“Softie,” John whispered, and then grinned.
Rob didn’t smile back.
After a few minutes, they reached a fork in the path that actually appeared in the fakey visuals. A sign post grew out of a bank of slot machines. The signs, like the ones in M*A*S*H, pointed every different direction. Some showed the way to a buffet, others to a bar, even more toward various parts of the gambling floor.
And one, pointing up, said simply The Circle.
Rob’s breath caught. “This is it.”
“Don’t let that fool you,” Travers said. “The arrows point the wrong way.”
Rob nodded. That didn’t surprise him. “But we want to go there, right? That’s the Faerie Circle.”
Travers looked at him sideways. “We want to go there, but I have no idea what it is.”
“Faerie Circle,” John repeated loudly—that old dodge: if they don’t understand, shout. “You know, where the Great Rulers used to sit and rule Faerie. You know, the Seelie and the Unseelie Courts?”
“Noooo,” Travers said.
“Where the Faerie Kings overthrew them and started the Great War that ended only when all the pixies died?”
“No-o-o,” Travers repeated.
“History doesn’t matter,” Rob said. “Getting this done does. Let’s go.”
Travers headed down a flight of stairs, and suddenly Rob recognized where he was. It was the room of Zoe’s memory—and it was a circle, a big round area filled with games (not at all like the ones she had seen) and dozens of small roulette wheels, and a large pari-mutuel betting area—all set up to bet on future human events.
Rob didn’t look at the odds; he didn’t want to see any of it.
But he did turn toward the center of the circle, and there, just like he expected, was the giant spinning wheel, done up like a giant roulette wheel.
And there, next to it, but not at all like he expected, were three men, sitting in those three chairs he’d seen from the vision.
They were Faerie, but they looked almost satanic as they sat in those big thrones next to the wheel, their hands gripping the armrests. They wore black clothes that accented their dark hair and dark eyes, and when they smiled, they did so in unison—shades of the Fates.
Rob shuddered.
“Welcome to Faerie, Sir Robin Hood,” said the Faerie farthest to the left.
“And his Merry Men,” said the next, nodding at John and Travers.
“We’re the Faerie Kings,” said the third, “and we’re here to prevent you from dismantling our home.”
Thirty-nine
The Faeries were leaving, marching away from their slot machines as if they’d received a message from an unseen god. Rob had never seen anything quite like it, and it unnerved him.
Even the Faerie who had her arms around Travers excused herself.
“This’s big,” she said. “You guys coming?”
“In a minute,” Travers said.
John crossed his arms, looking something like his old powerful self. The floor pulsed beneath Rob almost as if he were inside yet another machine.
All those warning movies he’d seen about the future—from Metropolis to Matrix—came to mind somehow. He never thought of Faerie as a place as soulless as the inside of a machine, but that’s how it felt.
“Okay,” Travers said as more and more Faeries moved away from them, heading to the exit. “Creepy.”
“No kidding,” John said.
Rob stared at a nearby slot. Lives rotated on it, not cherries. But in the middle of the machine he saw a faint map, and on it, a white glow.
Megan.
His heart went out to her. How was she holding up, suddenly as the center of all this attention? He hoped she was doing all right.
The sooner he finished this, the sooner he would find out.
He glanced around the large—and now mostly empty—main room. “We need to do this thing,” he said softly.
Travers nodded. “Follow me.”
He led them through a maze of slot machines. Sometimes it seemed like Travers was walking them through a wall, only to have the wall dissolve into nothing as they approached. Travers walked through video poker games and baccarat tables and even a stage with a very confused stand-up comic still clutching a mike.
The comic, who was clearly human and looked like he was dressed for vaudeville, saw them and said, “Where’d the audience go?”
“They’ll be back,” Rob said.
If the situation were different, he would have spelled the poor sap to the surface. But he didn’t dare, at least not yet. Mage magic: he wasn’t willing to risk it.
But he asked Travers to make a note of where this guy was so that they could rescue him if they got the chance.
“Softie,” John whispered, and then grinned.
Rob didn’t smile back.
After a few minutes, they reached a fork in the path that actually appeared in the fakey visuals. A sign post grew out of a bank of slot machines. The signs, like the ones in M*A*S*H, pointed every different direction. Some showed the way to a buffet, others to a bar, even more toward various parts of the gambling floor.
And one, pointing up, said simply The Circle.
Rob’s breath caught. “This is it.”
“Don’t let that fool you,” Travers said. “The arrows point the wrong way.”
Rob nodded. That didn’t surprise him. “But we want to go there, right? That’s the Faerie Circle.”
Travers looked at him sideways. “We want to go there, but I have no idea what it is.”
“Faerie Circle,” John repeated loudly—that old dodge: if they don’t understand, shout. “You know, where the Great Rulers used to sit and rule Faerie. You know, the Seelie and the Unseelie Courts?”
“Noooo,” Travers said.
“Where the Faerie Kings overthrew them and started the Great War that ended only when all the pixies died?”
“No-o-o,” Travers repeated.
