Hidden Magic

by Amy Patrick

Another bone-jarring strike against the fence shook his hands loose of the rail, and he started to fall backward. I darted a hand out, snagging his shirtfront and hauling him back toward me.

  “All right,” I said. “One more question—and then I’ll let you leave and go home, not in pursuit of Macy—or you’ll wish you had been left alone in a pen with an angry bull. Where is she now?”

  “You are not with them?” the first guy said in obvious disbelief. “The musician’s phone GPS signal ends here. And we saw her face—up on a large video monitor at the concert.”

  The concert. I knew it. I had felt her presence there.

  “As far as we know, she is still here on the rodeo grounds,” the second hunter said.

  He seemed to be telling the truth, and I definitely wouldn’t get any more out of them if they were stomped and/or gored to death. Besides, Big Boy was so worked up now I was concerned he might actually break the gate of his pen open. We’d all three be running for our lives if that happened.

  “Okay, come on out.” I backed away from the top of the fence and dropped to the dirt floor outside the pen.

  The white-faced men clambered to the top and over, dropping to the dirt beside me. I seized each of them by the shoulder. They were both trembling.

  “I was serious about what I said. You will stop following Macy and go back to Italy.”

  “We cannot go back without the girl. Alessia told us our lives are forfeit if we fail. I do not want an innocent to come to harm, but I don’t want to die either.”

  “I feel the same. I was only following orders,” the other one agreed. “The princess gave us no choice.”

  I considered the information for a moment, frowning in disappointment and once again feeling guilty for my part in Alessia’s extreme transformation. If I’d honored our agreement and fulfilled my role as her betrothed, she would likely never have fallen in with Dr. Schmitt and become so influenced by him. And she certainly wouldn’t harbor such a deep hatred of the human race. I had done what I felt I had to do, but my actions had affected her deeply. There was no denying it.

  “Then go to France,” I told the men. “I’ll contact my father and request that he set you up with a place and position. You’ll be safe under his jurisdiction. He is no longer cooperating with the Ancient Court’s plan to capture Macy. But if he does not hear from you soon and see your faces within two days in his court—I will put out a hit on you with a bounty so rich, you won’t live one more day past that.”

  “Yes, your highness. I will go straight there.”

  “As will I. Thank you for your mercy, highness. We will be good servants of the French court.” The man drew in a breath as if he wanted to say more, but hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “In light of your mercy toward us, I feel I should tell you—we are not the only ones who were sent to the States to search for the girl. There are at least two other teams here, though I don't know where they are operating, exactly.”

  A shudder passed through me. “I see. Thank you for telling me.”

  At my nod of consent, the men turned and fled—hopefully right to a street where they could catch a cab or bus to the airport. More slowly, I walked to the exit of the building, contemplating my next move. If Anders still had his phone with him, Nox could contact him and pinpoint their location, warn him that potentially several more teams of hunters were after them.

  I hadn't wanted Nox to explain to Anders what was going on—partially because I wanted to tell Macy myself that I was alive—partly because I feared that if her companion did know I’d survived, he might withhold that information from her in order to keep her for himself. I didn’t know him or what he was capable of, and her company was very compelling. But at this point, I didn’t see what other choice I had. I knew Nox would tell me the truth about where his friend was, and I’d be able to get to her—and at least find out if it was too late.

  Once outside the building, I dialed him. He answered immediately.

  “Nic. Did you find her?”

  “No. But I know she was here. Alessia’s henchmen saw her on a video screen. I’m not sure where to look now. Do you have any idea? Have you heard from Anders?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I called several times, and I sent an urgent text. I didn’t get any response. At first I thought maybe something had happened to them, but it seems he’s ditched his phone. When I called it just a short while ago, a man with a thick Texas accent answered it and told me his horse had stomped it and broken the screen. He was surprised when it still rang. Maybe Anders spotted Alessia’s men,” Nox suggested.

  “Yeah.” Or maybe he’d spotted me and decided to let the trail go completely cold—even as far as his own king was concerned.

