by Sarah Zettel
I’d spent months wishing I had no magic, that I wasn’t a half-breed fairy, that I could just be normal. Now my magic was out of my reach, and all I wanted was to have it back so I could touch my parents and let them know I’d finally gotten here. That I was going to get them free.
Mr. Hearst looked down on my confusion and laughed. The rest of the masked court laughed with him. The noise filled that artificial swimming-pool hollow to the brim, and the echoes bounced back and forth so many times it sounded like the mountain itself was joining in the fun.
“Oh, no,” boomed Mr. Hearst. “Not here, Miss LeRoux. You have no power here.” His voice rang against the marble and the curve of the hill at his back. It wrapped around me and over me, and it was crawling with power.
Hearing it, I understood where the Seelie king was. He was inside Mr. Hearst, the way the human beings were inside the garden statues.
Mr. Hearst not only let the Seelies move into his house and grounds whenever they wanted; he’d let their king move right into his body. Revulsion clenched my stomach. Why would anybody do that? Of course I knew the answer. The man had wished to be king of the world, and his wish had been granted—provided, of course, that he let himself and his house serve the king of that other world whenever it was required.
Mr. Hearst, or the Seelie king inside him, raised one hand. Power stirred. It rose from the gardens all around us, and the sky overhead faded to black. At the same moment, the lamps around the pool and lining the paths lit themselves. The masked and glittering crowd applauded politely. The bells in the castle towers began to ring, long and sonorous, tolling midnight.
“Calliope deMinuit,” thundered the Seelie king, “you are called to answer for your crime of violating territorial boundaries of the Seelie kingdom. What have you to say regarding your actions?”
I clenched my fists and took one step forward. “I—” The crowd laughed. The noise tumbled down like bricks. It vibrated through the deck under our feet like the beginning of an earthquake. There was no way in the world—in any world—one voice could have been heard over all that.
Eventually the king raised his hand and the laughter died away. My ears were ringing. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to hear myself.
“Well?” demanded the king. “I ask again. What have you to say regarding your actions?”
“I—”
This time they booed. And for good measure, they hissed and whistled. It was a riot of noise that rose and fell and sounded like you’d think a whole convention of ghosts and teakettles would sound. It was as bad as laughter could ever be. Jack whirled around to face the crowd. I saw his mouth moving. I knew he was yelling, “Shut up! Shut up!” But as close as I was to him, I couldn’t hear a thing. There was only the hissing and the booing from the Seelies.
The king raised his hand again, and the court fell silent. “I ask a third time, Calliope deMinuit. What have you to say regarding your actions?”
I took one more step forward. I felt them getting ready to drown me out again. Ivy was standing beside the throne grinning. I looked at her and clenched my teeth. I made myself think. I thought about everything I’d seen and done since coming to California. I thought about my parents and Ivy Bright, and I thought about Mr. Robeson, who was the only person I’d ever met who’d walked away from all of us free and clear. And I knew what I had to do.
“I’ll make a bet with you.”
This time the fairy court stayed silent.
23
Take That Away from Me
Silence can be more terrible than any sound. But I was ready for this one, and I had no intention of standing still for it. I started up those marble stairs. I heard Jack’s footsteps behind me, but I didn’t look back. I kept my gaze on my parents, forced into their clown costumes and their clown poses for this masquerade. I wasn’t even sure if they could see me. Their eyes were just as frozen as their bodies.
I reached the top of the staircase, and the king and I were finally on the same level. He smiled, and I felt how he appreciated my daring and my drama. He was a connoisseur of such things, and he liked to see them well played. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t look away. His eyes were human eyes, blue and piercing, but the king stirred underneath. The king could give you anything and everything. All you had to do was be brave enough to wish.
“Oh, no,” I said. “You’re not fooling me with that one. I’ve got no wish for you. We’re taking this round back. Me against you. If I win, my parents, Jack, and I all walk out of here safe and sound. No strings, no side deals. Nothing.”
