We’re halfway to the nature preserve parking lot when a supernatural flurry surrounds us. The air sparkles with the chaos that can only come from overexcited sprites.
“What—?” I hold out my hand, trying to gauge how many there are.
“Belinda’s sprites,” Malcolm says. He takes in the commotion, and a smile lights his face. It’s good to see, but it’s all too fleeting. “They saw you leave this morning, followed you, and then panicked after you left the police station.”
“Oh, really?” I say to the air.
“They found me while I was out on my run.”
Tattletales.
He falls silent. The guilt from last night’s phone call and this morning’s campfire chat is thick in my stomach. “Malcolm, I—”
He holds up a hand. “No, really. It’s okay. It’s just ... everything is starting to make sense. It’s taken m
