by Sarah Zettel
He just stood there, blinking and bowing and smiling, the champagne running down his face, cutting tracks through the blackface and making his clown makeup run as though his mouth was bleeding. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. Because as bad as being dragged around that stage was for Mama, for Papa it was worse.
Fairies want human love and imagination. They feel it and it works on them like alcohol on a drunk. I had to struggle every day to keep myself closed down so I wouldn’t feel too much. Papa, though, was being held open. They’d gotten those strings around the magic that lived inside him and they’d wrenched it open. He could feel all the derision and contempt that filled the room. Every bit of it poured down his throat along with the laughter and the applause. He couldn’t get away from these feelings. He couldn’t stand against them.
It was killing him. I could feel that too. I could feel him. He couldn’t shut out the music or the derisive emotions and it was bowing him down, wearing him away, leaving nothing but the broken, bug-eyed clown. Pretty soon there wouldn’t be even that much left.
And they were using Mama to do it. My mama, who’d faced all the bad that life in the Dust Bowl could throw at her but who had held on, was being made to hurt the man she loved more than life and watch him as he weakened day by day. I reached down to my magic and pulled it out, groping for some way to shape it and send it out to them. I’d blow the place apart if I had to, but I’d wipe the smiles off all those people laughing at my parents. I’d start with the big man grinning in the corner.
But I couldn’t. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t anywhere near them. I was only dreaming.
Dear Callie.
My thoughts jerked to a halt. Someone had said my name, right in the middle of this nightmare. Except it wasn’t Lorcan.
Out in the hall, Papa’d gotten hold of Mama and thrown her across his knee. “I has you now, mah sweetheart! I will show you how much I loves you!”
Dear Callie.
Two soft words, a soft, strong, urgent whisper under the laughter and the jeering.
Dear Callie. I am glad to hear you are well and have found a good rooming house.
It’s not happening. It’s part of the dream. I stopped right there. Of course it was part of the dream, but this dream was real. I was hearing my mama.
I don’t think I can tell you how much it’s meant to get your letters. I think your plans for the Midnight Club sound just wonderful.
Tears spilled into my thoughts. All those imaginary letters had been wishes too. I’d wished Mama could hear me. And she had. She was tangled and chained in the Seelie magic, but we were still mother and daughter. There wasn’t magic enough in the world to keep her from knowing I loved her. Now she was writing a letter in her own head, deep down under that enchantment. If the Seelies heard it at all, they probably thought this poor human woman was finally going crazy.
Mama had Papa’s face in her hands and was looking straight into his eyes. I hope you’re staying wrapped up warm and taking care of your cough while you travel.
“I loves you!” Papa burbled. “I loves you, mah sweetheart!” And he did. His love was searing and strong, and for that moment it swamped the anguish.
Then the enchanted strings jerked them together hard, so that they bumped foreheads, and again so that they bumped noses. The third time, they allowed their mouths to come together. A split second later, Papa jumped up, dumping Mama on the floor. He began dancing around in pain holding his mouth.
“Mah lip! Mah lip! She bited me!”
He staggered, pretending to be limp with pain. Mama clomped back out of the way, and Papa stumbled right into one of the guests, a woman who screamed; the man next to her shoved Papa back. He staggered again, reeling through the crowd. Suddenly they didn’t find the act so funny anymore. The guests shrieked and scattered, spilling drinks on each other and sending genuine anger curdling through the room.
Somebody tumbled against the mustached party host, and he went down on his broad backside. I felt something slip, just a split second of concentration lost, and a split second more when he was covered over by everybody’s attention and everybody’s expectation that he would do something about this outrage.
Everybody’s except Papa’s.
“They keep me playing by the pool during the day,” Papa breathed from where he sprawled flat on the floor. “I can’t find where they keep—”
“You bastard!” roared the mustached man. He lashed out and kicked Papa in the ribs. Bright pain flared through Papa, and he rolled himself into a ball, still blinking and trying frantically to smile.
“Now, boss, now, boss, de darkie’s sorry, he don’ mean it, please, boss!”