“And if you lose?” he drawled. I could tell what he was thinking. I was funny. I was entertaining, even better than my parents. He should have brought me here before.
“I stay with you,” I said.
“No, Callie!” hissed Jack.
I ignored him. “ ‘See her now, daughter of three worlds. See her now, three roads to choose. Where she goes, where she stays, where she stands, there shall the gates be closed.’ That’s what this has always been about. You never wanted my parents, and you sure don’t want Jack.” I’d apologize to Jack later for pointing that out. “You want me, so I’m going to give you your chance.”
The king leaned back and ran one stout finger over Mr. Hearst’s mustache. He was intrigued, and more than a tiny bit amused. I was an audacious little thing. I wondered if he could tell how badly I wanted to smack that face he wore like a carnival mask. Probably. I was just so funny that way.
I opened my mouth, planning to let him in on a few of Jack’s more entertaining cuss words, but Ivy Bright spoke up first.
“Let me do it,” she said. “Let me fight her.”
“Be quiet, Ivy,” snapped Miss Davies. “This has nothing to do with you.”
Ivy clearly did not agree. She faced the king. I’d seen the baby-doll Ivy and the wounded and confused little girl, and I’d even seen the savvy actress, but this was something new. This Ivy was tall, proud, and fearless—and, I realized as a tremor of nerves flickered through me, more than a little bit dangerous.
“I claim my rights, Your Majesty,” she said. “She’s insulted me and raised her hand against me!”
“Ivy,” breathed Jack, “you don’t have to do this.”
The look she turned on him then should have been pure poison, and it was, mostly, but there was something else too: regret. Jack saw it, and his hand moved, like he was going to reach out. But at the last moment he curled his fingers in.
Whatever the king thought of all this, he was keeping it to himself. He just leaned over to Miss Davies and whispered into her ear. I looked at her as hard as I could manage. She had no fairy light in her. There was nothing under that skin but a human heart and a human brain. She’d been telling the truth. She’d made a bargain to become queen of this hill and its castle, whether it was playing hostess for Mr. Hearst or for the Seelie king. I would have bet my last dime that her bargain included giving birth to a half-Seelie daughter who might just grow up to fulfill a prophecy. These were Ivy’s parents, right in front of me, and I knew it and Ivy knew it. The one thing she wanted most in the world was to come live with them forever. And I had no doubt they knew that too.
I really wished I had the time to crawl away somewhere and be sick.
The king straightened up and inclined his head toward Ivy. “Your petition is denied,” he said to his daughter. “You are not strong enough to take this challenge.”
Ivy gaped at him. “I am! I’m every bit as strong as she is! Stronger! I can prove it!”
“Ivy,” said Jack urgently. “Ivy, come on. This isn’t a game anymore.”
She didn’t look at him. “I have the right,” she said through gritted teeth. “Please, Your Majesty, let me prove myself.”
The Seelie king smiled down at Miss Davies. She looked adoringly and approvingly up at him, barely glancing at her daughter.
“Very well,” said the king. “You shall have your wish, Ivy Bright. You will be our champion for this challenge.
”
I wasn’t the only one who knew there was way more going on here than I could see. “Don’t do this,” Jack muttered. “You don’t know what rules they’re playing by.”
I didn’t even bother to answer. It was already too late to back out. I could feel it in my Unseelie blood and my human bones.
“Make us proud, Ivy,” said Miss Davies. “We are counting on you for the victory.”
Ivy beamed—a real smile, not an acting smile. It was the smile of someone who had just been handed the chance of a lifetime. She swung around, and the Seelie light flashed gold in her eyes.
“What shall be the contest?” asked the Seelie king. “As challenged, Ivy Bright, the choice is yours.”
Ivy raised her arm and pointed one finger right at Jack.
“Him.”
Jack stiffened.
“Wait!” I shouted.
The world went black.
Reality swam slowly to the surface. I wasn’t on the hill anymore. Hot and blinding lights shone in my face. Voices shouted orders from every direction. I was in a chair and someone was slathering stuff on my face and yanking at my hair. I glimpsed Jack sitting beside Ivy Bright on a folding chair, reading a set of pages.