  “Maybe they’re still around there?” Nox suggested.

  I surveyed the nearly empty park, the darkened carnival rides and booths. “I don’t think so. Whatever happened, I’m sure they’ll be moving on now. I’m afraid I’ll have to start the search from scratch.”

  “Oh man, I’m so sorry. I wish I could be more help. I’ll definitely let you know if I hear from either of them.”

  “I know you will. Thank you, my friend.”

  I dialed Jodi and asked her to pick me up and take me to my hotel. I was dead on my feet at this point, and in this exhausted state, I couldn’t even begin to imagine my next step. The trail hadn’t just gone cold—it was buried in deep-packed ice.

  I shuffled toward the pickup location we’d arranged, nodding and waving to the security guard who informed me NRG Park was closing for the night. I couldn’t seem to catch a break. When I thought of how close I’d been to her tonight—my hand went to my chest and rubbed, trying to ease the sharp throbbing there. In all my life, I’d never felt more alone.

  My phone rang again. Was Jodi already here? She must have been very close by to have made such good time to the park gate. Oh—the screen did not display her number, but Estelle’s. My sister. Why was she calling at this time? It was just after six in the morning in Paris, and she was by no means an early riser.

  “Bonjour, ma soeur chere. What has you up so early?” I said as I lifted the phone to my ear.

  “It is not early, mon frere. It’s quite late, in fact.”

  I couldn’t believe how good it was to hear her voice, and it sounded so crisp and clear for an overseas connection. “Wait—where are you?”

  “In America. I just landed. I’ve come to help you.”

  10

  Anders

  I was shocked we hadn’t been pulled over on suspicion of drug-dealing.

  The late-nineties model Lincoln Continental I’d purchased from a lot in one of Houston’s less savory neighborhoods—the only one I could find open at eleven at night—had dark-tinted windows and a low-slung chassis. The “custom” paint job was a shade too bright, and the rims had enough bling on them to impress a whole roomful of rappers.

  But the cushiony old land yacht had done its job and was actually quite comfortable on the twenty-two hour jaunt from Houston to Las Vegas. Still, I was exhausted.

  We’d made the drive straight, and except for a bit of dozing while Macy took a driving shift, I hadn’t slept since night before last at the hotel in Houston. By this point, I felt like I’d been on the losing end of a college bar fight. Macy looked absolutely worn out as well. During this final stretch, she’d fought to stay awake in order to help me stay awake.

  As we cruised down the Strip, I glanced over at her mussed hair and puffy eyes. “Almost there.”

  She yawned. “Okay. Good. Which one should we stay in?”

  There were so many choices. Any of them would do, really. They all had beds, blackout curtains, and on the main floor, plenty of slot machines and card games. “It doesn’t matter to me. You choose.”

  “How about that one? It’s pretty. And it’s close,” she said, pointing to a grand high-rise with a lighted tower and an ornate bridge.

  “The Venetian? Nice taste. Sure—we can go there.�
��

  I’d been to the city several times for gigs, but I’d never stayed at the Venetian resort. I knew it had been designed and decorated to make guests feel like they were in Venice, right down to a replica of the Grand Canal complete with gondola rides.

  I took the next right then followed the signs for valet parking, already chuckling in anticipation of climbing out of the rolling pimp-palace and handing over the key to one of the high-end establishment’s uniformed valets.

  Declining help from a bellman, I took both our bags from the trunk and carried them inside to the registration desk. Macy stumbled along beside me, looking as if she might drop any minute. Poor thing. She’d been through so much.

  “Hang in there,” I whispered as a friendly-faced woman clad in all black motioned us toward the counter.

  “Welcome to the Venetian. Do you have a reservation?”

  “Uh… no,” I said. “But we’ll take anything you’ve got.”

  She grinned. “We’re really busy tonight, but we’ve got a Chairman Suite available at only twenty-five-thousand per night.”

  I nearly choked. Maybe tomorrow we’d be able to afford that—after I’d had a crack at the tables—but right now we’d need to live a bit more like interns than chairmen.

