Page 43 of Touched

He looks at me, a bit of confusion evident on his face.Is he all right?Then shaking his head as though to clear it, he grabs my hand. “C’mon, my place is just up here.” He points ahead.

“Lead the way.” I wave my hand in a flourish, excitement, and nerves dancing along my skin as I follow him around a corner.

“It’s just a block or so away,” he says, and I glance around at the hordes of humans surrounding us. They’re laughing, holding brightly decorated cups, and wearing colorful beaded necklaces. Some seem to give Callum strange looks as we pass while others pay him no mind at all. He mutters, “I can’t believe I fucking flew. That was wild.”

We round another corner, again, as Callum continues to prattle on about flying. I’m not certain if he’s talking to me, or himself, as I listen, amused. Then, he almost bumps into someone.

It’s Officer Jameson again. The policeman chuckles jovially. “Oh, fancy meeting you here, LeBlanc!” Then, he glances around and raises his brows. “Wait. Who were you talkin’ to, Detective?”

Clearing his throat, he mutters, “Uh, myself.” He glances over at me out of the corner of his eye before quickly releasing my hand, probably realizing how silly he must look with his hand out at a forty-five degree angle.

Jameson chuckles, shakes his head, and walks off, mumbling something about another hurricane. I look up, checking the sky, wondering if I’m missing something.

What is he talking about?

Callum snatches his phone from his pocket and puts it up to his ear.

I stare at him incredulously.Is he really making a phone call? “What are you doing?”

“Trying not to look like I belong in the nut house,” he answers, his eyes darting around though he’s still talking to me. “I can’t hold your hand. Just follow me.”

Oh…

He’s pretending to speak to someone over the phone, so it doesn’t look like he’s talking to himself.

I get it now.

“Yeah, stay close. I know no one can see you”—his gaze shifts around again— “but no use in taking any chances. In fact, hold onto my belt, so, we’re not separated in this chaos.”

After turning off the packed street, we reach a small red building with a cracked sidewalk in front. Pocketing the phone, he removes a set of keys that he uses to unlock the door. I watch in fascination as the key slides in and the knob turns. We have no personal use for locks, or keys, in Laric. Everything is locked and secured with magick. But I have read about them in my many novels.

Once inside, he quickly looks both ways down the street several times before pulling me into the building and locking the door again. This time with the key and several small gold latches that bolt into the door.

My brow rises as I ask, “There is need for so many locks?” He chuckles as he leads us up a warm, narrow set of concrete steps.

There’s a door at the top, where he uses a different key from his set to unlock it. Once inside, I take in the scene. It seems to be one big room. A bed, another piece of furniture, a massive black rectangle atop a wooden table, and a very small kitchen are all within the one room. A large window shows the almost full moon outside. There’s an open door on the far wall. I assume a small bathroom is behind it. The place is small but cozy, and pieces of him are sprinkled all throughout. It even smells like him. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply.

“What are you doing?”

Opening my eyes, I see Callum staring at me, curiously, a smirk on his face.

“Uh, nothing,” I reply.

He sets his keys and phone on the kitchen counter and turns to a tall white box. I watch as he opens it. A yellow glow bathes his face as coolness fills the small room. He asks, “Are you hungry?”

Am I?

My stomach growls and I feel my cheeks flush, but I say, “I guess I am. I can’t remember when I last ate.” I sigh as my head dips to the side, and I stare at Callum. “But… I think we should talk about what just happened.”

He chuckles and grabs two apples, handing me one after closing the door to the white box that cools the food. “Oh, little fairy, we will. Sit.” He gestures to a dark brown, leather-covered piece of furniture along the wall. Nodding, I perch on the edge of it.

He sits next to me as I hold the apple in my hand looking at it peculiarly. It’s shiny red and yellow appearance looks foreign to me. All the apples in Laric are either light blue or dark green, the latter being sour and the former being very sweet. I sniff it. The only reason I knew it was an apple was because of its shape and stem.

He must sense my confusion because he says, “You don’t have apples?”

I nod, “We do. But they do not look like this.”

His brows rise as he says, “Eat it, it’s good.” He bites into his.

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