This is a movie set, I realized. We’re making a movie.
The world went black again.
“Rolling!” shouted a voice.
“Playback!” shouted a second.
“And … action!” shouted a third.
The lights came up slowly. I raised my head, looked out across the room, and smiled.
It was the Midnight Club, exactly as I’d pictured it—a big room with curved walls, fancy chandeliers, and bunches of round tables with white cloths. The band, big and brassy, filled the stage at my back. Papa was sitting at his piano to the right, sketching time. Waiters streamed out of the kitchen carrying Mama’s food to the patrons. The whole place was filled with the scents of warm spices, tobacco, and ladies’ perfume. Jack was there too, at the best table in the house, right at the foot of the stage. He was in evening dress with his hair slicked back. He was smiling up at me in the way I liked best.
Cameras whirred beyond the solid wall of blinding lights. Filming had begun, and I knew my part perfectly. I stood at a microphone. I had on a gorgeous, heavy gown of beaded silver, with a matching band on my forehead. I wrapped one hand around the microphone stand and waited for Papa to signal my intro. Two long, loving bars of slow blues rolled through that room—the movie set, my dream of a nightclub—and I began to sing.
“Love, oh love, oh careless love. You fly to my head like wine.”
Jack’s grin widened. This was his favorite song, and mine too. Everything was perfect. I finally had everything I’d ever wanted, and everybody I’d ever wanted was here with me. I held this audience in the palm of my hand. My voice was low and smoky, just as it should be, caressing the lyrics, turning them sad and just a tiny bit seductive. I’ve won, I thought. I’ve won.
“Love, oh love,” I crooned. “Oh careless love …”
All at once, I wasn’t singing alone. Another voice, higher than mine, sweeter, took up the lyrics, strong and true.
“You’ve ruined the life of many a poor girl. And you nearly wrecked this life of mine.”
The doors at the back of the club, the back of the set, opened, and she stepped in. The room fell silent, and everybody turned to see her.
“All my happiness has left. You filled my heart with these weary blues.…”
She was beautiful. A white cloak with a fur collar fell from her shoulders. Snow sparkled in her golden curls. There was nothing seductive in the way she sang. For her, it was all sorrow. My throat closed down around my own song. Backstory filled in. We’d been friends as children, but she’d gotten a part in the movies and gone on to stardom, while I’d been stuck singing in nightclubs and dying of jealousy. But worse than that, I knew Jack loved her. He always had. He always would. He was here tonight only because I’d tricked him.
I was the dark-haired, dark-skinned bad girl in this movie, and Ivy was the good girl, the golden girl.
“I trusted you, now it’s too late …,” she sang.
Jack was on his feet, walking toward Ivy. She smiled up at him, and tears swam in her perfect, innocent eyes.
“I love you, Jack Holland,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me alone.” She lifted her hand, palm out. Jack swallowed and gazed down at her. He lifted his palm too, and pressed it to hers.
Anger filled me, anger and, yes, jealousy. I had every right to be jealous. This was my dream. Mine. She was a little thief. She’d already tried to steal everything else from me. She wasn’t going to steal Jack Holland or the Midnight Club.
I had a gun in my hand. I didn’t know where it’d come from and it didn’t matter. It felt good and solid as I curled my fingers around it. It swung around, or I swung it around, to point straight at Ivy Bright. All I had to do was pull the trigger and she was gone. Dead. Everybody called me the Bad Luck Girl? I’d show them just how right they were. Somebody was going to die tonight.
No, said a voice way in the back of my head. No, this isn’t what you want to happen.
Except it didn’t matter what I wanted to happen. This was a movie. There was only one way it could go. When I pointed my gun at Ivy, Jack would get between us. He’d try to save her and I’d kill him, and I’d be arrested and dragged away, leaving Ivy weeping over his body and everybody feeling sorry for her. Loving her. That was the script. I’d read it. I’d seen it a dozen times.
