Free Entice by Carrie Jones Page A

Astley appears beside me again.
    “Were you in the bathroom this whole time?” I ask, fiddling with my anklet.
    He rolls his eyes and tells me he used a glamour to hide himself. He walked up and down the aisle but couldn’t locate the source of the smell.
    “I don’t like that,” I say as he clicks the seat belt back in place.
    He is still. His whole body is tense, as if waiting for an attack. After a moment he says, “Neither do I.”
    “Did you recognize it? Who did it smell like?”
    “Your father.”

7
I canNOT even tell you how creepy it is here. Seriously. I swear I hear people whispering my name every time we go outside, and sometimes it’s like there’s someone scratching on my window. I swear I am not crazy. It’s just Bedford, man. LOL .
    — BLOG POST

    “Everything looks like an IKEA store,” I say, grabbing Astley’s elbow as we walk through the airport in Iceland.
    He laughs and smiles. His happiness and purpose seem infectious, almost like the air is full of pink bubble gum, only not sticky.
    “It has so many windows,” I say, looking out into the darkness where the airplanes taxi and the luggage trains roll around. “And look at the chairs. They’re all posh.”
    “Keflavik is known for being an amazing airport.” He points at all the shops: Burberry, Calvin Klein, Gucci. “Would you like to buy anything? I know you are a bit lacking for stores in Bedford.”
    “No, no … I’m good.” My feet almost feel like happy-dancing across the sleek light wood floor. “When do you think your pixie friend will contact us? What should we do while we wait?”
    He reaches over and grabs my carry-on. “I do not know exactly when. He said he’d call sometime today, and he’s arranged for a car to take us to Reykjavik.”
    “The capital?”
    “You have been reading up,” he says as we get to baggage claim. He looks down at me like he’s all proud for a second. My whole body tingles in some strange, wild way and my heartbeat jumps to five hundred beats a minute. I almost think he’s going to kiss me, but he’d never do that. He only did it that once just to turn me. His lips part a little, but he just says, “You stay here; I shall get the bags.”
    I packed heavy because I didn’t know what to bring on a rescue mission to a mythological land or to Iceland.
    I check my clock. It’s ten a.m. and it’s still dark outside. The sun won’t rise for another ninety minutes, and then it’ll set four hours after that, which is totally wild. I thought Maine was bad, but this country is so close to the north pole that it’s even darker.
    Astley returns with our bags. “You’re shuddering. Are you cold?”
    I shrug and make to grab my suitcase, but he nods toward a man in a dark suit, who must be our driver. The man hurries over, bows at Astley, doesn’t actually say anything, and takes our stuff.
    By the time we’re done with customs and the bags and getting settled in the car, the sun has started to rise. The sky is gray and overcast. Snow melds into the ground and there aren’t forests, just occasional clumps of big Christmas-type trees. It’s Maine cold. Squat buildings sprawl up out of the ground as if they sprouted there.
    “It seems so unreal to be here,” I say to Astley. We’re sitting together in the back of the car. It’s all cushy even though it’s small. He looks healthy again. The cut on his face is gone. His color is good. “It’s like the world is suddenly shifted and this place couldn’t possibly be on it.”
    “I know.” He crosses his legs.
    I turn my cell phone on and stare at its blankness. “I don’t have a signal.”
    “Did you have them turn it on so you can get calls internationally?” he asks.
    Of course not. I didn’t know you had to. As we drive toward Reykjavik, I can’t even begin to count all the things I should have done but I didn’t. I begin to list them in my head and give up.
    He smiles and settles back into his seat.