by Mindy Klasky
I wondered if he hated me, just a little, for dragging Abigail into the middle of my story. I wanted to ask him, but I was terrified of the answer.
Instead, I said, “Promise me you won’t go after Oberon before the full moon.” The ley lines were coming down tomorrow. I had to know he’d be safe.
“I can’t do that.”
I clutched his arm. “Jonathan, this is important. He’ll be expecting you to go there straight away. He’ll be waiting, well-rested, surrounded by his hounds—”
“I’ve been locked in here for twelve nights!”
He’d spent twelve nights with me. I felt like I’d been slapped. Before I could fully register the sting, I said, “Please! This is important!”
I was begging. No fae princess begged.
“I understand ‘important,’ Titania. But you’re sadly mistaken if you think the entire world rotates around your axis.”
My mind slipped into a different place, somewhere utterly cold and absolutely calculating. “If you go to him tomorrow night, he’ll win. He’ll kill you, and he’ll kill Abigail. And then I’ll forfeit the full moon duel, and he’ll take me back across the ocean. He’ll wed me in the Thousand-Oak Grove, and none of this will ever make any difference.”
When I said “this” I reached out to him. I tried to bridge the distance between us. But he only stared at me, eyes as dark as swamp water.
When my hand grew cold, I turned on my heel and made my way back to the hospital. With each step, I thought he’d catch up with me. I thought I’d feel his hand on my arm, his fingers in my hair. But I climbed the stairs to the Vampire Ward alone. And Jonathan found somewhere else to sleep that day.
14
Jonathan and I had had our first fight.
If I’d been back in the Thousand-Oak Grove and I’d argued with some swain who’d caught my temporary fancy, I’d curl up in my bower with Peas-blossom or Mustard-seed, one of my ladies-in-waiting. She’d pet me and pout with me and tell me the wayward boy was a beast for whatever hurtful thing he’d said. We’d figure out a Game to play for sweet revenge. And all would be well in the morning.
But I wasn’t in the Thousand-Oak Grove. I’d never see Peas-blossom or Mustard-seed again. Jonathan most definitely wasn’t a wayward boy. And I’d promised never again to work a Game in the Eastern Empire.
I’d made that promise because I’d played a Game on Ashley McDonnell, the doctor who was paired with another virile vampire lord. Of all the women I knew in the Eastern Empire—not that many to be sure—she was the one most likely to sympathize about my fight with Jonathan.
But first, I had to find some way to apologize for trying to work the Pledge Game.
Around noon, I gave up any pretense of trying to sleep. With the sun high in the sky, Jonathan couldn’t make his way to my bed, even if he were inclined to kiss and forgive, to promise not to throw away his life for nothing.
After all my tossing and turning, my sheets felt warm to the touch. They wrapped around my feet like shackles in a dungeon. I kicked my way free and headed downstairs to seek some advice.
The cat shifter nurse was in the staff lounge. She scarcely hesitated, after I told her what I was looking for. In fact, she volunteered to go with me, to keep me from getting lost.
After that, we only had to wait. Moonrise was early, at barely half past two in the afternoon. I couldn’t see the horizon, not from the Empire General gardens, with brick houses on either side of the hospital grounds.
I could feel the ley lines, though. I could sense their ancient magic. One moment, they were pressed against the hospital’s iron fence, smooth and sleek as hammered gold. The next, they came unpinned, finally released from the torque of my last magical working. They hitched and twisted and before I could exclaim, then lay in their accustomed places.
A slight cheer went up from the assembled hospital staff and patients. A dozen of the heartiest stormed the gate, only to jerk to a stop at the appearance of a lean wolf shifter.
Cerberus Security read the patch on his shoulder. He barked an order, freezing the eager creatures on my side of the fence. Holding a sleek black box to his mouth, he demanded a full report from his platoon.
One by one, they each called in, efficiently reciting a name, a location around the hospital and the longed-for words: “No sign of enemy combatants.”
