Free Lament: The Faerie Queen's Deception by Maggie Stiefvater Page B

something. And worse, now I didn’t know where it was. I looked around the room, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.
    “Real shadows don’t disappear.” James’ voice was flat. “Do you want me to come over?”
    Of course I did. “My parents would freak if they knew.”
    “Like I said, do you want me to come over?”
    From the floor, Rye looked up at me, and then settled his head on his paws. With a deep sigh, he closed his eyes. Whatever had been in the room, he wasn’t concerned. I vacillated between what I wanted and what I needed, and finally went with the less selfish option. Also the one with less possible repercussions.
    “I’ll be okay. Rye’s going back to sleep. He’d let me know if there was something to be worried about, I think.”
    James sighed, less contentedly than Rye. “You can’t call and get me worried and then tell me it’s nothing.”
    “I’m sorry. Can I come over in the morning?”
    “You know you always can.”
    After we’d hung up, I waited long minutes, waiting for the figure to reappear, but it didn’t. Finally I let exhaustion pull me into sleep.

Book Two
    Now when we’re out a-sailing and you are far behind
    Fine letters will I write to you with the secrets of my mind,
    The secrets of my mind, my girl, you’re the girl that I adore,
    And still I live in hope to see the Holy Ground once more.
    You’re the girl that I adore,
    And still I live in hope to see the Holy Ground once more.
    —“The Holy Ground”

six
    T he following day was clear and surprisingly temperate, all humidity and heat scrubbed clean by the storm of the night before. Sitting in the passenger seat of the old Audi, Luke beside me, I couldn’t believe the storm last night had been so terrifying. Or that his invisible conversation had been so creepy. Or that freckle-kid had really been in the back yard. It was crazy—every time I was in Luke’s presence, I couldn’t really be bothered by any of the things that troubled me when I was alone. Was this love?
    No, said a cross voice in my head. It’s stupidity. And don’t feel bad, it runs in the family.
    For an hour we talked about stupid stuff that I couldn’t remember afterward. Like why “Bill” was a nickname for “William” and why dogs didn’t come in stripes. Every time I thought we’d run out of things to talk about, one of us thought of something else.
    “Bucephalus.” Luke tapped the steering wheel.
    “God bless you!”
    He laughed. “No, it’s the name of my car.”
    “You named your car?”
    He smiled impishly, a little boy.
    Looking at my feet, where the carpet was stained two colors and curling away from the edge of the door, I demanded, “After Alexander the Great’s horse, no less? Going for a bit of irony, were you?”
    “So you know who he was. You know the story.” Luke’s teeth flashed white in the clear sunlight as he gestured grandly to the dashboard. “That’s our story as well.”
    “You and the car.”
    “Yes.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “So, what you’re telling me is that nobody else in the world could drive this car. That it threw all comers out and drove over them, leaving tire marks on their faces, and one day, you as a young boy climbed into it and bent it to your will?”
    His eyes smiled more than his mouth did, which was only lifted on one corner. “That’s right. And we’ve been inseparable ever since.”
    I considered this, and then I looked at the dashboard, faded and scraped. “I dunno. I guess I would’ve tried to tame a Maserati instead of an Audi.”
    Now he laughed. “What can I say, destiny chose this one for me.” He pointed. “Look.”
    We were finally getting into Richmond; the car was surrounded by suburbs that gave way to office buildings and stores. Richmond was a very bright city. Everywhere, sunlight reflected from white sidewalks, mirrored buildings, parked cars, and concrete medians between lanes of black top. There were trees, but they seemed like an afterthought,