Free Halflings by Heather Burch Page A

gaze, and she wasn’t sure why she didn’t find it scary. Blond spikes covered portions of his face, but though his teeth were clenched and his eyes had hardened to dark marbles, his lips remained soft. Maybe something only an artist would notice, but his full mouth was loose, no hint of tension. And that was even more interesting than his eyes.
    He drew a long, slow breath, shoulders rising.
    Nikki fought the urge to smile.
    “I didn’t need any backup in there, that’s all I’m trying to say.”
    Get over yourself.
“Oh, you didn’t?”
    He jerked his head forward. “No, I didn’t.”
    “Well, I think you did. Schmidt was about to call the cops back and have them come and haul you away with Joey and the other guy, so whether you want to admit it or not — and from your know-it-all posture and self-serving attitude, I’m guessing not — I did you a favor. So you’re welcome.”
    He loudly exhaled all the air he’d sucked into his lungs. “Fine.”
    “Fine,” Nikki echoed, but found herself still fighting a goofy grin.
    He must have noticed, because he cocked his head. “What now?”
    “Sorry, it’s just that you were so busy puffing out your man chest, I was afraid you might burst.”
    If it was possible, his eyes darkened even more and thinned to slits.
    She swallowed.
    Behind her, Dr. Richmond left the principal’s office. He patted Nikki’s shoulder as he walked by. “Don’t worry. Everything is back to normal, now.”
    Normal?
Not likely.

     
    “Nikki, I want you to meet someone.” Her dad stuck his head through the kitchen doorway and waved to her as she opened the front door.
    She stepped in the house, dropped her backpack onto the couch, and ran a hand through a tangle of windblown hair. She pointed to the powder room — what her mom insisted on calling their downstairs bathroom. “Can I freshen up?”
    Her dad shooed her. “Go on, but make it quick.”
    Before she reached the bathroom, a rumble of hearty laughterdrifted to her. She paused, shrugged, and went to the mirror to inspect her wasp’s nest of a mess. As she dragged a brush through the knots, laughter erupted from the kitchen again. As well as a deep male voice she didn’t recognize. She cracked the door open and peered out. From her vantage point, the wall blocked all but a sliver of the dining room. Someone breezed past. Tall, dark hair, and jeans. A crisp white shirt, maybe expensive. And he called her mom Mary like he knew her — no, like he knew her really well.
    Was this some distant cousin she’d never met? Not likely. The Youngbloods didn’t have any family. The three musketeers. Or the three little pigs, depending on the day. Intrigue forced her to hurry and pull the brush one last time with such force, her head ached.
    “There you are,” her dad said.
    She’d been right about the shirt. Linen, a material she recognized thanks to her mom corrupting her mind. Expensively cut and hugging his chest and shoulders. On closer inspection, his pants were what Krissy would call rock-star jeans: faded lines at the front pockets and calves, but dark everywhere else. He wore pointed leather shoes, or maybe boots, a kind she’d seen in Sax Fifth Avenue when her mom and dad took her shopping on a rare trip to New York. She kept thinking they might be called pixie boots, but what guy would wear something with the word
pixie
in it? Some kind of scaly animal-skin belt encircled his waist. He sported a deep tan, perfect brown-black hair, and a mega smile. And when she stepped up to meet him, sparkling black-diamond eyes locked on her. “So, this is Nikki.”
    Wow. Men like this lived in LA or New York or something. Not in the middle of nowhere Missouri. And there was something else about him, something that set her on edge, but hisflashy smile, strong-but-yummy cologne, and the gold chain at his neck kept distracting her.
    She reached her hand to shake his. “I’m at a disadvantage here,” she said. “You know my name, but