“Will anybody we know be there?” I asked.
“A few collectors of mine. Tech bros who admire Lyon’s taste.”
“His taste isn’t so bad—I mean, he likesyou. What about other artists?”
“A dozen, maybe. Too blue chip to have heard of me.” She squeezed my shoulder. “But good people for you to meet.”
None of this was news. I’d scrolled through the chatter from the party’s last few years, memorizing faces, names, and résumés. Every summer, Lyon’s guest list grew in riches and glitter.
His art collection had done its job, drawing the wealthy and prominent into his fold. But Hiromi’s work had captured him instead.
“We should grab something on the way,” she said. “I hate being hungry when there’s only party food.”
The edge in her voice was back.
I was looking forward to meeting Lyon—to coming face-to-face with this source of fear and revulsion. Garrett shivered, theatrically, but honestly, when he spoke of him. Arabella retreated into Morton truisms:Kill him, and he’ll die.
I’d brought options. A butterfly knife in one boot, a flash grenade in the other.
“There’s a diner, just before we hit the back roads.” I reached across Hiromi to pop the glove box. “In the meantime, Grandmother’s care package from Upper Falls arrived.”
“Candy!” She reached into the compartment. “From the legendary general store?”
“I asked for Barley Pops, Coconut Long Boys, and Goldenberg’s Peanut Chews.”
“Barley Pops! Those sound ancient and terrible.” She leaned across, pulling against her seat belt. As she kissed me, her windblown hair batted at my face, a kittenish tempest. “Like a certain family I know.”
I smiled, freshly forgiven, and kept my eyes on the road.
When we pulled into the diner, the sun had already fallen behind the mountain, the parking lot empty, growing dark. Hiromi gazed at the diner windows—buzzing neon shakes, fries, and burgers.
“It’s been ages since I had a milkshake.”
I brushed a fingertip across her cheek. “Two straws?”
“Sure, but I’m getting fries too—and dipping them.”
“In the milkshake?”
She turned to me. “You gotta problem with that?”
There was more than a joke in her stare. This was the last stop before Lyon’s party, a last chance to stall.
“If you fill yourself up,” I said, “you won’t have to eat Lyon’s food.”
Hiromi turned back to the neon milkshake and shivered a little. “Silly, I guess. He’s not a faerie king.”
“It’s hard to break bread with enemies.” Weddings and feasts had maintained the four families’ peace for a hundred years.
I took a small risk. It had taken us three hours to drive here.
“We can go home if you want.”
She didn’t answer, except to kiss my hand. I felt the current in her lips. More stalling, but the kind I could work with.
“If he so much”—I pulled her hand to me, kissing her wrist—“as touches you”—then the inside of her elbow—“I will murder him.”
Hiromi shuddered from deep down, glancing at the diner windows.
