Finding Elora

Chapter 4

ABBY

Lill trips over her feet as she heads to the bathroom, her movements uncoordinated in her drunken state. I tense, my muscles bunching together as I wait for her to catch herself. Her shoulder hits the wall, and she lets out a quiet grunt as she grabs it for stability and straightens back up.

I'd offer to help if I didn't already know she'd shoo me away.

She's been doing it to me all week.

I've been panicked since her tumble in the shower, and I'm having trouble getting the sight of her crumbled form on the bottom of the tub out of my head. What happens if she hurts herself while I'm gone?

My parents love her, but they don't know she's a faerie. They'd insist on taking Lill to a hospital, and given her weakened state, I'm not sure she'd have enough strength to fight them off.

I suppose she could always call my brother. He's been obsessed with her since we were children, and she could convince him to help her without making a big fuss. The only downside is he'd probably insist on nursing her back to health.

He has a girlfriend right now, though, so maybe not. It's impossible to tell with him.

Lill slams the bathroom door behind her, and I drop my head onto the kitchen table. It hurts, the hard wood unforgiving against my skull, but the pain is easy to ignore. I deserve it.

I deserve all the pain for guilting Lill into drinking so much. Alcohol is no better than poison in her system, and she's going to spend the next several days in unimaginable pain. The tea would help to alleviate her symptoms, but she won't drink it unless she's on death's door.

She's a stubborn faerie.

The toilet flushes, and I lift my head and wipe my face before beginning to clean up the cards littering the table. Lill's too drunk to continue playing, and I'll be damned if I leave her a mess to clean up tomorrow. Putting the cards away is the very least I can do.

"Let's go for a walk," Lill slurs, hobbling out of the bathroom.

She's gotten so drunk she refuses to use her crutches, but it's probably for the best she isn't carrying around two metal sticks. I'm afraid she'd have taken an eye out by now.

"I'm not so sure about that," I say as Lill approaches the living room window.

She presses her clammy palms against the glass and peers into the sun. The light shines into her eyes, making the purple look as vibrant as it did when we were younger. Her eye color is the one thing I've never been able to get used to. I find it so distracting, and it's hard not to stare into them when speaking face to face.

"Do all faeries have purple eyes?" I ask.

I already know the answer, but it's a good way to open up the conversation about the faerie realm. If I come straight out and start asking about it, she'll suspect something's off and shut down. I need to ease her into it.

Asking about her eyes is foreplay.

"Yes," Lill says. "Most faeries have purple eyes and light hair." She fiddles with a strand of her hair before turning and glancing at mine. "If you got colored contacts and grew about six inches, you'd blend right in."

I frown, peering down at my feet.

I'm average height for a human woman, but Lill's tall. My parents used to call her String Bean when we were kids, much to her annoyance, but she quickly grew into her long limbs. Her awkward movements became graceful, and by the time we were teenagers, she had the fluidity of a supermodel.

She's still graceful, at least when she's not drunk, but her thinness hides the elegance. Her protruding bones are all people see now when they look at her.