by Sarah Noffke
Although Roya Lane was in London, it was also like Happily Ever After and not accessible to most because it required portal magic to enter. Because of mapping, many knew that Roya Lane existed in a secret place in London, but that same information wasn’t available about Happily Ever After College. It did seem to be in a bubble, making it feel like it wasn’t on Earth at all—although it undoubtedly had to be.
Paris started up the stairs to the second story where Uncle John’s apartment was, every step feeling like it was bringing her closer to the truth. The coin from Mae Ling—or whoever—was in her pocket and that gave her confidence, although she’d never felt in danger when around Uncle John. Still, it couldn’t hurt to have a protective charm on her when there was so much uncertainty in the world.
She lifted her hand, about to knock as if she was a guest. How long had passed since she’d seen Uncle John? Only a few weeks, but it felt like forever. She had moved out a while ago, but not entirely. She often went to his place, raiding his refrigerator or pestering him about one thing or another.
Still, it felt wrong to barge in when she didn’t live there anymore and hadn’t for a while. She quietly rapped on the door, jiggling the door handle at the same time.
“Hey Uncle John,” she said, creaking the door open slightly. They had said they’d meet at eight o’clock. “It’s Paris. You there?”
She opened the door all the way and found the place completely wrecked. Clothes littered the hallway, and appliances lay broken all over the floor. Paris’ heart went into overdrive, beating wildly. She jerked her head from side to side, looking into the front room where she used to sleep and was now Uncle John’s study, then to the small galley kitchen. More destruction.
Paris knew that she needed to proceed carefully in case the perpetrator was still there. Her uncle had taught her that much when entering a crime scene. Her heart told her something different. It said that the one person she loved most was in danger so Paris bolted forward down the long hallway to the living and dining room, unafraid if she was springing toward danger. She’d kick its ass if it were harming her uncle.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Paris halted in the center of the living room, taking in the broken furniture and strewn books and then her uncle sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees and his head down. He brought his chin up slowly, almost as though surprised that Paris was there.
“Oh, did you call, Pare? I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
Jerking her head around, her fist up in the air as if she might need to fight a monster, Paris drew in a breath. “What happened here? Are you okay?”
He nodded heavily. “I wasn’t here when this happened.”
Striding forward, Paris ducked her head into the back bedroom and bathroom, finding more the same—demolition of Uncle John’s property. She returned to the living room, her heart beating rapidly. “What happened?”
“I wish I knew, Pare. I returned from the stakeout early and came home to find this, not even a few minutes ago.”
Paris studied the flat, wondering why someone would go after her uncle and what they were looking for. “Wait, why did you return from the stakeout early?”
He blinked at her, his eyes red and a sobering expression on his face. “About that… I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. FLEA was attacked by…well, I don’t know what.”
“Something attacked the Fairy Law Enforcement Agency?” Paris questioned. “Why?” As soon as she asked the question, she realized he’d already told her that he didn’t know the answer.
“Pare, whatever attacked FLEA…it got Charlotte…”
Paris choked on her next breath. Charlotte had been the receptionist at FLEA for as long as she could remember. The small, round fairy always sat behind the counter, taking calls and making coffee, and offering Paris consolation smiles when she was getting in trouble for one offense or another.
“When you say got…” Paris studied her uncle, reading the tension in his every movement and expression. “You don’t mean she’s in the hospital do you?”
He shook his head, pain radiating in his eyes. “She’s dead, and her death is a complete mystery.”
“Oh, wow.” Paris wasn’t sure what to say or how to feel. This was all so much, so fast.
Uncle John glanced out at the chaos that was his flat. “I came back immediately, having heard about the attack. Then I arrived here and found this. I have no idea who is after the Fairy Law Enforcement Agency, but they seem really dangerous.”
Paris gulped, unable to fully process the death of a woman she’d known most of her life. This was a lot. It would take time. She couldn’t do it now.
She cleared her throat, straightened, and gathered strength. “Uncle John, I think I might know what’s going on, although I have no idea why or how, and that’s why I need your help. You have to fill in the rest.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Uncle John didn’t interrupt the entire time that Paris spoke. Instead, his eyes simply shifted back and forth as if he was hearing all this for the first time. When she had shared everything she knew, Paris simply leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, checking to ensure she wasn’t stepping on something and regarding Uncle John with a look that said, “Your turn.”
He sucked in a breath and suddenly seemed to age ten years at once. “Pare, I-I-I…I don’t know what to say.”
“Why don’t you start with the truth?” Her voice rose unnaturally. “Am I a halfling? Did you know about that? Is my mom Liv Beaufont and my father Stefan Ludwig? Were they both magicians who were Warriors for the House of Fourteen? Did you give me the heart-shaped locket to keep my identity a secret? Am I endangered? Is that what could have gone after Charlotte and your place? Because word has spread about me being a halfling, is something after me? Tell me what you know!”
