Free All That Glows by Ryan Graudin Page B

still a far cry from what I could be.
    Richard stands close, hands shoved into his pockets. The way he looks at me now is different—it’s not fear, but close to it. Reverence maybe.
    I close my eyes and breathe. Diesel and dust cling to the air in my nostrils. I focus on the tree, on its roots and the soil far beneath them.
    For several minutes, it’s only the distant sounds of music and the cabs pulling in and out of their parking spaces. My breathing grows stronger, steadier. I no longer feel like I’m about to break.
    “You just saved Edmund’s life, didn’t you?” the prince says when I open my eyes.
    “Yeah,” I cough out the word. “Guess he owes me.”
    “What was that thing? A soul feeder?” There’s just an edge of shakiness in his voice.
    “A Banshee. They’ll suck out your soul with a scream. Not quite as painful as getting eaten alive by a Green Woman.” I think back to my shoulder and the long-gone bite of fire.
    “But—but it turned into a ferret.”
    “Weasel. She shifted into a weasel,” I correct him. “They like turning into stoats too. And hares. And hooded crows. Keep an eye out for those.”
    Richard looks over his shoulder. Across the street I see his security guards, watching. They haven’t moved from their posts by the pub door. Richard must have asked them to stay.
    “Don’t worry, she’s gone.” There’s nothing nearby either. No Black Dogs or fellow Banshees. This one was hunting alone.
    The prince looks back at the tree, where my hands touch the bark. “What are you doing?”
    “Recharging. The pubs are hard on me. . . . Too much technology, I guess. I was already strained before the Banshee appeared.”
    “That’s why you threw up?” Richard glances over at the oily patch in the road. It winks back at us, reflecting the headlamps of a passing cab.
    Is it getting worse? I swallow the decay from my mouth. Hard to tell.
    “This . . . attack. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, is it?” The prince appears very grounded and clear-eyed as he thinks this out, all drink evaporated from his system.
    “There’ve been a few other incidents,” I admit. “It’s hard to avoid them in the pubs.”
    “The blackouts I had . . . that was you?” He examines his hand. The swelling is mostly gone now.
    “I do what I must to keep you alive.” I push myself away from the tree. “Period.”
    Richard looks like he wants to say something, but the words get caught in his throat. There’s a commotion on the other side of the street. Men with cameras moving down the sidewalk. Seems like the paparazzi finally got tipped off on Richard’s whereabouts. That’s the last thing I need: my photo gracing the front page of The Sun for every Fae to see.
    The prince sees them too. “Great,” he mutters, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.
    “I think it’s time to go home,” I tell him.
    “I think you’re right,” he says, and waves across the street to his bodyguards. “Enough for one night.”
    My legs are still shaky, ready to collapse. I reach up toward a tree branch, tangle my fingers into its leaves. A few of them break off into my palm—a piece of nature to take with me into the car that’s now wheeling around, ready for Richard’s quick escape from the paparazzi.
    The night feels full of eyes as Richard opens the car door for me. Tonight was too close. If there’d been even one more soul feeder on the prowl, I would have failed. Richard would be dead.
    And I don’t even have the choice of backup. Not if I want to keep walking this thin line, this only path.
    The leaves fold over and over in my palm, my only comfort as Richard comes in on the other side and shuts the door. The car pulls away, back toward the curling iron gates of Kensington.

SEVEN 

    Your presence is requested at Queen Mab’s court.
    You must leave immediately.

    P aleness invades my face as I stare at the words I just unrolled from the sparrow’s leg. The messenger appeared in