“Something like that, only the challenge will be to figure out what you have that’s valuable to you that will be even more valuable to someone else.”
“Whom do I pay? The fairy who took her lost power, and the queen is okay with letting her go.”
“You’ll figure that out when you get there. The point is that you’re willing to pay. You may even be in a situation where you can offer something as a gift, then they’re obligated to give you anything—or anyone—you ask for in return.” She held up two fingers. “Two: You prove yourself worthy of her. Usually, that has something to do with bravery, cunning, faith, even sacrifice. The trick there is that you can’t create the situation. You just have to recognize it and take advantage of it when it arises by doing what you have to do. You got that?”
He nodded. He knew he was willing to do anything. He just hoped he’d be capable and that he’d get the opportunity.
She guffawed. “Oh, don’t look so grim, Detective. The fun thing about dealing with the fairies is that it’s perfectly okay to cheat, find loopholes, and use trickery. In fact, that’s where the cunning comes in. If you find an easier way out, that means you’ve proved yourself smarter than they are.” She grew solemn again and reached out to clasp his hand. “But there’s always a final test, one of wisdom, which is different from cunning. You’ll have to make a choice, and you’ll have to make the right one. It’s never the easy one.” She held on to his hand a moment longer, and he could feel the rough calluses on her palm abrading his skin. Abruptly, she released him and got to her feet. “Help me get her into my cart.”
While he was assessing whether he could lift the woman from the ground, an eerie howl nearby made his flesh crawl. He didn’t think there were wolves in Central Park, and after the earlier incident with whatever Mrs. Smith had scared away he had a feeling that this was something much worse than wolves. That was confirmed when Mrs. Smith instantly tensed, then rushed to her cart, grabbed the torch, and relit it with a lighter pulled from her pocket. The sudden light blinded Michael, but he sensed the presence of a group of people circling them.
Once his eyes adjusted to the torchlight, he realized that the newcomers were fae. These fairies looked wild, savage even. They wore the wispy clothing seemingly fashioned from spiderwebs and leaves that many of the other fairies he’d seen favored, but they also wore jewelry that looked like it had been fashioned out of human bones. In his police career, Michael had come across a few cases with skeletal remains, and he recognized the finger bones strung together around the neck of one of the fairies. He didn’t even want to think about where those bones had come from.
The dancers began chanting, their voices melding into a strange harmony that didn’t fit into any musical scale he’d ever heard. He had to strain to make out the words. At first, he thought it was in some other language, but soon he was able to make out words in English—or did the magic that allowed him to see the fae also allow him to understand them?
“The night of the hunt draws near,” they sang in a low monotone, “and we will ride again. You’ll know what it is to fear, when the Wild Hunt rides again.” Their song grew wilder and their dancing more frenzied as they continued. “Again, again, the Wild Hunt rides again. The earth will tremble and blood will flow when the Wild Hunt rides again.”
They leapt and whirled like dervishes. Some of them took turns rushing toward the torch, daring each other to come closer and closer to the tongues of flame. Michael glanced toward Mrs. Smith, but whether he sought guidance or reassurance, he didn’t know. She glowered at the dancers and held her torch steady, but she made no other moves. He thought he detected fear in her eyes, though.
The dancers noticed the unconscious woman and moved toward her. Michael instinctively stepped in front of her and said, “Leave her alone.”
One of the fairies faced Michael. “Oh, one of them, are you? You don’t scare me.”
Michael went for his gun, but decided against it. Discharging his service weapon would mean paperwork. Instead, he slid his hand into his jacket pocket. Grateful that he was up-to-date on his tetanus shot, he maneuvered a few of the iron nails in his pocket between his fingers so their points would protrude when he made a fist, the way they taught women to carry their keys in self-defense classes. He took a step toward the fairy, easing his hand out of his pocket but keeping the nails hidden.
“Your kind isn’t welcome,” another fairy said. “You’ll suffer most of all when the Hunt rides.”
Michael wished he knew more about this Hunt because as it was, his response was limited to “will not.” Instead, he smiled enigmatically and said, “Are you so sure about that? How do you know where you’ll end up when you face the Hunt?”
The fairy took the bait and moved toward Michael, his fists raised. Michael struck first, driving an iron nail into the flesh of the fairy’s upper arm. He was surprised by how easily it went in. He released the nail as the fairy howled in pain, then whipped around to lash at the fairy coming at him from the side. He scraped that one along the jaw and continued the swing to hit a third, driving that nail in.
The screams of pain made his hair stand on end. They were clearly inhuman and spoke to some primitive part of him that wanted nothing more than to run, but he stood his ground. The fairies’ screams were soon not the only sounds. Beau barked and snarled, and Mrs. Smith lunged at the attackers with her torch.
Like most bullies, these fairies were quick to flee when their targets fought back and did damage. Soon, Michael, Mrs. Smith, Beau, and the unconscious woman were alone again. Mrs. Smith turned to Michael. “Well done. I see you know a thing or two. Do you always carry iron?”
“These days? Yeah.”
“Keep it up. Now we’d better all get out of here in case those yahoos come back with friends. Get her into the cart for me.”
