I glanced at Jimmy, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Summer.
She looked the same as she always did. Impossibly pretty in her fringed white halter top, cowboy hat and boots. Did she ever wear anything else? Why bother when that looked so good?
“Why have you been hanging around here?” I asked, unease bubbling in my belly.
“Go ahead,” the Phoenix said, continuing to absently page through the key. “Tell them that you work for me.”
Summer narrowed her cornflower-blue eyes. “Not yet.”
“What is she saying?” Jimmy’s voice shook.
I cast him a quick glance. He was pale beneath the olive tone of his skin, his dark eyes hollow.
“And you said I broke him,” I muttered.
“You did.” The fairy transferred her glare to me. “So I had to fix him.”
“He’s fine.”
“He doesn’t look fine.”
Summer and I moved closer as we argued until we were almost nose-to-nose. Or nose-to-throat, considering she was the size and weight of a ten-year-old.
“My patience is waning,” the Phoenix interrupted. “I need a decision.”
Summer spun on her booted heel. “Jimmy isn’t available for your sick games.”
The Phoenix glanced up from the book with a smirk. “And why is that?”
Summer hesitated. “You know why.”
“Because you sold your soul to protect him?”
“Yeah.” The fairy sighed. “That’s why.”
My eyes widened. I glanced at Sawyer, whose expression gave nothing away—had he known or hadn’t he?—then Jimmy, whose expression revealed all. He hadn’t known, and he was as horrified by the revelation as I was.
I shoved Summer in the back. “You’ve been on their side all along?”
She stumbled forward several steps before whirling, hands clenched into fists as mine had been. “No!”
“Are you aware what selling your soul means?”
“More than you are.”
“I’d have to agree. Because I’d never do it.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” she shouted. “You don’t love him like I do.”
“Summer,” Jimmy whispered. “Why?”
All the fight went out of her. Her shoulders slumped; her hands went limp. She closed her eyes and took several breaths before facing him. “I can see the future. I knew what would happen if I didn’t. You’d die.”
“That’s going to happen anyway.”
“No. I made a deal.”
“You didn’t make a deal with me,” the Phoenix said.
“I made it with your boss.”
“He isn’t my boss yet. He won’t be my boss until I find the right sacrifice. Once I do, then I’ll be bound by his agreements. Until then, kiss my ass.”
Wow, she really was my mother.
Summer didn’t waste time arguing with a crazy person; she shot her hands out, spewing fairy dust like water from a fire hose.
All right, I thought. We are in business now. We might just get out of here alive.
Then the sparkly stream seemed to hit a wall a few inches in front of the Phoenix, and it ricocheted, streaking back in our direction, coating both Summer and me in enchanted silver dew.
The dust had no effect on me; it rarely did. Fairy magic doesn’t work on those on an errand of mercy, which was pretty much the story of my life. However, Summer got knocked on her ass.
She tumbled into me, cursing. Between the swear words, I caught “charm” and “rowan.” The Phoenix had come prepared to repel fairy magic.
I reached out to steady Summer. As soon as my palms grasped her arms I saw everything.
Summer arrives at the lake in her light blue ’57 Chevy Impala. She gets out, appearing exactly the same then as she does now. Tight jeans, boots, cowboy hat. The only difference is a fringed western shirt instead of her usual halter top.
The lake is deserted. Sawyer is gone; the body of Maria lies where he left it. Summer loads the Phoenix into the trunk and heads east.
The Impala’s headlights wash over the Welcome to Cairo sign. Summer drives straight to the cemetery and in the shadow of the moon digs a grave, then tosses in the Phoenix and fills it back up. She shoots fairy dust across the damp, dark earth and new grass sprouts; then Summer turns and goes back to the car.
Before she’s taken five steps, fire erupts on the grave, flaring high and bright, painting the silver-tinged night red and orange and gold. She keeps walking, ignoring the flames. She has her hand on the Impala when the thin wail splits the night.
Her head hangs between her shoulders; her fingers clench on the handle, but she doesn’t jump in and drive away. Instead she returns to the grave.
The new grass is french-fried. The place smells like a bonfire. In the center of the blackened earth a naked baby squalls and kicks. A girl, with a cap of dark hair and burnished skin. When Summer’s shadow falls over her, she opens her bright blue eyes and screams even louder.
“I am born,” I whispered.
And Summer slugged me in the gut.
I let go of her arm. “You—” Cough. Cough. Breathe. “Moved the body.”