But movies aren’t real, protested the voice in the back of my head. My own voice. This isn’t real. It’s just a dream.
The problem was, this script was built around a core of my dream. I was tied to it the way I’d been tied to Lorcan. I couldn’t get loose, because I was holding on to this.
And because I really did hate Ivy. I hated her and I wanted her gone. I wanted her dead. I remembered every single time she’d laughed with Jack. I remembered how he’d tried to save her and she’d nearly gotten him killed, and how it had taken everything I had to bring him back. She was doing it again. He was on her side. She was making him do this. She’d never let him go. He was mine, but he wouldn’t know that as long as she was alive.
Papa stopped playing. The band was shouting, and so were the patrons. Mama burst out of the kitchen and pressed both hands to her mouth to cover her shriek of terror. People were running and screaming and turning over the tables, trying to get away from me.
I hooked my finger around the gun’s cold trigger and pulled it back.
“Jack,” I whispered. “Jack. Look at me. Please.”
But what I shouted was, “Out of the way, Jack!”
He turned and put himself right between my gun and Ivy, just like the script said he should. He spoke his line.
“No, Callie.” That was the line. That was all he was supposed to say. But Jack’s jaw shook, and he kept going. “This isn’t you. This isn’t who you are.”
“Then who am I?” I couldn’t see him clearly. All I could see was Ivy Bright standing there, beautiful, pure, perfect, and out to steal everything I’d ever had. I couldn’t let her do it. I couldn’t. I had to kill her. That was the way the movie went.
Jack didn’t answer. He was supposed to. I’d messed up his cue but he could still get us on track. He’d toed his mark. I knew what his line was supposed to be, but he kept his mouth shut. We’d left the script. He didn’t shake his head the way he was supposed to. He didn’t reach for the gun the way he was supposed to. He just looked at me.
They’d dressed him up in a grown man’s clothes. They’d given him a part in this movie that was nothing like his own life. But they couldn’t change his eyes. I knew those eyes. I remembered them, and I remembered Jack. I remembered how I’d first seen him in the cell of a small-town jail. I remembered walking with him through the dust storms, and running through rail yards, and him teaching me how to hop a freight, and lying our way across the California line.
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br /> These were not wishes, not dreams or shiny movie feelings where you knew how it was going to go. These were the memories of what we’d really been through. This was our friendship that came pouring back to me.
Ivy must have felt it too. She raised her chin and stepped out from behind Jack.
“I’m not afraid of you anymore, Callie,” she said. “You cannot win, no matter what you do to me.”
I felt her magic. She took hold of my arm and my head. She was forcing me back into the movie, back into her world, where she had the power. She was the good girl, the golden girl. The one who would always be there at the finish. I was the bad girl. I had to lose. That was how these things went.
But it was more than that. Ivy had a real world beyond this living movie, just like I did, and in that other world she was desperate. She had to win. Victory would buy her the love of her father—what love there was, anyway. She’d thought she could get the gate powers from me, but that had failed. The only thing left for her was to win this twisted challenge. That was the only way they’d ever love her.
Her magic tightened around my body and my mind, forcing me back down into the script. My finger tensed around the trigger. One tiny little movement and she’d be dead.
But I had my real memories back now. I thought about all the times I’d hated her, and the other times I’d wished I could be her. Ivy Bright was a liar, a thief, and a pathetic girl. She’d tricked us and betrayed us, all to try to earn love from someone who was incapable of giving it.
Then I thought about what Mr. Robeson had said. It’s not about who they are. It is never about who they are. It’s about who you are, and who you want to be.
I was the Prophecy Girl and the Bad Luck Girl, but before that I’d been the dust girl, and before that I’d been just plain Callie LeRoux. And it was Callie LeRoux I wanted to stay.
This was my cue. I had my line, right on the tip of my tongue. I was supposed to say, “Get out of here, Ivy Bright!”
But I didn’t. Instead, I said, “Ivy … come with us.”