You Must Fall In Love

Chapter Twelve

Her next visitor was nothing like Rob or Yusuke.

"Oh, hello there. My, but you're a thin one, aren't you?"

The first thing that struck her was just how bright his eyes were. It was like someone had broken an emerald into a thousand fragments, tossed it with woodland light, and then sprinkled it across each of his irises. His cheeks were sharp, his smile was roguish, and his tousled hair was as golden and wispy as the standing wheat on cereal boxes. He was wearing a forest-green hooded jacket and a pair of beige cargo pants.

In short, he was ridiculously handsome. Not to say that Rob and Yusuke weren't good-looking, of course, but this was a different kind of beauty, one that shone as something nearly separate to him.

It was almost enough to make her forget the fact that he was clearly an ass.

"Is that how you usually talk?" asked Christine. "Or are you only rude to people you don't know?"

He burst into laughter so free and flowing that it washed the cold away. She stared in disbelief. Who did he think he was?

"I like you," he smirked. "You're feisty. What's your name, thin girl?"

"I don't give my name to people who call me thin girl," said Christine, kneading her lips and her palms until they turned white. "Bad habit, I know."

"Well," said the young man, "Thin Girl it is, then. My name is August, Prince of Faerie. But you can call me August."

Christine had never really met a Prince of anything before, much less Faerie, but her cousin was the Grand Mage of Singapore. Besides, she wasn't the type to be impressed by fame, given that she wasn't sure anyone on the planet actually deserved it. She decided to fire back while she still could.

"Nice attitude, August," she said. "I bet the Hart Princess is going to be really impressed by it."

Boom! Take that, you prick!

But instead of being shocked, or surprised, or even taken aback at her knowledge, August's smirk blossomed into a blinding grin.

"Well done, Thin Girl! You know why I'm here! I must say, I'm very relieved that I don't have to explain anything to you."

"I..."

Even while she flapped her jaw like a fish, Christine realized something incredibly strange — she couldn't smell any magic on him. He didn't smell like anything.

"I don't care!" she burst out, jumping off the chair. "It's not like I need things explained, anyway! I was doing just fine on my own!"

She couldn't smell hantu, or familiars, or even hungry ghosts. She could only smell magic on humans.

Either he was lying about being a prince, or he wasn't all human.

"Tsk-tsk," said August, wagging his finger. "Is that the attitude that you want to give someone who has the key to your room in his hand?"

He jangled a rusty key tied to a lanyard, as if threatening to swing it out into the hallway.

"Wait," said Christine, reaching out.

He tossed it at her and she yelped, but by the time her hands went away from her face she realized that nothing had hit her.

"What is wrong with you?!" she yelled. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Don't look at me," shrugged August. "You're the cousin of some Grand Mage or another, aren't you? I thought you might be able to recognize a glamor when you saw one."

"That... that's not the point!"

"Humans," sighed August. "You're all so uptight."

She really wanted to take the chair and break it on his handsome forehead, but she knew from experience that things never went well when she gave in to her homicidal impulses.

Besides, she couldn't even break a chair.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

August blinked at her, his brow high and wrinkled in amusement.

"What do I want?" he mimicked. "Why do you think I want anything?"

"Because you're playing with me," said Christine hotly. "You're playing around with me, and I don't like it."

"Oh, no," grinned August. "I play around with every girl I see. You mustn't think of it as something personal."

There was no suitable response to this, and she knew that she was turning even redder, and so she decided to sit back down as hard as she could, fold her arms, and glare at him.

August didn't so much take the glare as drink it in. It was like he was made of some anti-anger material, or maybe he was just too obsessed with his own pretty face to care.

"You know, Thin Girl, I think I wouldn't actually mind having you around. I've never met someone quite so amusing."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," grumbled Christine. "Not."

"The man after me, however, is quite another matter. Will you promise not to tell Rob Slade that I told you this?"

Christine hated secrets. Secrets were a fake way of building rapport, in her opinion, and didn't do anything to help anyone at all.

"No," she said. "If you have anything to say, then tell me clearly. If not, then you can leave it."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Well."

August paused, as if mulling it over.

"Alright, then," he smirked. "See you soon, Christine."

Then he ducked out the door. It was like he had tossed a bucket of alphabet soup over her, filled with nothing but her own name.

Christine gazed at the empty doorway in helpless anger, opened her mental this guy is a jerk list, and moved August all the way to the top. Then she moved Rob down to somewhere in the middle. At least he had lent her his phone, instead of acting all hoity-toity for fifteen minutes.

But where was Rob, anyway?