But he did mean it. He’d created this scene on purpose so the magic would slip, just a little, just enough to get a message to me. I saw the starlight and midnight in his eyes as he scrabbled backward and the guests tried to pull the mustached man away. They handed their host a drink; they asked him what he’d expected from some darkie clown. Papa scrambled to his feet and grabbed up Mama’s hand. They bowed and smiled.
They knew I was watching them. They knew I’d heard.
Pitiful, isn’t it? Shake was back. I’d been so wrapped up in watching my parents, I’d all but forgotten about him. And you’re planning on coming in here and making it a trio.
The great hall with its celebration faded to black. I wanted to dive after it, just to be near my parents again, but I didn’t. As much as I could in that directionless dark, I faced my uncle.
You knew where they were. You’ve known this whole time.
He didn’t answer.
And you weren’t ever going to tell me, were you?
Still no answer.
Were you?
His smile was sharp as broken glass. And I’m still not.
I screamed. I lunged for him, but I had no body. I was thought and dream and darkness, and he was nothing but the light in his eyes and the gleam of his shattered teeth. I had no weapon but my anger, and Shake just laughed.
Oh, how sad, how tragic for my little niece! She thinks she can storm castles, but she can’t even touch her old uncle when she’s got him helpless. Whatever will she do?
“Wake up!” A new voice cut the darkness. Someone was shaking me. Jack. “It’s a nightmare, Callie. Wake up!”
Yes, wake up, Callie, sneered my uncle. It’s only a dream, after all.
“Callie! Calliope LeRoux!”
I could feel my body again, and find my eyes and snap them open. I could sit up too, and I could remember every single thing I’d been shown. Worst of all, I could feel Lorcan in the back of my mind, buried under my enchanted sleep and waiting for me to come back.
Jack let go of my shoulders. His face was worried. “Callie, what happened?”
“I saw my parents.” I grabbed his hand and pulled myself up. “And we are out of time.”
14
Gonna Steal Away
The sun was just coming up over the hills when Jack and I snuck down to the bungalow’s second floor. I’d wanted to leave immediately, but Jack insisted we tell Ivy what was going on, because we might not be coming back. As much as I might have wanted to, I couldn’t argue with that.
The hallway had six closed doors leading off it, but it was easy to tell which belonged to Ivy. A photo of her with her head cocked sideways, giving her biggest little-girl grin, hung on the door at the far end. Jack called the picture a “head shot” and said all actors had them.
He was also hanging back.
“What’s the matter?” I whispered as I put my hand on the knob.
“It’s her bedroom,” he said. “I can’t just walk in there.”
“You just walked into my bedroom.”
“That was different.”
I rolled my eyes, but there wasn’t time to argue this either. We needed to tell Ivy what she had to know, and then get out of there before the Seelies or my grandparents found us. And we had to do it all before I got so tired I couldn’t stay awake and fell
back to where my uncle was waiting.
I turned the doorknob as quietly as I could and tiptoed inside.
Walking into Ivy Bright’s bedroom was like walking into a birthday cake. Everything—from the covers and the canopy on the bed to the curtains on the windows and the patterned rug on the floor—was as white and pink and ruffled as if it had been made out of sugar icing. Even the armchairs and vanity table had ruffly skirts and quilted seats. The fireplace had a pink-veined white marble mantel with a frilly lace runner that was covered with framed photos and gold and silver trophies.
Ivy sprawled in her bed, her hair all done up in white rags to keep the curl in. I’d have bet that nobody at Movie Fan magazine knew about that one.
I laid my hand on her shoulder. “Ivy? Ivy, wake up.”
Ivy squeaked and grabbed hold of me. She had an amazingly strong grip and almost yanked me over as she sat up.
“What? What!” She blinked hard and knuckled her eyes. “Callie?”
“Shhhh!” I hissed urgently. “I don’t want to wake up Tully.”
Ivy frowned. “Tully sleeps with earplugs. You could bring an elephant through and she wouldn’t hear. What time is it?” She peered at the pink clock on her dresser.