A pained expression like when Uncle John ate too many peppers crossed his face. “Pare, I can’t…I really can’t.”
Her eyes widened, and she wanted to yell and scream. To tell him to stop lying, but then she realized all at once that he wasn’t.
Uncle John really couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her anything. He, like Mae Ling, had been spelled.
“Tell me who made it so you can’t tell me the truth,” Paris urged.
His mouth contorted oddly. “Pare, if I could, I would. I have never lied to you. I never will…”
“Then tell me, did you know this history of mine?” she asked. “At least nod. Let’s play twenty questions.”
A surprising smile briefly rose to his mouth. “You are your parent’s child.”
“Uncle John! That’s what I’m talking about!” Paris roared. “You knew them! Tell me everything! What happened to them?”
“Pare, I can’t. I can tell you that your parents were great people, and yes, I knew them, but that’s the most of it,” he explained. “Little things, like that you remind me of your mother every single day, can leak through, but that’s all I’m allowed to say, and that’s only because it’s a loophole.”
Paris’ heart hurt—almost like the very first time, to think she was like her mother, Liv Beaufont.
“Yes, I knew your history,” he stated. “But I couldn’t—I can’t say anything else. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry. I can’t speak the words. I can’t write them down. There’s no way for me to tell you what I know.”
“Who can?” Paris asked.
He looked at her, total heartache in his eyes. That was all Uncle John could tell her, and it was hurting him. That hurt her worse than anything she’d ever experienced.
“The Beaufonts,” Paris began. “That’s the key to unraveling this whole thing, isn’t it?”
The man she trusted with her whole heart simply let out a breath in reply.
“Can you tell me where to find them? I have an uncle and an aunt. Clark and Sophia.”
Uncle John looked surprised that she knew this information. “I can’t tell you how to find Sophia. She can only be found if s
he wants to be.”
“I’m guessing she won’t want to be found by some halfling niece who has some mysterious danger taking out other people,” Paris muttered and instantly felt bad for it. “I’m sorry, Uncle John. If whatever is apparently after me did this and murdered Charlotte…”
“It’s not your fault,” Uncle John stated at once. “But yes, that makes the most sense now. You must be very careful. You should return to the college right away. You’ll be safe there.”
“This is why you kept it all a secret, isn’t it?” Paris asked. “Something is after me, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“But you can’t tell me, can you?”
Another nod.
“All the questions in the world probably won’t get me close enough,” she muttered. “I simply don’t know what I don’t know.”
Uncle John smirked. “That sounds like something your mother would have said.”
Paris gave him a curious expression. “That’s the second time you’ve said something like that in this conversation. Why?”
He gave her a serious look. “I simply couldn’t talk about her before, and you didn’t ask anything because of the locket. Now that you know the truth and the identity charm has been broken, I can.”
Paris pulled out the locket, wondering who was behind this, both the evil person and the one who had spelled others not to talk, and also wondering if it was the same person. “This charm…you gave it to me…”
“To protect you,” Uncle John stated. “Even though you’ve broken that spell, you must still keep the locket on you.”
“Why?” Paris asked, but she knew at once that it didn’t matter. He couldn’t talk. As sorry as she felt for herself for being kept in the dark, she felt worse for Uncle John, who couldn’t tell her what she wanted to know. She knew it was hurting him—that it had always hurt him. For whatever reason, he’d done it anyway to protect her. Now she had to figure out why without undoing everything he’d tried to do for her.
“Is there anything you can tell me?” Paris looked at him directly. “Now that the identity charm is gone…”
He nodded. “I can tell you where to find your Uncle Clark, but I’ll warn you, he can’t tell you anything much. He was spelled too, but he should know that the charms set up long ago are broken now. He should be alerted. We’re all in danger again... Really, I’m not sure it’s safe for you to be out. You should be at the college.”
Paris shook her head. “I was given a protective charm.” She pulled the coin from her pocket and held it up.
Uncle John sighed with relief. “Good. That will help, but please know, there’s no foolproof protection. You must be very careful.”
Paris didn’t care if Clark wouldn’t talk. She wanted to meet everyone and anyone who brought her closer to the truth.
“I can tell you that your mother was by far the best person I’ve ever known in my life,” Uncle John continued, a fondness in his eyes. “I’ve missed her every day that she’s been gone.”
Something suddenly occurred to Paris that never had before. She was a Beaufont. Her father was a Ludwig. Uncle John was a Nicholson. None of it added up now. She knew he couldn’t tell her much, but he could answer a yes or no question, hopefully.
“Uncle John, you weren’t related to my mother or my father, were you? You aren’t my real uncle.”
A look of surprise sprang to his bloodshot eyes, and he nodded.
That one answer brought so many more questions to Paris’ mind, realizing that the man she was raised by, she wasn’t at all related to.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Uncle John wouldn’t allow Paris to help him clean up his place. He wanted her back at Happily Ever After College but was relieved by the fact that she had the protective charm.
