Who was she fooling? Of course Sean wasn’t going to see her again. She was no one; elf blood or not. What did that even mean, besides that she could make a bauble light up? Flashlights do the same thing, all with the press of a button. She wasn’t gorgeous. She didn’t have any talents, aside from running into everything or tripping over her own feet. She wasn’t super-smart. She was a good listener, but somebody like Sean could pay for someone to listen to him out of pocket change, without any risk of that someone “getting the wrong ideas.” Not only was she not going to see Sean again, at least not in that way, but she was also going to let Dylan down. Why would he want to talk to her if she couldn’t help him?
As she was sinking deeper into gloom, she heard someone knocking at the back door. For one second, her heart leapt. Then logic hit. Sean Blackthorne? At the back door? Get real.
She was tempted to ignore it—for all she knew, it was some scuzzy friend of her mom’s, looking for Mom, or a handout, or…ewww…let’s not go there. But the knocking came again, so she trudged up the stairs to see who it was. After all, she didn’t have to let whoever it was in.
But when she got to the kitchen and peered around the head of the stairs at the glass panes of the back door—it was Wanda. Her friend was looking off to the side, arms crossed over her chest—that was all Staci could see.
For just a minute, Staci was still tempted to pretend she wasn’t home. But Wanda had come all the way over here on her own, and Staci doubted it was for the opportunity of pitching another bitch. So she came out into the kitchen, deliberately making footfall sounds, and Wanda turned around, spotted her and waved at her through the glass. She waved back and came to unlock the door.
“Hey,” Staci said.
“Hey, Staci.” Wanda looked extremely uncomfortable; she was fidgeting and wouldn’t meet Staci’s eyes for more than a second. “Um, can I come in?”
“Sure. I’m in the middle of laundry, though. The machine that came with the house is from the Stone Age so—”
“Great.” Wanda didn’t wait for Staci to finish, breezing past her and into the house.
Okay, sure, come down to the creepy basement with me then. Staci headed for the basement stairs, not waiting to see if Wanda followed. Good thing too, because the stupid washing machine was starting to rock. She stopped it, moved the soggy clothes around, and started it again.
“All right, listen. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to snap at you, or barge out like that.” She waited a few heartbeats, looking at the ground between her feet. “I’m not very good at this sort of crap, you know?”
“I don’t think this town lets anyone get good at anything,” Staci said, after a moment. She waved her hands in the air a little…helplessly. “It’s…it’s like the place doesn’t want anyone to have anything good.” She took a deep breath. “But if you’re going to get all bent out of shape because Prince Blackthorne invites me to parties and I don’t run and tell you…I dunno, doesn’t that seem kind of black hole of need to you?”
“Yeah, you’re right, you’re right…but it’s not like that! I mean, you’ve seen this town, you’ve seen how it tears people down and no one seems to do anything…but you don’t really know yet. You haven’t been here long enough. To see people, who start out hopeful and full of dreams and everything…and watch those same people turn into the walking dead. It’s not just small-town blues; there’s something seriously wrong here.” Wanda finally looked up; she looked wretched, barely held back tears in her eyes. “I told you to be careful because of that. Because of this town. People don’t leave…but sometimes they just don’t show up anymore. Okay?”
A chill went down her back. Wasn’t that why Dylan had said he was here? She bit her tongue before she blurted out something about that. “Okay,” she agreed. “You know what? I’ve got an idea that’s about as prehistoric as this washing machine. What about if I go get an old answering machine and hook it up to the phone, and if I get an invite, I’ll just leave a message for you guys on it?”
Wanda let out a half-choked laugh/sob. “My god, it’s like we’re in the Eighties again. Which wouldn’t be so bad; the music would be better.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sure, that sounds good. Again, I’m sorry for being such a spaz.” She sighed heavily. “Well, you need any help folding laundry?”
“Sure. Then we can check the junk shops for answering machines. Ones that need batteries so even if the power goes out, you won’t have an aneurism on me.” She hugged Wanda’s shoulders, relieved that everything had worked out all right. Because when Sean doesn’t call again, I’m gonna be better off with friends who at least get worried about me.
* * *
After breakfast two days later, Staci decided that it might not be a bad idea to see what she could research about elves. Wouldn’t she be that much more helpful, if she knew what she was actually dealing with? Sure, elves were kind of a secret…but she had found out about them. There had to be some useful information written down somewhere, by someone that had interacted with them; she couldn’t be the only one. Unfortunately…the always-reliable-until-now Internet was not going to be possible.
At least…not here. But maybe there was Internet at the public library? And even if there wasn’t, there should be something in the way of books that had things about elves in them?
After consulting the map and the phone book, Staci got on her bike and pedaled to another unprepossessing and rundown building a block away from the high school. It looked like something out of a model kit; a cement and brick square, two stories tall, with “Andrew Carnegie Public Library” chiseled in the stone lintel over the door. She locked her bike to the empty bike rack and went inside.
There was a single, tired-looking old lady sitting behind a desk that looked as old as the building at the front. “Can I help you, miss?” she asked, her voice wispy in the dusty silence.
“Do you have Internet terminals?” Staci asked hopefully.
