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Unlike Lynx though, I don’t actually believe in fairy tales.

Just weirdos.

And this town has a lot of them.

We leave Rooney’s place behind and find my baby sitting between two heavy tree trunks, with Kennedy resting against the side of the car and Ziggy leaning under the hood.

“Darla,” I drag out, moving closer to her. I’ve missed my car so much. She’s always been freedom, the one thing I have that’s all mine, and even if she’s a bit under the weather, I can’t hold it against her.

My beanie babies are all still lined up along the window exactly where I left them. “I’ve missed you, girl.”

Kennedy chuckles. “We’re trying but not making much progress.” He and Ziggy exchange a look. “At least we can test it now we’ve got the keys.”

I pull them out of my pocket and hand them over. Kennedy jumps in the driver’s seat, way too large for my tiny car, and tries to turn the engine over. Nothing happens.

I watch as Ziggy drags a hand back through his scruffy black hair in frustration.

When I first came to Wilde’s End, I hid out in Ziggy’s mine shaft, right in the back where they couldn’t see me. I felt mildly guilty about encroaching on their privacy, but Kennedy came and visited me a few times after I was caught and moved into Hobby Straight, and he made it clear there are no hard feelings.

He’s also one of the most normal people here, which I assume is because he hasn’t been here for that long. Kennedy and his brothers are outsiders as much as I am.

“Nothing,” he says, climbing out of the car.

Ziggy goes on frowning, poking at something under the hood. I have no idea what any of it is, so I’m going to have to take their word for it that they know what they’re doing.

“It’s probably the engine,” Kennedy mutters, his voice low, like his words are only meant for Ziggy.

Ziggy points at something else, and Kennedy lets out a sigh.

“Sorry, Wilde. The battery is fine, and there doesn’t seem to be anything else electrical that it could be.”

“Damn.” He sets his hands on his hips. “I guess that would have been too easy.”

Ziggy closes the hood, then wipes his hands off on a rag that Kennedy takes and tucks into his pocket. Even from here, some of the charms hanging from Rooney’s house are throwing rainbows over us all.

“Any luck with Booker?” Kennedy asks.

“Nope.”

“Sort of,” I counter. “He said if we become friends, he might do it as a favor to me.”

Kennedy and Ziggy give me identical confused looks.

“He wants to be friends?”

“Caught me by surprise too.”

“Are you going to do it?”

I think back to my last session with Booker and how … okay I think it went. “I’m going to try.”

“Brave man.”

I shrug off the compliment. “I think it’s more that I understand him.”

“No one understands Booker.”

Maybe that’s the case for them, but it doesn’t take much. Booker craves being entertained, and I think I’m doing a good enough job of it. I still don’t know him well enough to read anything else about him, but I also don’t think it’s going to take me long. I get the impression that Booker wants to be understood. If I have to do that in order to get my car and get out of here, then I will. Easily.