Paris was more worried about him and his safety. Something had murdered Charlotte and destroyed Uncle John’s apartment. She didn’t think it would simply go away. Something appeared to be looking for her.
Uncle John had urged her not to worry, saying he had ways of protecting himself. Again he couldn’t say much but what he did say made a chill run down her spine. “What’s out there doesn’t want me.”
It wanted Paris. Whatever it was…
With the address of where to find Clark Beaufont in her pocket, Paris made her way down to the part of Roya Lane where she could open a portal. The streets were deserted now, and a cold wind howled down the cobbled lane.
Clark was in Los Angeles. Paris hadn’t been to that city before last night when she ironically learned the truth she was currently wrestling with. Apparently, it was where her uncle lived—her real uncle. However, Paris would never think of Uncle John as anything but her uncle. Blood wasn’t important to her, except in the case of learning the truth.
The area where portals were allowed was only a few dozen yards away when the howling wind picked up, nearly knocking Paris into a nearby wall. She halted, suddenly out of breath. She braced herself on the bricks with her hand, turning to look over her shoulder. It almost felt like something or someone had pushed her.
There was no one there.
The street lights were now covered in dense fog as if something had invited it out onto the lane. Paris could hardly make out where she’d come from.
Another gust surged down the street, blowing Paris’ hair back and pushing her backward a few inches. She’d never experienced wind like this. It didn’t feel like a regular wind at all. It felt like an attack. However, she had the protective charm and thought that should keep her safe.
On the heels of this consolation, the wind blew so hard that Paris’ leather jacket flew back, nearly peeling off her shoulders. She gripped the sides, holding it tighter to her, but the winds seemed to be able to pull up the insides of her pockets. It, whatever was out there, was trying to get the protective charm off her! Uncle John was right. The protective charm wasn’t foolproof. Paris knew with absolute certainty that if she stayed there, she’d lose this protection, and… She didn’t know what would happen.
Paris looked back at the end of the lane. The portal area was still so far away. She didn’t know if she’d make it.
She was still weighing her options when the street lamps at the portal end of the lane stole her attention as they went out—one by one.
Sucking in a breath, Paris made an impromptu decision. She couldn’t make it to the main portal area. She couldn’t go back the way she came. She only had one option left.
Paris ran forward a few feet and cut down an alleyway that usually went unnoticed. She prayed that the shop she’d heard about was open. It was her only way to safety at this point.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Paris’ time on Roya Lane had told her of another portaling option. It had only ever been a rumor, but she was willing to stake her life on something so flimsy at this point.
The cutting wind raced after her as she sprinted for the shop. Thankfully the lights inside were still on. It was the only store that still appeared to be open on Roya Lane.
Maybe my luck is changing, Paris thought and pushed forward even faster. That only seemed to encourage the deathly wind that screamed through the narrow alleyway, thrust against her back, and nearly knocked her forward.
Paris had to use all her strength not to be thrown to the stone pavers where she didn’t know what would happen to her.
She reached out, knowing that timing was everything. Either she made it, or she didn’t, depending on how fast she was. Once inside the shop, Paris didn’t know that she’d be safe. Sadly, she might bring this evil racing after her to some innocent person’s doorstep. It was a risk she had to take.
The sounds of signs banging against buildings and the exteriors of the tightly congregated shops breaking echoed around Paris. Objects torn from buildings rained down on her, but she didn’t dare slow down. She didn’t dare let out a breath as she neared the shop.
Ducking from a light fixture that burst, Paris covered her head with one hand as glass shar
ds showered down on her.
Her hand was on the door handle as a chilling voice echoed at her back. Its words sounded like a guttural “No.”
Not hesitating, Paris whipped the shop door open and bounded inside, slamming it behind her. She looked up at the bewildered faces of the bakery owners and the king of the fae, her chest heaving with ragged breaths.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“We’re closed,” a tall woman with short hair said, wiping her flour-covered hands on her apron.
Paris jerked her head to the side, peering out the window. Whatever was after her didn’t come through the door for some odd reason. She wasn’t complaining. In the alleyway, the winds died. The dense fog replaced it almost immediately.
“I need your help,” Paris said in a desperate rush, looking back at the two women and King Rudolf Sweetwater. She would have been surprised to find him there in the Crying Cat Bakery if she had time for such things. Currently, she was trying to figure out what was going on.
“You can have help,” a woman beside the other one said in a thick French accent. She had short hair too, but hers was red. “When we’re open. That will be tomorrow…maybe in the morning. Hard to say. Depends on how much I drink tonight, and that depends on how much of a pain in the ass this one is.” She pointed at the woman beside her.
“I love you too, dear,” the taller woman muttered dryly.
“Paris.” King Rudolf strode forward and looked her over. He’d dressed as regally as the first time she met him and was as handsome as she remembered. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head. “That’s why I said I need help. There’s something following me.”