Thorn Queen (Dark Swan, #2)(61)

"Fine, fine," I assured him. "I just wanted to ask you some more questions."

"You drove a long way for that," he mused, stepping outside and shutting the door behind him.

People had an easier time lying over the phone, but I could hardly tell him that. "I had the time and thought it would make things simpler."

"Sure. I'm happy for the company...so long as you don't mind hanging out with me while I get a little work done?" He waved the clippers by way of explanation.

"No problem."

He offered me something to drink first, but I was still holding on to coffee I'd bought at a gas station and declined. I sat down on his front step while he began trimming some of the thick shrubs flanking the front of the house. They were thick and heavy-leaved, filled with pretty yellow blossoms. They seemed to want to consume the house, and I was reminded of Sleeping Beauty's castle, and the thorns that had surrounded it. He didn't cut their overall height but mostly seemed concerned with making them look neat.

"I stopped by Abigail's on my way here, but she didn't seem to be home."

"I think she's in El Paso for a few days," Art said. The muscles in his arms bulged, raising his T-shirt's sleeve and showing me the coiled red snake. "Her sister lives there. They're close, which is good, but I sure could have used her help with a banishing the other day. You should have come by then. It was a gentry girl, actually-you were looking for those, right?"

"Yes," I said, startled. "I take it you managed to send her back on your own?"

"Yeah. She wasn't that tough. More scared than anything else."

I sipped my coffee, trying to make sense of this new development. I may have very well indeed jumped to conclusions about Art's kidnapping role. Maybe Moria had just been banished after wandering here. "Do your jobs ever actually take you to the Otherworld?" I asked.

He gave a gruff laugh. "Not if I can help it. Those transitions are a bitch, even with that crossroads. I haven't actually been over in...I don't know. Years."

"Huh," I said.

Art paused in his clipping, giving me a puzzled look. "Why do you ask?"

"I've heard stories-that is, gentry rumors-about some human over there who kind of sounds like you."

"Like me?" His confusion grew. "That's a little weird."

"It was a human with a red snake tattoo." I didn't mean to sound accusatory, but a tiny bit of it slipped into my tone.

"Why on earth would I lie about crossing over?" he asked. He wasn't angry, exactly, but some of that friendly demeanor had cooled a little.

"Whoa, hey. I didn't say you did." I tried not to sound too defensive. "It was just weird that there were sightings of someone who looked like you near where your crossroads lets out."

"The gentry I've banished are probably getting confused and thinking I was in their world when I kicked them out of this one...it's honestly hard to understand how any of them think. And you know how disorienting banishing is."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just saying the story I heard was weird." Art said he'd kicked a gentry girl out, but Moria sure had sounded like she'd escaped.

If I thought his attitude was cool earlier, it was frigid now. "I find it equally weird that a shaman is chummy enough with gentry to be listening to their stories-and concerned about them. Why does it matter to you if humans are over there anyway?"

"Because those humans might be harming gentry."

"And?"

"And it's not right."

He snorted and returned to his trimming. "They're gentry, Eugenie. They're not like us. And from what I hear, you're not all that gentle with them anyway."

"When they're in this world, yeah."

"Any world, Eugenie. They're literally not human. Why do you care so much?"

"None of your business." The harsh words were out before I could stop them. Art paused again and this time turned to fully face me.

"And it's none of your business where I go and what I do-in either world."

My heart lurched in my chest. "What, are you saying it is you? That you have been over in the Otherworld recently?"

"I'm saying I'm done with this discussion. You're not welcome here if you're just going to toss around ridiculous accusations-accusations that don't even matter."

"It matters to them."

"I think you're asking the wrong questions here. You need to examine your motives and figure out why you're so eager to defend those who have no regard for us-and why you're picking fights with your own kind."

I shot up, careful of the coffee. "I'm not picking a fight."

"Then get out of here before there is one."

We stood there, locked in antagonism, and I wondered if it would come to a fight. I was armed, and he wasn't, though he was bigger and better-muscled. No, that was stupid. Why would he fight? He hadn't confessed to anything, only grown hostile at what he read as me accusing him of things he didn't consider crimes. That didn't make him guilty-but it didn't make him innocent either. Something just didn't feel right here.

"Fine," I said, backing off. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just trying to figure things out and make sure no one's being wronged."