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The local news blares from the microwave-sized TV on the counter. “This grandfather from Briar county claims his granddaughter grew fangs while he held her in his lap, then bit him before escaping out a window. Could another darkling infestation be on the rise?”
Not wanting the story to alarm the children, I rush over and switch the channel to national news. It’s easier to tune out the newscasters from the other side as they speak of the newest bill that’s supposed to help those in the Tainted Zone.
Yeah, right.
There’s also a huge concert for our benefit. All the biggest celebrities and Fae have gotten together to raise money that will undoubtedly end up in the Millers’ pockets. Sometimes I feel like we’re the most forgotten place on earth.
“And where did the cat come from again?” Aunt Zinnia asks. Luckily she’s too busy overbaking her cornbread to notice I’m wearing long-sleeves in the middle of summer, or that I keep rubbing my tattooed arm.
I shrug. “He just sort of showed up?”
“Well, can he just sort of go away?”
“Shh,” I scold. “He can hear you. Besides, look how friendly and adorable he is.”
Aunt Zinnia throws a dubious glance over her shoulder at Chatty Cat, who’s made himself right at home on the kitchen island and is busy hissing at any kid who gets close. “I might be able to explain him to Vi, but”—she nods her head at the neverapples—“those will need more of an explanation. Where did you find them anyway?”
“Can’t we just say they came from the same place the fresh eggs and milk needed for that cornbread came from?” I ask hopefully, eyeing the basket of large brown eggs on the table.
Any hope that Cal didn’t know who the blonde thief was evaporated the moment I got home and discovered the wheelbarrow on the front porch. Cal personally delivered everything I stole to our house, plus a few extras.
For a block-headed idiot, his sense of irony is razor-sharp.
“Summer, you know the Miller boy would never trade in . . . well, whatever those are.” She waves a hand at the neverapples, piled high in an old bucket near the sink.
“Right,” I scoff. “Cal and his family have no problem stealing the pallets of aid sent from the other side and then selling them on the black market, but handling goods from Everwilde are way beyond their moral code.”
More like, they have to keep up appearances. The Fae have grown popular in the big cities outside the borderlands. And why not? They have the money, magic, and influence to hire huge PR firms and throw lavish benefits for us: the humans caught in a no-man’s land they swear is still tainted by magic.
While we’re unable to leave this little slice of hell on earth, the Fae have influenced their way into every echelon of society on the other side. But here, where we see their evil up close and feel the sting of their crimes, they’re reviled.
“So, did Cal say anything when he delivered all this?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.
Aunt Zinnia tugs at the fuzzy strings of her robe. “Only that you would know how to repay him.”
The thought turns my stomach. Owing Cal is nearly as bad as being bound to the Evermore. At least once I’m there, I’ll be out of Cal’s reach.
Cal Miller has had a crush on me since ninth grade. He’s a walking, muscled-up cliché. The high school quarterback, prom king, and eldest son to the wealthiest family in town, he’s had everything in life handed to him.
Everything but me.
I had no idea he liked me. Not until he shoved his tongue down my throat after gym class.
I wasn’t the first girl he’s swapped spit with, but I was the first one who turned him down. That’s before I understood that guys like Cal Miller don’t get rejected.
At least, not by “orphan girls named Summer Solstice, who shop at goodwill and whose boobs aren’t even that big.”
His words, not mine. He said them right before pushing me against my locker and trying to touch said boobs.
So I informed him of the other rule. The one that states don’t-effing-touch-me-without permission. A well-timed knee to his man onions followed up by a right hook to his thick jaw made that clear.
Or should have. But some guys have rocks where their brain’s supposed to go, and his obsession has only gotten stronger.
No more Cal, I think as I lug one of the blue gallon water jugs over to the pantry. Silver linings, Summer. Focus on the silver linings.
The kids gather around the bar countertop, helping prep the influx of goods. Cal and his guards must have gotten lucky hunting because there’s fresh meat, too, although I don’t dare ask what kind.
Between that, the stolen goods, and the neverapples, we’re looking at three full meals a day for weeks.