The old lady shook her head. “I’m sorry, miss. We don’t.” She waved at a bank of…well, Staci wasn’t sure what they were. They looked like wooden filing cabinets, except the drawers were too small to hold documents. “We haven’t modernized at all, I’m afraid. No money for it, nor any interest. You’re the first person we’ve had in here in a week. You’ll have to look up what you want in the card catalogue.”
“The…what?” Staci blinked in confusion.
An hour or so later, after personal instruction in how to use the card catalogue and the Dewey Decimal System, the librarian left her alone while she “put the returns away.” Another hour, and several trips to the bookshelves later, and Staci had a small stack of books beside her where she had set herself up on the second floor, in something that the librarian called a “study carrel,” another completely weird term she’d never heard before. It turned out to be a desk, with a bookshelf above the working surface and wings to either side to block what you were doing from the person in the next carrel.
She’d outright rejected the stuff from the kid’s section; the usual fairy-tale books, including a line of them in every color she could imagine. That hadn’t left her with much, and at least half of that was gaming books of the sort that the gang toted around; these copies were earlier editions, from the ’70s and ’80s with the signs of heavy use on the corners and binding.
Three hours later, she closed the last of them, feeling frustrated and brain-tired, with not much in the way of notes to show for her work. So much of it was ancient mythology, and almost none of it appeared to, one, be consistent, or two, match what she had personally seen about elves. There certainly wasn’t anything about elvensteeds that also happened to turn into frickin’ motorcycles.
She decided to give up and go home for now. Maybe one of her orders would have arrived by now. The clerk hardly noticed her leaving; she was absorbed in a book of her own, apparently happy to collect a paycheck with as little effort given as possible.
&nbs
p; Staci was upstairs, putting away the L.L. Bean order that had finally arrived, when the phone rang. The sound was startlingly loud in the quiet house, and she jumped. When it rang a second time, she ran down the stairs, figuring it was one of the gang telling her…something. Sheesh, it’s like I’m in a ’50s musical or something, she thought, as she reached for the handset. At least the phone wasn’t rotary…though the answering machine next to it was a kind of jarring note.
“Yeah?” she said—not identifying herself, because her dad had drummed into her never to give your name until you knew who was calling.
“Hello, Staci? It’s Sean Blackthorne.”
Now her heart started pounding. She took a deep breath. Okay. Don’t squee. Don’t act like it’s a big deal. Be cool. “Oh, hi, Sean! I hope that family business went all right. And thanks for the invitation the other night, I never got a chance to tell you what a good time I had.”
“Not a problem. That’s sort of why I was calling you; we’re having a little bit of a lighter get-together tonight. I was wondering if you would want to attend?”
She clutched the handset. “Mom’s at work…so I can’t ask her if I can stay late.” Mom had been very adamant about that. If you’re not run over, bleeding to death, or the house isn’t on fire, you do not call me at work. She supposed that, in a town with no Internet, where the phone was all you had, a bar was going to be pretty hard on people using its business phone for personal reasons. “If it’s not too late, I’d really like that.”
“Shouldn’t run all that late. Again, this is a more intimate sort of gathering. Can I send a car for you around…let’s say, seven?”
“That would be awesome!” she said with enthusiasm. And after he had hung up, she clung to the handset for a moment until the blat—blat—blat coming from it made her hang up.
It was only five. Plenty of time to decide what to wear. And plenty of time to call the others and let them know she wouldn’t be at the bookstore tonight.
Her cell phone in the back pocket of her jeans suddenly reminded her that Dylan had asked her to call him if she got another invite. But…he hadn’t specified whether it was supposed to be before or after.
She hesitated a moment, then shrugged. After. She didn’t really have anything to tell him right now, so why bother? Better to wait until she had something to report back with, if anything.
So call at least one of the gang, then get on to the really important part. Deciding what to wear.
CHAPTER NINE
Wanda wasn’t home, but someone female said she’d leave a message. Seth wanted her to bring back a doggie bag; she reminded him that would be pretty low-rent. He agreed, but definitely sounded like he was disappointed. Riley wanted a blow-by-blow fashion show; that was easy enough to promise. Jake just said, “Have fun.”
She left a note for her mom—reminding her that she’d been ordered not to call—and ran up to change. She was waiting at the curb when the car turned up; after thinking about it, she decided that she would rather keep her makeup intact and not swim, than have to spend half an hour in the bathroom after swimming and miss something. The car, chauffeur, and the ride to the mansion were all much the same as the last time. Staci kept her eyes peeled during the trip for any more freaky lawn gnomes, but didn’t see a single one. For some reason, that seemed more unnerving than if she had seen any.
But once the car crossed the wall onto the Blackthorne Estate, she relaxed. Even if Finn was the one who had sicced the Red Cap onto her, he would never dare let them on the Estate. That much she was sure of.
Tonight the mix seemed to be about half Blackthornes and half townies. It was easy enough to tell the two apart, or it would have been even if the Blackthornes hadn’t looked so much alike. Even though the townies were all shopping from the same catalogs Staci had been, they still weren’t dressed like the Blackthornes, whose outfits were likely never shown in catalogs at all. And the townies all looked awkward and…unfinished somehow…next to the graceful Blackthornes. There were about thirty guests altogether, and the action was at the patio, rather than poolside, where there was a buffet set up with sandwiches, an entire dessert buffet, and a bar. Music and dancing seemed to be the entertainment tonight.