I wasn’t surprised. Oberon wouldn’t try to take the hospital by storm. He’d stick to the National Mall, guarding Abigail, protecting his prize. He’d wait for Jonathan to attack his fae dome, the crystal enclosure no mortal eyes could see.
Only after the final officer reported in did the wolf shifter allow us to leave the hospital grounds. Dryads, sprites, and warders. Centaurs, sylphs, and one limping gargoyle. Patients and doctors and nurses—all moved with the excitement of children escaping a schoolyard at the end of an interminable day of classes.
“Ready?” the cat shifter asked.
I nodded and followed her through the iron gate. I didn’t fully believe I was free until my feet touched the sidewalk beyond the hospital grounds. I laughed, and we hurried to our destination.
15
Three hours later, I was back in the hospital foyer.
I’d convinced the shifter to make a side trip with me, although I hadn’t explained exactly what we were doing. We’d stood on the National Mall, in front of the National Museum of Natural History, across from the Smithsonian Castle. That put us close enough for me to see that Oberon’s fae circle still stood.
Abigail rested on her bier, sleeping placidly through the chaos of tourist crowds on a beautiful autumn day. Oberon’s glamour held firm. Mundane eyes were directed away from his fae circle. No one strayed from the gravel paths. Not one human was remotely aware of the sleeping woman in their midst.
Oberon and his dogs were nowhere in sight. I dared not consider what mischief they might be working in the city. At least I could report back to Jonathan that Abigail was safe. If, that was, Jonathan was even speaking to me.
So, now I stood outside Ashley McDonnell’s office, holding a pink cardboard box and wondering if I should just throw it out and head upstairs to my room alone.
“Titania?” she asked.
Oops. It was too late to discard my gift and retreat.
“Dr. McDonnell,” I said.
“Ashley,” she reminded me. I almost winced, thinking of how pleased I’d been to build rapport with my mark. But I repeated her name because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Oh,” she finally said, after the most uncomfortable pause in the history of uncomfortable pauses. “Is that box from Cake Walk?”
“It is!” I said, grateful that she recognized my offering. I strode into her office and set the gift on her desk. “I wanted to say…” Why was it so difficult to string words together? “I mean, I thought you should know…” Surely no other fae princess had ever had so much trouble speaking.
But no other fae princess had ever issued an apology. Certainly not to a common witch.
Maybe no fae princess had ever had as good a reason to apologize. I took a deep breath and strung my words together as rapidly as I could manage. “I’m-sorry-I-tried-to-play-a-Game-on-you-I-never-would-have-if-I’d-realized-how-hard-you-work-to-keep-the-hospital-running-smoothly-and-the-last-thing-you-needed-was-a-fae-running-rampant-through-your-best-laid-plans.”
She smiled. Somehow, she picked out the meaning of my words, or at least the intention behind them.
“I wondered how long it would take Jonathan to convince you to stop by. That man can be quite persuasive, can’t he?”
I was utterly astonished to find tears in the corners of my eyes. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t say a single word out loud, for fear I’d actually sob.
“Titania!” Ashley said. “What’s wrong?”
She wasn’t Peas-blossom or Mustard-seed. She most definitely wasn’t a lady-in-waiting. I’d only met her two weeks before, and we’d barely exchanged ten sentences since then.
Of course, she’d already heard about the kidnapping of Abigail Weaver. And she didn’t seem all that surprised to learn that Jonathan was Abigail’s father. She definitely wasn’t surprised to learn that Jonathan meant to attack Oberon as soon as night fell.
“Vampires!” she said. “The next one who listens to common sense will be the first one!”
“He’s not the only stubborn vampire?”
“He’s not even the most stubborn vampire in this hospital. They’ve all got some elevated sense of honor that blinds them to common sense. I think it’s because of the way they’re depicted in popular culture—blood-sucking monsters on the one hand, perfect alpha male on the other. They always feel like they have something to prove.”
