Page 41

Two days later...

Mrs. Wilton hadn't left her bed. Not once. The cheerful little cottage had grown strangely quiet. Curtains remained drawn despite the afternoon sun, and the endless supply of freshly baked cookies had mysteriously disappeared. That frightened me more than anything else.

Mrs. Wilton always baked. If she wasn't baking... something was terribly wrong.

I carried the untouched tray back into the kitchen and found Azaren standing over the map we'd been using to mark every disturbance we'd discovered.

He looked up immediately. "She didn't eat."

I shook my head. "Two bites."

His jaw tightened. No sarcastic remark. No lecture. No attempt to pretend everything was under control. Just that tiny muscle ticking in his jaw.

"We need to hurry," I whispered.

His gaze drifted toward the ceiling. Toward Mrs. Wilton. "I know."

There it was again. That expression. The one he'd been wearing more and more lately whenever Mrs. Wilton coughed. Or struggled to stand. Or smiled when she was obviously in pain. I smiled despite myself.

"What?" He frowned.

"Nothing."

"You are smiling."

"I am."

"Why?"

"I just realized something."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What?"

"You like her."

"I do not."

"You do."

"I tolerate her."

I laughed. "You've gone from the fairy to Mrs. Wilton."

"I learned her name."

"You made her tea yesterday."

"She required hydration."

"You tucked the blanket around her."

"It had fallen."

"You carried her upstairs."

"She was inefficient."

I folded my arms. "You looked ready to murder the universe when she coughed."