Lifting the sleeping woman from the ground was more difficult than catching her after a faint had been. He’d finished physical therapy, but he still needed a little time in the gym. He got the woman settled onto the piles of blankets and pillows inside the cart in a way that didn’t look too uncomfortable. Mrs. Smith blew out her torch with an impressive gust of breath, put it in the cart’s child seat, then picked up the blanket from the ground and draped it over the woman. As she tucked in the corners, she said, “What hunt were you talking about?”
“They were chanting about some Wild Hunt that’s apparently going to ride again and make us all afraid.”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “You understood that? You really have been touched. And good timing, too. If the Hunt’s going to ride again, we’ll need all the help we can get. Most everyone these days will have no idea what to do.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Michael said.
“You know about iron, which is more than most. If the Hunt’s free to ride, that means things might be getting ugly in the Realm. You’ll need to get your wife back, pronto. There’s a market tomorrow night at Bethesda Terrace. You’ll find what you need there, maybe even a way into the Realm. Good luck. You’ll need it.” Before he could ask any questions, she trundled the cart away, walking like she didn’t have the weight of an entire person in there.
“Okay, that was odd,” Michael remarked to Beau, who snorted in what sounded like agreement. “I wonder if she’s right.” The hope welling in his heart was almost overwhelming. For the first time in seven years, he had an actual plan.
Seven
The Theater District
10:30 p.m.
Every time Emily stepped on the stage, she feared she’d lose her mojo. Acting and singing were largely about feeling, so how could she do either properly when she was so numb? She wasn’t sure she could go on living this way. Throughout the evening show, she found herself wishing she’d told Sophie everything and asked for her help.
And then she’d sing one of her numbers and be met with roars of applause. That reminded her she now had the power to hold an audience’s hearts in her hand, to make them feel
whatever she wanted them to feel. She could make them laugh or cry, and she could make them love it. Ever since her time in the Realm, the house had been packed for every performance. Some people were even addicted, lining up for standby tickets every night. It was like the kids who’d repeatedly flocked to Rent in its heyday, something no one would have expected for a musical based on a Jane Austen novel. No one realized that it wasn’t the musical itself that had this effect, but rather its star.
Or maybe they did realize it. Emily’s agent had a list of producers wanting Emily to star in their shows as soon as her current contract expired. There had already been two musicals written just for her. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined such success. It had taken her seven years in New York before she’d had the stroke of luck that let her step into a title role as an understudy. Would she have had her current level of stardom if she hadn’t been kidnapped by a fairy and been changed by the experience, or would she have only stayed in the role until they hired a bigger name or closed the show? She couldn’t help but fear that if her current success had been about her, it would have come far sooner. Even the notoriety from her brief disappearance didn’t explain all her fame.
When she thought about it that way, it was a no-brainer. Would she really give up such abilities just so she could taste and feel again? It wasn’t as though she was selling her soul. She’d known the risks when she took a drink in the fairy realm. At least there was some upside from it.
As the big finale came to an end, she noticed something different in the theater. Normally, she couldn’t see anything of the audience other than a dark blur beyond the stage lights, but one person near the back glowed. Had Sophie stayed for the show? The sellout wouldn’t have stopped her if she’d wanted in. But no, that wasn’t the same glow as Sophie’s. Emily’s pulse quickened at the thought of who it might be.
This time, she didn’t linger after the curtain calls. She hurried to change into street clothes, then rushed to the stage door. Even in the throng of fans and flashing cameras, she spotted him, shining silver and unmistakably fae in spite of his old-professor human glamour.
She automatically signed autographs as she made her way through the crowd to Eamon. She barely held off throwing her arms around him. There were too many cameras in the vicinity. She settled for standing in front of him and saying, “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you. I was afraid you were avoiding me.”
“I thought it best that I taper off our acquaintance to allow you to readjust to this world.” He paused, then added softly, “It doesn’t seem to have worked.”
“But why reappear now? Did you miss me? Oh, wait, let me guess, Sophie sent you.”
He didn’t confirm or deny it. “I thought you were getting better, but your senses are dulled, are they not?”
After glancing around, she said softly, “This really isn’t the place to discuss it.” She slid her arm through the crook of his elbow. “Come on, I need a drink.”
She didn’t know if it was his magic that got them away from the stage-door crowd or if it was the appearance of the actor who played Mr. Knightley, who was quite the hunk with a glorious voice (it was a pity about the offstage personality), but soon they were heading down the street, unmolested by fans.
Although she normally avoided that kind of place like the plague, she dragged Eamon to one of the touristy chain restaurant/bars on Times Square. It would be impossible to talk safely in a quieter place, but noise and crowds would mask any conversation. Besides, if she had enough stimulation, she might feel a little more alive.
She ordered two of the brightest, fruitiest-looking drinks on the multipage cocktail menu and solemnly presented one to Eamon as a formal offering. She didn’t know what real-world alcohol would do to a fairy, but his kind sure knew how to drink in their own world.
