Page 15 of The Wicked Lies of Habren Faire
“I’m not interested.” I take another step back.
“I think you are.”
“Shows what you know.”
He says nothing, only lets his smile widen as he fixates on my face. We stand still as mountains, until he claps. “Let us begin—”
I turn on my heel and walk away. I don’t want this creature where I can’t see him, but I certainly don’t need any more attention from him, either.
“‘My first denotes affliction’”—he addresses me as if I’m not walking away—“‘which my second is destined to feel. My whole is the best antidote, that affliction to soften and heal.’”
I twitch and clench my fists. Hot anger creeps up my throat.
That’s not even a good riddle!
I glance back and find him still grinning at me like a bedlamite, like he’s won a prize already.
“That’s ridiculous.” I carry on my way.
“Only because you can’t solve it.”
I twitch again, and I know I should keep walking, I’m sure of it—but I don’t. I snap around and cross my arms, fixing him with the sort of ridiculing, lip-curling look I reserve for the boys in town.
“The answer is ‘woman,’” I snap. “And not only is it a stupid riddle, you got it fromEmmaby Miss Austen.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I’ve never met a Miss Austen.”
“Well, clearly you have.” I throw my arms wide. “See? You’re no smarter than I am. We’ve read the same books, and you’re a pwca and I left school at twelve, so, really, I think that makes you stupider than me.”
I turn away, but he’s in front of me. “But the game is just becoming fun.”
“It’s rather boring, actually.” I sidestep; he follows me like a hawk to a field mouse.
“Oh, come now, I seldom meet anyone even half as smart as I.” He clicks his fingers in my face. “‘What do you own, but everyone else uses?’”
“My name,” I reply sharply. “And you can’t have it.”
“Just one more—”
I back away. Too late I realize I’m doing exactly what he wants. In needing to show off, I’ve trapped myself in this conversation.
“Your game is boring.”
“‘You measure my life in hours,’” he says. “‘I serve you by expiring.’”
My foot collides with something hard, and I glance down to find a seam of shiny black stone protruding from the ground. It’s dark as pitch and bleeding into the earth, out of place.
“‘I’m quick when I’m thin and slow when I’m fat,’” the pwca continues, forcing my eyes back to his face. “‘The wind is my enemy.’ What is it, mouse?”
I square my jaw and avoid looking into his purple spectacles. “I’m not telling you.”
“You don’t know.” He creeps ever closer, until the thin strip of dark stone is all that separates us.
“I do.” Sweat builds on my palms and dampens my dress.
