Cameron knows this all too well, so when a carnival fortune teller warns him about a dark and mysterious stranger he'll soon meet, he doesn't take it seriously. But then Cameron finds Wesley, the boy who once broke his heart and left town without so much as a goodbye, performing as a sword swallower’s assistant that same night, and learns that Wesley is being held prisoner by The Queen of Hearts - a faery from the dark Unseelie court.
You never know what they might do with it.
In order to save the love of his life, Cameron will do the one thing he shouldn't: make the Queen a bargain. She wants flesh which is not flesh, water that flows wrongly, and drink that can be eaten. With Wesley’s freedom in the balance, he’ll have to solve her mysterious riddle. And the clock is ticking...
Read on for a sneak peek of FLESH WHICH IS NOT FLESH.
“Ooooh, a stranger!” Len crows, shoving her elbow into me. “You’re going to meet someone mysterious! I like the sound of that. Tell us more. Will he be handsome? With good arms and strong thighs?”
“Only if he has thighs like Kellan Lutz,” I say. “And you know I’m not the ‘fair eyed’ type.” Wesley’s face flashes into my mind. “I like brown eyes.”
“One name for you.” Len smiles and looks like a cat waiting to pounce. “Ian Somerhalder.”
The fortune teller’s gnarled hands scrabble for mine. They are two pieces of twisted oak tree branches, dark and spotted. “You must not go willingly. You must not enter that sacred place!”
I hastily pull back. Tuck my hands under the glittery tablecloth.
“Psycho, party of one,” Len says into my ear. Her harsh whisper is loud enough for people two tents over to hear. But that’s Len. She doesn’t do subtle.
This time the fortune teller reaches for my arm.
“Do not enter that place,” she says gravely, brown eyes looking deeply into mine. “Be careful who you give your heart to!”
“Aaaaaaand cut. That’s enough.” Len touches my shoulder, and I get the message. “Thanks, Madam El Creepo. Or whatever your name is.” She throws a wad of bills down onto the table. “Sorry it’s not silver. But I’m sure your palm will have no qualms being crossed with it just the same.”
I’m suddenly just as anxious as she is to get out of here, and I’m stumbling to my feet. Be careful who you give your heart to? Like I needed to be told that.
“Loving the whole hobo-slash-gypsy-slash-tablecloth look,” Len ‘whispers,’ hooking her arm into mine. “Maybe she gets her inspiration from Lady Gaga.”
It’s then I notice the fortune teller still has her claw on my other arm. Not letting go of it.
“Your heart,” she mumbles, her eyes glassy and far away. “Your heart…”
I shake her off and flee the tent, Len stomping by my side. She waits until we are exactly three point seven seconds away from it before she hauls back and plants her feet into the dusty ground. “Nope. Uh-uh. Not going any further.” She crosses her arms.
“Come on.” I look distractedly back at the tent. Your heart…“That took way too much time, and we might have missed the—”
“What’s going on?” she demands.
“Uh, I’m at a stupid carnival? That you dragged me to? Instead of staying home to watch those movies I rented?”
“No. I mean with her.” She jerks a thumb back. “In the tent.”
“Oh, you mean my secret lover.”
She rolls her eyes. “No, Cam. I mean, I made a perfectly good dig at Lady Gaga and you let it go. You. Let. It. Go. So, what’s going on here?”
“Jesus, Len. Nothing. You want me to come up with a poignant yet still-witty comment now? Ten seconds later?”
Her mouth forms a silent O.
“That’s so attractive, Len.”
“It was the heart thing, wasn’t it?” She shakes her head. “It reminded you of him. Wesley. Aww, Cam. Someday you’re going to find a boy who makes you completely happy. Someone who’ll stick around.”
“The problem is I had a boy who made me completely happy.” My voice goes soft. I can hear it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “But whatever. His loss.” I shrug. Try to act casual about it.
“I know what you need,” she says. “Let’s go watch the sword swallower. You know what they say about a man who can swallow steel…”
“Gross. Did you see him, Len? He’s, like, old.”
She grabs my arm and propels me toward the other tent. “Yes, grasshopper. But did you see the sword swallower’s assistant?” I perk up, and she nods sagely. “I saw him from the back. So hot.”
“Shirt on or off?”
“Would I take you to see him if there were shirts involved?” She cocks her head to one side. I hate it when she does that. She looks like a damn bird. “I’m offended. Of course, he’s shirtless.”
“We are so there.”
We cross the grass patched parking lot and come to the tent marked SEE THE WORLD FAMOUS MAN OF STEEL! The tent is voluminous, a red-and-yellow-striped monstrosity that looms in front of us. We have to dig through miles of fabric just to find the opening.
“I hope the front of him looks like Jacob.” Len sighs, fighting her way through the heavy canvas flap that serves as a door. “I know you’re more into Edward, but give me a werewolf any day of the week.”
“Please. Like you have to tell me that hairy, slobbery and all paws are your thing? You dated Roger Hanks, remember?”
“Oh, Roger.” Len sighs again. She’s such a drama queen. “Roger, Roger, Roger. So cute, and yet so wrong. In all the wrong ways.”
She bursts through the flap and into the tent. I follow behind. A small, wooden stage has been set up, with lit fire torches surrounding the edges. People stand in hushed silence, crowding nearer to get a better look.
“Prepare to be amazed! Prepare to be awed!” a man in a black top hat says from the stage, pointing out into the crowd.
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