Her exasperated sigh actually made me laugh. “Then Mr. Raines—”
“Nick is the worst!”
“But how do you handle him?”
“I give him his space. I tell him the truth, and I give him time to think about it. I let him believe he’s the one who came up with his own solution. And I never act surprised when he decides to do the thing I told him he should do in the first place.”
She made it sound as easy as playing a Game. But Nick must not have Jonathan’s temper. He must be easier to manipulate.
Ashley said, “It’s a good sign he told you how he turned. That’s the most personal thing a vampire can share.”
I was shocked. “But he didn’t make it seem special at all. I mean, it was an important to me because it was a story about him—”
“Just wait,” Ashley said. “You’ll see. He’ll come to his senses.”
I sighed, wanting to believe her, but not knowing how to make that happen.
“Enough about men!” Ashley said. “Let’s eat some cupcakes!” She slipped her thumbnail along the gold label that sealed the box, working her finger under the flap to lift the lid.
Thirteen perfect cupcakes nestled in the cardboard container, a classic baker’s dozen. They were adorably small, each one offering two or three bites. I’d taken care to choose thirteen different flavors.
Ashley tilted the box toward me. “What’s your poison?”
They all looked delicious. There wasn’t one I wouldn’t love. But I took a step away and said, “I can’t.”
“Of course you can. I’m inviting you to take one!”
“No. I really can’t. They were made right there in the bakery. The woman behind the counter said she uses local products whenever she can. One bite, and I could be bound in DC forever.”
Ashley looked amazed. “One bite?”
“I can’t risk it.”
She shook her head, but then her lips curled into a smile. “Oh well,” she said. “You can’t say I didn’t try!” She cast a longing look at the box, but etiquette seemed to keep her from indulging when I could not.
“Which is your favorite?” I asked. I was curious, but mostly I wanted to keep talking with her. This entire conversation was a new experience for me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed speaking with a woman who was an equal—someone who didn’t have to be my friend.
“Lemon Leaps,” she said, pointing to a morsel of lemon cake topped with lemon curd, finished off with sugared lemon rind. “A little bit sweet and a little bit tart.”
“That sounds like a recipe for trouble.”
The words came from behind me. My body recognized the voice before my mind did; my lips were already relaxing into a playful grin. Fortunately, I caught up with reality before I could shame myself forever in front of Ashley McDonnell. In front of Jonathan Weaver, too.
“Jonathan,” I said, turning to face the doorway.
“Titania,” he answered evenly. Meeting my gaze, he stood there forever. I wanted to pick up our argument exactly where we’d left off. I wanted to order him not to see Oberon, not to approach the Mall, not to get anywhere near the fae circle.
But Ashley’s words rippled through my memory. Give him his space. Let him believe he’s the one who’s come up with his own solution.
Apparently Ashley realized that neither Jonathan nor I was capable of speaking a single word. “Want a cupcake?” she asked him. “There’s a Rocky Byway with your name on it.” She pointed toward a morsel of chocolate cake studded with walnuts, covered with a slick of marshmallow frosting.
He gave her a sharp look, clearly understanding that she was calling him an obstructionist jerk. I saw the instant he decided not to fight her on it. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a Butterfinger bar. “It looks like they refilled the vending machine during the afternoon. I wanted to make sure you got one of these before they sold out again.”
I recognized a peace offering when I saw one. As my fingers closed around the candy bar, I said, “So does that mean—”
Does that mean you finally decided to listen to reason? Does that mean you won’t go after Oberon?
Ashley cleared her throat. It was just a tiny sound, the polite murmur of a woman who was salivating over a lemon cupcake. But it was enough for me to change my question.
“Does that mean they’ve restocked the Mountain Dew?”
He reached into the capacious pocket of his coat and pulled out a slick green bottle.
“In fact, it does. Can we talk for a moment?”
“Go,” Ashley said. And she winked at me as she took the Lemon Leap out of the box.