She was glad she had opted for another of her outfits from home. Even though the fashion was nothing like as haute as the stuff the Blackthorne girls were wearing, it was also distinctly not Silence’s version of “couture.”
Sean was in the middle of a group of people, all of them hanging on his every word. As soon as Staci was visible, however, he stopped talking, smiled, and left the group without another word, walking towards her. She did her best to smile demurely, only glancing at him for a moment before taking in the rest of the party.
“I’m glad you made it, and not a moment too soon. I thought I was going to die of boredom back there,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “You look great.”
She blushed and was glad she had picked her little silk “Juliet” dress to wear. It was one of those things that had turned up at a vintage fashion place, somehow mismarked to a price she could actually afford, and dated to the late ’60s, she thought. It didn’t have a label at all, so it could have come from one of a hundred boutiques around New York back then, or even been seamstress-made for some rich girl after the Zeffirelli movie came out. Sean was clearly not planning on swimming; not wearing that outfit—a tan linen blazer, a cream silk shirt open at the neck, and cream linen trousers. He looked like he’d stepped out of a fashion magazine.
It was great up here; just cool enough that she was comfortable in the long sleeves of her dress. Somehow it was nice here, where it was clammy and cold down in town. Maybe it was because Silence was right on the ocean, but up here, you got dry breezes.
“I could say the same of you,” she replied playfully, “except I bet you never look anything other than fantastic.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised. Keeping the relations in line can be…exhausting work. Apt to leave one looking pretty haggard.” He looked around for a moment. “As always, if you want anything, feel free to ask. On that note, would you like anything to drink or eat? I figured we could talk for a bit.”
She was actually starving, since she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. But she didn’t want to look gauche, so she wasn’t going to act like she was ready to eat anything. “Sure, if you’re hungry,” she said.
He waved a finger at one of the servants behind the buffet table, and the man quickly brought two plates of sandwiches and fixings. Right behind him was a girl from the bar, who handed Staci a clear, fizzy drink and Sean a beer. Sean gestured at a little table; the servant put the plates and napkins down on it, and they took seats. Staci cautiously sipped her drink, but it seemed to just be ginger ale.
The two of them sat, eating quietly while the music and bits of conversation went on around them. No one quite stared at them, but plenty of people who thought they were being discreet were watching them. Sometimes one of the townies—but none of the other Blackthornes—would wander close by, clearly wanting to speak with Sean. But he would always wave them off, not even bothering to look in their direction. No one protested. The entire time that they were eating, Sean stared directly into Staci’s eyes. Nowhere else, not even at his food. It was, in a word, intense.
When they were both finished, Sean snapped his fingers; more servants came out, clearing away the plates and empty drinks, leaving the table clear save for a fresh bottle of upscale beer for him and another ginger ale for her.
“The last few times we’ve seen each other,” Sean began, “we haven’t had much of a chance to talk to one another. I’d like to know more about you.” He took a slug of his beer, his eyes still locked with hers.
“Gosh, there’s not that much to tell,” she temporized.
“All the same, I’d like to know. I’m sure it’s more interesting than anything that these…people could offer to say.” He flicked his chin out at the other guests. “And I know everything
there is to know about my cousins.”
She really hadn’t intended to talk about herself. All the dating guides said you were supposed to get the guy to talk, because talking about yourself made you seem narcissistic. But somehow, he managed to coax out the shorthand of what passed for her life story—which got a bit more elaborate and a lot more bitter when she got to the Brenda part.
“…so that’s how I ended up coming here,” she finished. “It’s…”
How to put this in a way that doesn’t sound like I’m trashing the town?
“…different,” she said, making a little face. “I really miss stuff like cell phones working.”
“Even though it may not seem like it now, Silence has its charms. I’m sure it’ll grow on you, in time.” Sean finished his beer, signaling for another. “What sort of things do you like to do for fun?”
“Pretty much what anyone does in the city—” she began, when she spotted Finn over Sean’s shoulder, and froze for a minute. Finn locked eyes with her for a moment…and smirked. Sean noticed her expression, finally breaking eye contact with her to turn in his seat. Finn’s eyes flicked over in Sean’s direction, and then he laughed heartily, throwing his head back before turning to some of the guests that were near him. When Sean turned back around, Staci felt as if she was jolted by a shock when she saw his expression. There was a moment of fury, of utter rage. It wasn’t like Sean was snarling or anything, but it had the same effect; he looked almost feral, primal, and it was all the more terrible because of his beauty.
Just like that, it all vanished. He shook his head, sighing, and ruffled his hair with his free hand. “Like I said, keeping a handle on this herd can run a man ragged. You know, Finn is actually jealous of me. For talking with you, that is.”
Well, that wasn’t the impression she had gotten, but she wasn’t going to contradict him. “Do you need to go be the host for a while?” she asked, wistfully, wishing he would say “no” but pretty certain he was going to say “yes.”
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