“History doesn’t matter,” Rob said. “Getting this done does. Let’s go.”
Travers headed down a flight of stairs, and suddenly Rob recognized where he was. It was the room of Zoe’s memory—and it was a circle, a big round area filled with games (not at all like the ones she had seen) and dozens of small roulette wheels, and a large pari-mutuel betting area—all set up to bet on future human events.
Rob didn’t look at the odds; he didn’t want to see any of it.
But he did turn toward the center of the circle, and there, just like he expected, was the giant spinning wheel, done up like a giant roulette wheel.
And there, next to it, but not at all like he expected, were three men, sitting in those three chairs he’d seen from the vision.
They were Faerie, but they looked almost satanic as they sat in those big thrones next to the wheel, their hands gripping the armrests. They wore black clothes that accented their dark hair and dark eyes, and when they smiled, they did so in unison—shades of the Fates.
Rob shuddered.
“Welcome to Faerie, Sir Robin Hood,” said the Faerie farthest to the left.
“And his Merry Men,” said the next, nodding at John and Travers.
“We’re the Faerie Kings,” said the third, “and we’re here to prevent you from dismantling our home.”
Forty
The dining room was getting unbearably warm. A drop of sweat ran down the side of Megan’s face, stopping on her chin before leaping to freedom.
The cigarette girl reached out a hand and caught it, grossing Megan out.
How long had she been here? One day? Two? An entire century?
Even though she knew that wasn’t the case. She’d probably been in her seat an hour, maybe less.
A sea of black heads filled the room, with more arriving all the time. If there was a fire, no one would get out, least of all Meg. She’d never been claustrophobic before, but she was now.
At least, the Faeries didn’t seem to sweat—or perhaps they didn’t stink wh
en they did. The place smelled faintly of cloves—or maybe that was all her nose could pick out after that liberal dosing of cigarette smoke.
What she wouldn’t give for a glass of water. Or a cool breeze. Or someone to talk to, someone who didn’t end every sentence with “Wow.”
If she hadn’t heard how scary these people were, she wouldn’t have believed it—scary smart, that is. Right now, they were scary zombie, which actually worked up close (it had never worked for her in the movies—but oh, boy, had she been wrong).
Not looking at her watch was becoming a big issue. She kept her hands clenched in her lap, just so she wouldn’t be tempted to look. She was afraid the Faeries would catch on then, that she was a diversion and not the main event at all.
And then—suddenly—a bright blue light exploded in the room. Only the Faeries didn’t seem to notice. Megan blinked hard, seeing yellow and green reflections on her eyelids.
When the reflections cleared, a man sat in the chair across from her.
He looked vaguely familiar, and he certainly wasn’t Faerie. Even though he had dark hair, his face was too craggy, his ears too round. He reminded her somehow of a bull, but she wasn’t sure why.
When he saw her looking at him, he grinned.
“You seem nervous,” he said.
He had a bit of an accent, but it didn’t sound familiar to her. The Faeries near him glared at him, and a few made some kind of warding symbol with their fingers.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Silly girl, haven’t they taught you names have power?” He smiled, and there was a smarmy charm in it. He had charisma, which made her shiver.
Some of the Faeries turned toward him, as if noticing him for the first time. He waved a hand, and the Faeries looked back at Megan, as if they had forgotten him.
“You know, they say you have magic, and perhaps you do, but what you really have is so much more interesting. An overflow of emotions. How very female.” And then he laughed.
She didn’t. He might have charisma, but that didn’t mean she liked him.
“Of course, you don’t have enough magic to get yourself out of this pretty little mess.” He tilted his square head. Definitely a bull. All she needed now was a china shop, because she felt like he was heading for destruction.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Suuuuure you are. That’s why you wanted ‘this’ to be over soon. Don’t think someone didn’t notice your little message.” His grin widened. “I do so love coming to the rescue of beautiful women. Their gratitude always astonishes me.”
She wished she really did have magic now. She’d turn him into a real bull and paint this entire room red. See how he’d like that.
“Ah,” he said, “did I anger you?”
“I’m fine,” she said, and that was when she realized she got no emotional hit off of him either. She hadn’t expected any off the Faeries—she’d been warned about that—but this guy was as cold as the creatures around her.
He smiled, but this time, it didn’t reach his eyes. “You and I have unfinished business.”
“I’ve never met you,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter. My daughters have. And you’ve ruined them.”
Megan felt a chill run down her back. “Ze—?”
He put a finger over her lips. His fingertip smelled of wine. “No names, little girl. Are you ready to leave?”
She shook her head.
“Good.” He removed his finger from her lips.
“I said no,” she snapped.
“And I’m ignoring you. But there seems to be a reason you’re here, so we’ll just add a little confusion into the mix, shall we?” He clapped his hands, and a woman appeared on a chair next to her.
Megan looked. It wasn’t just any woman. It was a woman who looked just like her, right down to the extra forty pounds, the too-pale skin, and the mole at the edge of her collarbone.
“What’re you doing?” Megan asked.
“Creating a diversion,” he said.