I did as I was told. I went. But Jonathan and I didn’t do a lot of talking. Not until later, when he was running his fingers through my hair, smoothing his hand down my naked back. Then he said, “I’ve been thinking. We should wait until the new moon to get Abigail. That’s when your powers will be strongest, and it’s only eight more days.”
I rewarded him for his good behavior.
16
Six nights passed. With every rise of the waxing moon, I felt my magic grow stronger. And no, that wasn’t a coy description of what Jonathan and I did in bed. But that was pretty empowering as well.
Our time together wasn’t completely unfettered. Jonathan did have to work for a living. With the ley lines lifted, there were new patients to see, a constant stream of young shifters caught mid-transition, dryads with dry rot, and sprites with swimmers’ ear.
I passed most of my nights on one of the orange chairs in the emergency room, watching the traffic come and go. I wasn’t just gawking at Jonathan, either. I was fascinated by the never-ending parade of patients, by the immediate relief each anguished imperial expressed when greeted by calm, prepared professionals.
As a fae princess, my profession was juggling the politics of the Seelie Court, along with working a Game or two. But I’d sworn off Games for the time being. And I’d sworn off politics as well, fleeing all the way to the Eastern Empire to escape my intended husband. Maybe my utter failure on the wedding front sparked my interest on the medical front.
Or maybe I really was just looking for a way to stare at Jonathan hour after hour after hour.
Early Monday morning, after Jonathan had completed a full eight-hour shift, he escorted me back to my room on the Vampire Ward. We’d long since taped a piece of cardboard over the window in the door. I’d left clothes draped over medical equipment—the oxygen tank in the corner, the monitor intended to track a dozen physical functions, the rolling cabinet that stored supplies and medications. As my powers had increased, I’d felt more confident spending dribs and drabs on glamouring scrubs into decent clothing.
Jonathan seemed to appreciate the effort. At least, he enjoyed slipping his hands beneath the russet silk pleats of the tunic I wore that night. I returned the favor, making short work of stripping off his white coat and button-down shirt.
“Mmm,” I said, running my palms across his bare chest. “Is this what they mean by playing doctor?”
I felt his rumbled reply through my fingertips. “Come closer. I think you might
be running a fever.”
An hour later, we lay curled around each other, his right leg between both of mine and our hands intertwined atop my belly. “Are you sure you didn’t slip Willow into that last Mountain Dew?” I murmured languidly.
“Willow?”
“One sip of willow tea, and a fae falls slave to the next creature she sees. At least until she sleeps again.”
I felt him tense behind me.
Disentangling our hands, I rolled around to face him. “What?” I asked.
“Slave? What does that mean?”
I couldn’t keep from smirking. “Everything you’re thinking, and a whole lot more. A Willow-drunk fae is the most insatiable lover alive.”
“Does the tea work on fae men, as well as women?”
I blinked at the intensity of his tone. “Of course.”
Jonathan pushed himself to a sitting position. “We’re a little short on willow trees,” he said. But he was already eyeing the supply cart. “There’s something else that might get the job done.”
I watched him cross the floor, each step the perfect choreography of a confident predator. “So, this is how you want to play doctor?” I asked.
“I’m not playing,” he said. “And you won’t be the patient. Oberon will.”
As soon as he said it, the words made perfect sense. Jonathan was my champion; he’d already agreed to meet Oberon in battle. But he’d had no say in choosing weapons. No matter how much time he’d spent in the Old Library—I still didn’t know where that was—he couldn’t match the skills of a fae lord who had been wielding a sword since birth.
I’d chafed at Oberon’s choice of weapons from the moment I’d read his missive. I’d told myself Jonathan was a prodigy, that his medical knowledge would tell him where to strike, even if he didn’t have perfect command of his blade.
But in my heart of hearts, I knew those words were lies. Now, Jonathan was proposing a realistic way of winning the duel. The more I imagined Oberon caught in the sway of Willow, the more confident I became.