”
    I lowered my hands. “You again.”
    “I prefer ‘Isadora’ to ‘you.’” She circled the tiny bonfire, scowling. “What the bleedin’ hell is this?”
    “A thorn tree fire.”
    “Someone’s been reading novels.” She sighed, her pretty wings fluttering.
    “I’m trying to get my friend Eloise out of the hill.”
    “That won’t do it,” she replied. “All you’ve done is made