I dig.
We read and read and read and then Nick says, “Got something.”
I sniff. “What?”
Issie hands me a crumpled tissue she’s fished out of her bag. “It’s clean.”
“Thanks,” I blow my nose. “I’m sorry. I’m allergic.”
“To books?” Devyn raises his eyebrows like he can’t believe it.
“Old books,” I explain and lean closer so I can check out the book that’s splayed in front of Nick. “What did you find?”
“It’s about the tributes,” Nick says. He is almost snarling. “It’s vile.”
“Just read it,” Devyn demands.
“Quietly.” Issie looks over at Magazine Man, who is leafing through a copy of the Economist and glaring at us.
Nick lowers his voice and reads, “ ‘So you are being chased by a pixie?’ ”
“It does not say that,” Issie squeals, snatching the book away from him. “Oh my God, it does.”
“Issie . . . ,” I warn, looking to see if Nick’s pissed. He isn’t. “It doesn’t really say that.”
“It does!” She shows me the book, pointing.
“ ‘Of all of the Shining Ones—pixies, elves, fairies—it is true that the preservation of the princely bloodline is integral to their survival. They all share the sidhe heritage. In fact, their name is derived from the pict-sidhe. They are the Caille Daouine, or forest people. If you have been singled out by a male of their race, be proud. You are singled out to help continue the bloodline. It is unusual for this to happen. It is especially unusual for this to happen to humans. You might have some sidhe blood already flowing through your veins.’ ” I shut the book. “Oh, I am so honored.”
“That’s amazingly bizarre,” Devyn said, staring at me like he’s never seen me before. “Do you think you have sidhe blood?”
“What? No.” I stare at all of them. “You guys aren’t believing this.”
Nick and Issie both put their hands on my arms. Issie reaches all the way across the table.
“I know this is a little freaky,” she says, all calm.
“A little freaky?” I pull my arm away. “It’s super freaky!”
“Will you please be quiet!” says the man reading the Economist.
“Sorry. Sorry.” I sit down. I try to breathe slowly.
“Maybe he wants you to be his queen,” Devyn says. “Continue the line.”
“That’s crap,” Nick says.
“Yeah.” I glare at him. “Why would anyone want me to be their queen?”
“That’s not what I meant.” The front legs of Nick’s chair slam back down.
I can’t even look at him. “Right.”
“I just don’t get what this has to do with boys going missing,” he adds in a whisper that is low and serious. “What do you think, Devyn?”
Devyn rubs at his nose and stretches his arms out like he’s been lifting weights and the muscles are tired. “The Web site said if the king doesn’t have a queen he needs blood tributes from boys.”
Issie shivers. “Creepy.”
“What does that mean, though, blood tributes?” I grab one of Nick’s books out of his pile and look at the index. “Oh. It’s in this one. Page 123.”
I flip to the page, scan the lines, and suck in my breath.
“What does it say?” Devyn asks.
When I look up from the words I can see him staring at Nick, like he’s trying to get strength from him somehow. His face pales.
Nick nods at me. “Read it, Zara.”
“ ‘When unable to mate with a queen, the pixie king has no choice but to take blood tributes from young males.’ ” My voice starts shaking and Nick puts his big hand on my shoulder, steadying me. “ ‘The entire court will help him hunt down the boys, absconding with them to the king’s home, where the boys’ blood is slowly drained.’ ”
I stop reading. Devyn’s face is pale, almost all the dark, good color of it just gone, washed away.
Issie’s eyes widen more than usual. “That’s sick.”
She sits back. She leans into Devyn, who still looks like he might pass out or puke or something.
Nick squeezes my shoulder. “Anything else?”
I flip the page. I don’t want to keep reading, not if it’s upsetting Devyn.
“It’s okay,” Devyn says.
I clear my throat and whisper. “ ‘Eventually, the boys die, their bodies overcome by the horrors brought upon them by the pixies. The pixies, this narrator might add, have no will to fight this overwhelming need. The pixie king can be without a queen for only so long before he succumbs to the dark, torturous side of his nature, and with his weakness the other pixies also become more debased and deprived, roaming the woods, hunting for potential queens and blood tributes.’ ”
“Look,” Nick points. “In the margin.”
“What’s it say?” Issie asks.
I squint at the faded pencil marks. “ ‘Stay out of the woods.’ ”
“Good call,” Nick says. His hand drops from my shoulder. I feel abandoned, colder somehow. I go to the back of the book where the due dates are stamped. No one has taken it out since they’ve pasted in a new sheet on the back page. But there’s writing underneath it.
I start peeling off the edges while Issie says, “I am really not into this pixie thing. You guys think this is right, don’t you? About the blood tributes?”
“Yeah, I know it’s right,” Devyn says. “But what does it mean that he’s pointing at Zara all the time?”
“That’s obvious,” Nick adds. “He wants her to be his queen.”
I swallow, but I don’t look at Issie when I talk. Instead I stare into Nick’s eyes. “Why not? It doesn’t say that the pixie queens are bad.”
“It doesn’t say they’re good!” Devyn almost yells.
The magazine guy throws his Economist on the table and stomps away.
Issie lowers her voice. “We probably just haven’t read the part about the pixie queens being murdered and raped and turned into blood tributes.”
“Right,” I say.
“Zara . . . ,” Nick warns. “You’re thinking something.”