“So, what does Sophie think’s wrong with me?” she asked, after taking a sip of a laser-red drink and finding it disappointingly bland. Even the bite of the alcohol was subdued.
He choked after swallowing a sip of his own drink. She patted him on the back until he could breathe again. Blinking tears out of his eyes, he gasped a couple of times, then said, “She believes you are under some kind of bond or thrall.” He put his glass down on the bar and grabbed her hand. She couldn’t help but yelp out loud at his touch. It was so startlingly real. And cold. Nodding, he added, “And I concur.”
He moved to withdraw his hand, but she clutched it desperately, unwilling to let go and lose the sensation. “This is something different from the effects of being in the Realm and drinking the Kool-Aid?”
“I am aware of no beverage served in the Realm called Kool-Aid.”
Trying not to roll her eyes, she said, “You know what I mean. This is different from that?”
“I believe so. When did it begin?”
She downed the rest of her drink and signaled for another. “Well, let’s see … I was kind of in a haze for the first few weeks after getting back. I was on fire onstage, but everything else was dim. Since I only felt alive when I was performing, I threw myself into it. That was when my career just exploded. They stopped talking about looking for a permanent lead, and I got all kinds of buzz. Then I started feeling better about the rest of my life. Not normal, but not in the same kind of fog. I seemed to have hit a plateau a few weeks ago, where I wasn’t getting any better. At least, not that I noticed. Then last week I started going downhill, to where I am now. I’m not as foggy as I was when I first got back, but I am kind of numb. I think I’d be begging you to take me back to the Realm so I could feel something if I didn’t have the show. That gives me a huge fix. So, Doc, what’s the diagnosis?”
“Why haven’t you said anything to your sister?”
Her new drink arrived, and she swallowed half of it before saying, “She has enough to worry about with the deadline for getting Jen back coming up. It’ll be seven years in just a couple of days, and that’s the cutoff.” The swirling colors in his mercury eyes bored into her, and she added sheepishly, “And I was afraid. I was doing so well in my work that I didn’t want to lose it. I didn’t want to be normal again.”
“Have you considered that your success may have been because it was the only time you felt truly alive, so you threw yourself into your performances?” He visibly braced himself, took a drink, then took her hand again and said earnestly, “You will never be entirely normal, Emily Drake.” His voice was a little husky, but she wasn’t sure if that was because of emotion or the effect of the alcohol.
Feeling a little flustered herself, she said, “You almost make that sound like a compliment.”
“You have fae blood. Of course you’re not normal.”
“I’ve had fae blood my whole life, but my career didn’t start working until all this happened to me.”
“I thought it happened just before. That was how I found you, after all.”
“So even if you’d never grabbed me, that would still have been my big break that made me a star?”
“Perhaps not to the same extent, since you would have had no reason to push yourself as hard as you have.”
The bartender slid a fresh drink in front of her. It was just as tasteless as the last one, but at least she was starting to feel like she was supposed to be numb. “I guess that means that the key to acting success is to perform like it’s your only reason for living.” She raised her glass in a toast, drained it, and signaled for another.
“I do wonder where these bonds came from, as I am certain they were not there before,” Eamon said, staring at her like he was analyzing her aura. “Perhaps it has something to do with that impostor queen.”
Even as tipsy as she was, Emily snapped to attention. “What impostor queen?”
“There are people being cast out of the Realm, supposedly by the queen.”
“Sophie would never do that.”
“Exactly.”
The bartender provided a new drink just in time. “Oh, great, I get to be a hostage again,” Emily groan
ed before taking a big gulp.
“That is a possibility.”
“You know, this is the last thing Sophie needs to worry about right now, since she’s got to save Jen. I don’t know that she really wants to, but she’s being all martyr-like about it and just wanting Michael to be happy. Blech.” She mimed gagging. “So don’t tell her, okay?”
“She is the one who told me.”
Emily signaled for the bill and handed her credit card to the bartender. “Then she’s gonna have to learn to delegate. She needs a council, or an army, or something.”
“She should know she has us at her disposal.”
She paused in signing the credit card receipt to look up at him. He was growing fuzzy and wobbling in a strange way. It occurred to her that downing a number of strong drinks on an empty stomach after hours of performing might not have been the best idea.
“Why don’t we go back to your place?” she asked, surprising herself.
“My place?”
“Your library. It’s cozy there.” She ran a finger along his jawline. “We could snuggle by the fire and think of how to help Sophie.”
“I don’t think so. We will go to your home.”
“Works for me.” She slid off the barstool and took a moment to get her legs under her before she dragged him out of the bar. She hailed a cab, and they settled into the backseat. He looked equal parts terrified and fascinated, and she realized this was probably his first ride in a car. She hoped there wasn’t enough iron in the car to poison him.
When they left the cab in front of her building, she found herself wanting to run toward the park, where she knew there were entrances to the Realm. He took her hand, distracting her with his touch. That could work, too, she thought, then said, “Why don’t you come inside?”
“I plan to.”
Her pulse quickened and her breath grew short. “You could stay the night.”
“That is my plan, as well. I don’t want you going out again in this state.”
To Catch a Queen Page 5