  “Um… got anything a little…”

  She laughed. “Just kidding. Actually, we are pretty booked up, but I can put you in a Prima suite with premium bedding, twenty-four hour room service, available in-room massage, and a city view for four hundred,” she enticed.

  “Two beds?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry sir. It’s a king. I don’t have anything with queens open right now—except for the Presidential and Chairman Suites, and… well, I’ve already given you the rate on that. I could call some of the other hotels and check for you.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Macy spoke up, her voice sounding like she’d gargled gravel. “We’ll take it. Just get the key.”

  She turned and wobbled toward a lobby chair, flopping into it to wait.

  The clerk chuckled. “Looks like your girlfriend’s had a rough day.”

  “You have no idea,” I said, smiling secretly at her label of Macy as “my girlfriend.” She was only the first of many who would know her by that title. I planned to introduce her to my parents when we returned to California in a few days for the Grammy awards. I had no doubt that this time, Mom would approve.

  I gave the woman a fake name, paid for two nights in cash, and collected our room keys.

  When I got the room door open, Macy trudged straight to the bed, kicked off her shoes, and fell into it, not even bothering to pull back the covers. It did look pretty comfortable. Thank God it was a king and not a queen. Though she wouldn’t take up much room, my size made it uncomfortable for me to sleep in anything smaller than a king bed—even alone.

  Taking a minute to brush my teeth and wash my face first, I joined Macy in the sleeping area, eager for bed myself. The air conditioning was set at a pretty chilly level, and I touched the skin on her bare arm lightly. It felt cold.

  Going to adjust the thermostat first, I pulled back the soft, white comforter and sheet on my side of the bed then lifted Macy—who did not stir at all—and placed her there. She felt like a feather in my hands. I chuckled—much lighter without the keyboard case I’d used to smuggle her out of the castle on Corsica. Then I pulled the covers up to her chin and went to the other side of the bed to slide under the sheet myself.

  For a few minutes I lay there, unable to sleep despite my exhaustion. This was strange. Of all the nights I’d spent with her these past two months, this was the first time we’d shared a bed. Of course all we’d do tonight was sleep. But what about tomorrow? And the next day? She’d said “yes” to my proposal to upgrade.

  The thought filled me with anticipation—and apprehension. Was it really the right thing to do? There were no do-overs for me.

  I rolled to my side and watched her sleeping face. She looked young and innocent and sweet. And really, really pretty. She’d gotten prettier to me each day since I met her. Maybe it was because I liked her insides so much, it made her outsides all the more attractive. Or maybe it was that I’d never slowed down enough in my frenetic dating life to ever focus on just one girl and get to know her inside and out.

  Yes. It was the right thing to do. I wasn't going to find a girl I liked more than Macy. I wouldn’t find anyone more attractive, kinder and more fun to be with. This was as good as it got, and I was going to lock down this gift of fate before it slipped away.

  Much more relaxed now, I slipped away, allowing myself to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. I could wait until tomorrow for my dreams to come true.

  * * *

  I woke before Macy did the next morning and crept quietly from the room to pick up some breakfast for us—as well as some supplies. While I was out, I’d tried calling Nox collect from a pay phone and gotten no answer. Later on, I’d have to find a place that sold GoPhones or something.

  When I returned, Macy sat up abruptly in the bed, looking around in confusion before realizing where we were. Once she did, she stretched her arms above her head and let her head fall back into the plush pillows, smiling.

  “I feel a thousand times better. How about you?”

  “Maybe not a thousand—but a few hundred times for sure.”

  Dropping the pharmacy bag onto the bedside table, I leaned over and deposited one of the two food boxes onto Macy’s lap. “Breakfast in bed, my lady.”

  “Oooh, fancy,” she said with a cute giggle. She lifted the lid and peeked underneath at the sausage and cheese bagel sandwiches. “Mmmm. This smells so good. I feel like I haven’t eaten in…” She craned her neck at the digital clock nearby. “Oh, that’s why. I haven't eaten in fifteen hours. Wow. I can’t believe I slept this late.”