The Faeries looked at her, then at the unmoving woman, and they seemed to be waking from their trance.
“Oh, what a titanic nuisance,” he said. “Let’s douse her in emotion, shall we? I think all the emotion from the last five minutes in Chicago will do nicely.”
He clapped his hands again, and a sheath fell over the other woman. Then Megan felt like she was hit with a tidal wave—anger, fear, lust, hatred, love, more love—and she couldn’t separate it out, it was too overwhelming, she would drown in it…
The square little man grabbed her hand, pulled her to him, and grinned.
“Time to pay the piper, sweetheart,” he said, and together, they disappeared.
Forty
The dining room was getting unbearably warm. A drop of sweat ran down the side of Megan’s face, stopping on her chin before leaping to freedom.
The cigarette girl reached out a hand and caught it, grossing Megan out.
How long had she been here? One day? Two? An entire century?
Even though she knew that wasn’t the case. She’d probably been in her seat an hour, maybe less.
A sea of black heads filled the room, with more arriving all the time. If there was a fire, no one would get out, least of all Meg. She’d never been claustrophobic before, but she was now.
At least, the Faeries didn’t seem to sweat—or perhaps they didn’t stink when they did. The place smelled faintly of cloves—or maybe that was all her nose could pick out after that liberal dosing of cigarette smoke.
What she wouldn’t give for a glass of water. Or a cool breeze. Or someone to talk to, someone who didn’t end every sentence with “Wow.”
If she hadn’t heard how scary these people were, she wouldn’t have believed it—scary smart, that is. Right now, they were scary zombie, which actually worked up close (it had never worked for her in the movies—but oh, boy, had she been wrong).
Not looking at her watch was becoming a big issue. She kept her hands clenched in her lap, just so she wouldn’t be tempted to look. She was afraid the Faeries would catch on then, that she was a diversion and not the main event at all.
And then—suddenly—a bright blue light exploded in the room. Only the Faeries didn’t seem to notice. Megan blinked hard, seeing yellow and green reflections on her eyelids.
When the reflections cleared, a man sat in the chair across from her.
He looked vaguely familiar, and he certainly wasn’t Faerie. Even though he had dark hair, his face was too craggy, his ears too round. He reminded her somehow of a bull, but she wasn’t sure why.
When he saw her looking at him, he grinned.
“You seem nervous,” he said.
He had a bit of an accent, but it didn’t sound familiar to her. The Faeries near him glared at him, and a few made some kind of warding symbol with their fingers.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Silly girl, haven’t they taught you names have power?” He smiled, and there was a smarmy charm in it. He had charisma, which made her shiver.
Some of the Faeries turned toward him, as if noticing him for the first time. He waved a hand, and the Faeries looked back at Megan, as if they had forgotten him.
“You know, they say you have magic, and perhaps you do, but what you really have is so much more interesting. An overflow of emotions. How very female.” And then he laughed.
She didn’t. He might have charisma, but that didn’t mean she liked him.
“Of course, you don’t have enough magic to get yourself out of this pretty little mess.” He tilted his square head. Definitely a bull. All she needed now was a china shop, because she felt like he was heading for destruction.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Suuuuure you are. That’s why you wanted ‘this’ to be over soon. Don’t think someone didn’t notice your little message.” His grin widened. “I do
so love coming to the rescue of beautiful women. Their gratitude always astonishes me.”
She wished she really did have magic now. She’d turn him into a real bull and paint this entire room red. See how he’d like that.
“Ah,” he said, “did I anger you?”
“I’m fine,” she said, and that was when she realized she got no emotional hit off of him either. She hadn’t expected any off the Faeries—she’d been warned about that—but this guy was as cold as the creatures around her.
He smiled, but this time, it didn’t reach his eyes. “You and I have unfinished business.”
“I’ve never met you,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter. My daughters have. And you’ve ruined them.”
Megan felt a chill run down her back. “Ze—?”
He put a finger over her lips. His fingertip smelled of wine. “No names, little girl. Are you ready to leave?”
She shook her head.
“Good.” He removed his finger from her lips.
“I said no,” she snapped.
“And I’m ignoring you. But there seems to be a reason you’re here, so we’ll just add a little confusion into the mix, shall we?” He clapped his hands, and a woman appeared on a chair next to her.
Megan looked. It wasn’t just any woman. It was a woman who looked just like her, right down to the extra forty pounds, the too-pale skin, and the mole at the edge of her collarbone.
“What’re you doing?” Megan asked.
“Creating a diversion,” he said.
The Faeries looked at her, then at the unmoving woman, and they seemed to be waking from their trance.
“Oh, what a titanic nuisance,” he said. “Let’s douse her in emotion, shall we? I think all the emotion from the last five minutes in Chicago will do nicely.”
He clapped his hands again, and a sheath fell over the other woman. Then Megan felt like she was hit with a tidal wave—anger, fear, lust, hatred, love, more love—and she couldn’t separate it out, it was too overwhelming, she would drown in it…
The square little man grabbed her hand, pulled her to him, and grinned.
Fates 06 - Totally Spellbound Page 49