“I’ve got Jack outside,” I said. “We need to talk to you, right away.”
Her mouth and eyes went round. Then she giggled. “I’ll get dressed.”
“There’s no time.”
“But I’m in my nightgown. And my …” She tugged at her curling rags. “I’ll be quick.”
Ivy scrambled out of bed and ran for the bathroom. I groaned and sat, gently, in one of the ruffled chairs. I couldn’t get the idea of sugar icing out of my head and was afraid that if I even touched anything, it’d snap in two.
Despite her promise to be quick, Ivy took her own sweet time. I imagined her in a ruffled pink bathroom, carefully taking the rags out of her hair, and gritted my teeth. What if Tully woke up early and found Jack loitering in the hall? We’d never get a second alone with Ivy again. We might even get thrown off the lot, and then what? I got up and wandered over to the mantel to look at the photos, trying to keep myself from shouting at Ivy to hurry.
The collection reminded me a lot of the pictures on Mrs. Constantine’s piano. There was Mrs. Brownlow, smiling brightly with a little baby in her arms. As I moved along, the baby grew to a toddler, then a little girl with a huge bow in her curls and a perky smile for the camera. Then there were Ivy and Mrs. Brownlow in matching bathing suits by a swimming pool, and Ivy and Mrs. Brownlow standing on a terrace with a pretty blond woman and a big old man with a huge mustache.
My eyes stopped and slowly tracked back and looked again.
“Ivy?” I croaked.
“What is it?” She came out of the bathroom, tying the scarf on a pink and white sailor suit.
“Who’s this?” I pointed to the picture of the man with the mustache.
She came up beside me. “Oh, that’s Mr. Hearst, and that’s Miss Davies with him.”
“Miss Davies?” I said, hoping against hope I sounded just plain curious. I couldn’t hear my own voice properly over the roaring of blood in my ears. “She’s the one who gave you this house, isn’t she?”
“That’s her.” Ivy touched the photo frame gently, like she was afraid it would break. “That was taken at San Simeon. They invite us up there a lot and … Are you okay, Callie?”
No. I wasn’t. My jaw had fallen open and my lungs had stopped working. “San … San Simeon?”
Ivy shrugged. “It’s Spanish. Practically everything in California is San this or that. San Bernardino, San Francisco, San Clemente …”
“St. Simon?” I croaked. The house of St. Simon, where no saint has ever been. I took the photo from the mantel.
“I guess.” Ivy cocked her head at me. “Are you sure you’re okay, Callie?”
In the golden mountains of the west, in the house of St. Simon. That was where my parents were being held prisoner. I had it in my hand. I’d seen it in the nightmare my uncle dragged me into. It had a broad balcony, with hills stretching out into the misty distance. It belonged to a Mr. Hearst and a Miss Davies, and Ivy Bright visited there all the time.
We’d come all this way, we’d been through so much, and here it was. The answer I’d been searching for had been one floor down from where I’d been sleeping.
This is not right. This cannot be right. I stared at Ivy. She frowned back at me and tried to take the photo out of my hand. I didn’t wait for any more questions. I went and yanked her door open.
“We’ve been set up,” I said to Jack.
Jack darted into the room and locked the door behind him. “What’s happened?”
“Something’s wrong with Callie!” Ivy grabbed hold of his arm and looked up anxiously.
Yes, there was something very wrong, but for a change it wasn’t with me. We’d been played on a longer line than either of us realized. I snatched the photo back from Ivy and shoved it at Jack. “This was taken at San Simeon! San Simeon, Jack!”
Jack went white. He actually spoke some Spanish, and picked up on the name even faster than I had.
“Ivy gets invited up there all the time,” I told him. “It really was a trap for us, and she really was the bait!”
“But how? How did they know where we were?”
“Wait! What’s going on?” said Ivy.
“They played like they were kidnapping her so we’d see it and try to help and we’d all get to be friends and she’d invite us up to San Simeon.” Shake had said my grandparents didn’t believe I really wanted to free my parents, but that didn’t mean the Seelies had to be just as dumb. “We’d go because we’d think we were sneaking up on them, but they’d really be waiting for us!”