  “You were tired. I haven’t been up that long either.”

  She glanced up at me, her bedhead hair floating adorably around her face. “But you took a shower. I must look a mess.”

  “You’re fine,” I said as she slid from the bed and padded across the room to the bathroom mirror.

  When she reached it she let out a shriek. “Oh my God. What a liar you are.”

  She charged back into the room, snapping up her backpack and retreating to the bathroom with it in tow. “I’m taking a shower, and I don’t plan to re-emerge until every drop of the hot water is gone, so I hope you’re not in a hurry.”

  “Well, you might want to leave at least a little hot water. We’re going to need it for what comes after the shower.”

  Her carefree expression dropped, and her arm holding the backpack slackened, causing it to slide to the ground at the end of her fingertips. Her eyes were wide.

  “What comes after the shower?” she asked in a strangled voice.

  I gave a side-nod to the bag on the table. “Go look inside.”

  Leaving her backpack where it lay, Macy approached the pharmacy bag hesitantly, as if it might contain live reptiles or something. I grinned to myself, waiting for her to open it.

  When she did, she laughed out loud, a happy, relieved sound. Reaching into the bag she pulled out its contents. “Hair dye? And bleach?” She looked at me with an incredulous stare.

  “Yep. We’re trading places. I’m about to be tall, dark, and dangerously handsome. And you—are going platinum, baby.”

  Now she frowned. “Do you really think it’s necessary to alter our appearances?”

  I nodded. “I do. The Dark Court agents have obviously seen photos of you—otherwise they wouldn’t have recognized you up on the Jumbotron screens at the concert. And if they were tracking my phone—they know what I look like too. If not, all they’d have to do is check Instagram.”

  “And Tumblr, and Pinterest, and Facebook, and wherever else lovesick groupies post their fandom worship,” she said, rolling her eyes. “There is going to be wailing and gnashing of teeth over the loss of those beautiful blonde locks, you know.”

  I
couldn’t suppress a grin. “No need to wail. When this is over, I’ll cut off the dark hair and grow the blond back for you.”

  She threw the box of hair color across the room at me. “I didn’t mean me, idiot.”

  An hour later, newly brunette and not too sure how I felt about that, I ran my hands through Macy’s hair, washing the remaining shampoo from it. Leaning over the tub, she covered her eyes with her hands.

  “How does it look? Am I Marilyn Monroe yet?”

  “Hotter,” I said to the back of her wet head. “Much hotter. Okay, let me grab the towel. Hold on—stay there so you don’t soak your shirt.”

  Wrapping her head in terry cloth, I helped her to stand straight and guided her to the sink. “Ready for the moment of truth?”

  We stood side-by-side, both staring into the large mirror. She nodded, looking petrified. Honestly, so was I. I’d never bleached anyone’s hair before. I was half-convinced I’d pull off the towel and most of her hair would stay in it.

  Please, please don’t let her be bald.

  She’d still look cute with a buzz cut, no doubt, but she’d be so pissed at me. There would be no bonding for the guy who’d scalped her.

  Slowly she pulled the damp towel from her head and revealed wet, platinum blonde, and entirely intact (thank God) hair.

  “Wow,” she breathed. “It’s… really different.”

  “Yeah.” I scrubbed my hand through my inky dark locks. “Me, too. That’s the idea, though, right? I bet yours is gonna look awesome. I can’t wait to see it when it’s dry. Look out Gwen Stefani.”

  She gave me a doubtful, but grateful grin. “Okay then, get out of here and let me do my thing. What should I dress for?”

  “We’re hitting the casinos, of course. I can’t afford all this hot, blonde arm candy unless I win big.”

  She snapped me with the wet towel. “You are impossible. Go watch TV. I’ll be ready in about half an hour.”

  Forty-five minutes later she emerged from the bathroom wearing makeup, a short black skirt, a red halter-style top, high heels, and looking hotter than I’d ever thought someone could with nearly white hair.