Page 4 of Avalon Tower
He grins. “Well, Nia, we must celebrate. Has it been a good birthday so far?”
Church bells toll, and the sound echoes across the stones and out to the sea. The air grows colder, grayer. “Probably one of the best. Definitely far from the worst.”
My worst birthday was when I was fifteen, back in LA. Mom promised to throw a huge party. This was when we still lived in a house in Laurel Canyon with gorgeous views of the city, and it felt like my one chance to impress the rich girls from my school. But she started drinking champagne early and fell through a glass table while the DJ was playing an ABBA song. She kept laughing hysterically as she bled all over the hardwood floors.
The girls from school never spoke to me again.
Oh, good. Another memory that should have stayed under the surface. I muster a smile.
Jules turns to look behind him, and I realize that a cold hush has fallen over the outdoor café. The sea no longer sparkles. It’s churning under a gray sky.
Then my gaze flits to a pair of Fey marching over the white rocks. Actual, real-life, terrifying Fey, the kind that slaughter people for being disloyal.
Fear flutters through my chest.
I’ve never seen full-blooded Fey before. I find myself staring at their towering, godlike physiques. But it’s the eerie, otherworldly way they walk that holds my attention. With every graceful movement they make, my mind screams that danger lurks between me and the roiling sea, a primal fear that dances up the nape of my neck and makes it hard to breathe.
They look so out of place here—warriors from another time, draped in dark cloaks that seem to suck up the light around them. Long hair flows down their backs, silver and black, and their bright eyes send alarm bells ringing through me. Not to mention the swords.
My mind flicks back to the stories of what happened when they first invaded Breton. The burned homes, the corpses left in their wake…
One of them glances at me, bright emerald eyes with a metallic sheen. He looks lethal. My stomach flips. I’m not even doing anything wrong. I’m a tourist, legally here on vacation, but I suddenly feel like I’m about to die.
My pulse races as I look down at the cake again, trying to go unnoticed. I stare at it, gripping my fork.
When I look up again, the two Fey are gone, and I exhale slowly. Around me, the café conversation resumes.
Jules turns back to me, frowning. “It’s unusual to see the Fey patrol here. They must be looking for someone. A fugitive, perhaps. A demi-Fey.” He narrows his eyes at me. “The demi-Fey are very beautiful. Like you.” He stares at me, his eyes narrowing. His words linger in the air. “And they don’t always have pointed ears, you know. You said you are from America?”
I can feel his suspicion, and a shiver runs down my spine. Suddenly, I desperately want to get away from this guy.
“America, yes.” I clear my throat. “Do you have a phone here I can use?”
With a clenched jaw, Jules points inside. “It’s by the back entrance.”
I drop some money on the table and stand. Head down, I cross into the café. There’s a back door, I think, in case I need to run out of here.
Am I being paranoid that the waiter suspected me? Or was Leila right about coming here? I’m not sure which idea I dread more—the actual danger I could be in or the gloating I told you so I’d get from her.
I find the phone by a door that looks out onto a side street. Like most phones these days, it’s a refurbished antique, the only kind that still works. It’s beautiful, really, with a copper body and ivory handset. I pick it up and put it to my ear, blinking at the loud ringtone. I dial my mother’s number, turning the old rotary dial, then wait as the line crackles.
There’s a metallic tang in the air that sets my teeth on edge. I close my eyes and inhale.
“Hello?” My mom’s voice sounds strange, distorted by wires and distance.
“Hi, Mom! It’s me.” I try to control my wavering voice.
“Nia,” she says heavily. “I’m glad you finally decided to call.”
“I called three days ago,” I remind her brightly.
“It’s been at least a week.”
“Okay.” There’s no point in arguing. “How are you doing?”
“I’m broke again. And my feet are aching.”
“Soak them in a plastic tub of water, Mom. Just make sure to turn the water off before it overflows.” I listen distractedly to her as I stare outside. “Don’t leave the water running unless you’re there.”