Jack slammed his fist into his palm and cussed a long blue streak. “I should have seen it before!”
“Cut!” bellowed Ivy.
Jack and I both jumped and stared. Ivy stood there, breathing hard, fists clenched and eyes bright with frustration. “What. Are. You. Talking. About?”
I swallowed and glanced at Jack. He nodded. There really wasn’t any point in trying to cover this up. Not even Jack could find a lie that would stretch far enough.
“How much has Jack told you about the Seelies?” I asked.
Ivy frowned. “A little, on the way home yesterday. How you escaped those awful Hoppers and that vigilante man, and made it all the way across Kansas looking for your parents. It was better than a movie,” she added. “And believe me, I know what I’m talking about.” For a second she sounded almost normal, not too babyish or too grown-up.
“Okay. Okay.” I fought for calm. What I really wanted to do was run for the door. We had to get out of here, and now. But we owed Ivy. She needed to know what was going on around her, if only so she wouldn’t be taken in by the same trick again. “It’s like this. There are two kinds of fairies—”
“Seelie and Unseelie,” said Ivy. “Jack did tell me that.”
“They have to use gates to move between our world and their world. We knew they were holding my parents hostage somewhere, and we thought that if we could find a gate to their world, we might be able to sneak through it to find them. The Seelies like movie people. We thought they might have a gate in a movie studio, so we came here to look for one.”
“We figured we’d start with the biggest studio and work our way on down.” Jack perched on the edge of one of those ruffly pink chairs. He looked even more out of place in this room than I felt. “That’s why we came to MGM. And we think …” He stopped, and I could tell he was trying to find some gentle way to break this to her. But there wasn’t any way to tell someone her nightmare didn’t really belong to her. “We think they knew we were coming and that’s why they tried to kidnap you. It was a setup, see? So we’d stay and rescue you and we’d be friends, and you’d invite us up to San Simeon, and they’d trap us there.”
Ivy wrinkled her nose, obviously trying hard to understand. “But wh
y would anybody want you to go to San Simeon?”
“Because it’s one of their places,” said Jack.
“How … how could you think that?”
“Somebody who knows told me that my parents are being held prisoner in the house of St. Simon, where no saint has ever been, in the golden mountains of the west, above the valley of smoke.” I didn’t bother with how I’d seen them there last night, being tormented to amuse the party guests. That was way more explaining than Ivy needed.
Ivy was quiet for a minute. I could feel her shifting things around inside her head, and as she did, her whole face changed. It was like a new girl was coming into focus, someone who was a whole lot different from the bubbly, babyish Ivy I’d been trying to get used to. This Ivy had been around a few blocks, if only on the back lot, and maybe had seen a few things.
And then that new girl vanished, leaving little Ivy with us, clasping her hands and all confused.
“I know it’s a lot, Ivy,” said Jack. “And believe me, I know it’s hard to find out you’ve been used. It’s not your fault. Really.”
“No. No. It’s not that. It’s …” She took a deep breath. “So was that how those … monsters came and got me? Through a gate?”
“There must be an opening down under the Waterloo Bridge,” I said. “And now you see why we’ve got to get out of here. If they think we’re on to them, they won’t wait for us to come out there. They’ll come get us.”
“But you can’t just leave me!” she cried. “What if they come back and you’re not here? What if they think it’s my fault you found out?”
I hadn’t thought of that. Jack’s shoulders slumped.
“They tried to take her once,” said Jack. “They might do it again, just to get at you. Us.”
Anger bit down hard inside me. “Why would they?” I shouted, completely forgetting we were supposed to be keeping this conversation a secret. “They’ve already got my parents. How many hostages do they need?”
“As many as it takes.”
He was right. They wouldn’t stop, and I knew that. I just didn’t know why they were so god-awful determined. So I could open and close the gates. How many gates did they need? What did they want with the human world anyway? The fairy world was so beautiful and filled with all that light and welcome and magic—what were any of them even doing here?