Tears stung her eyes as the enormity of her problem struck her, but she blinked them back. She didn’t have time for a cathartic cry right now. She needed to think logically. Before she could do anything, she had to get more information, but first she needed to go back to Emily’s place, get some rest, and regroup.
Then she realized that she had no idea where she was. Or when she was. According to her watch, it was nine thirty at night, but her watch only measured the time that had passed for her. Judging from the quality of light and the activity around her, she guessed it was somewhere around six in the morning. But which morning was it? Time passed differently in the Realm. The cars on the street looked familiar, and no one was flying around with a jet pack, so she hadn’t been gone for centuries, but years could easily have passed.
She reached a street sign and found that she was on Riverside Drive, so at least she was still in Manhattan. The cross street was 105th, so she wasn’t too terribly far from Emily’s apartment. Now she needed a newspaper to tell her what day it was.
Eighteen
The Realm—Maeve’s Lobby
Soon Afterward
Emily’s first reaction to Eamon’s announcement that Sophie was a changeling was: “That would actually explain a lot.”
Her second reaction was: “Oh God, you mean there are two Sophies? If they ever meet and team up, we’re doomed.”
Her third reaction was: “Wait a second—if there’s a Sophie who’s been living in fairyland all this time, there’s no way that throne would still be empty.”
“The human girl who was taken might not be quite as …” Eamon paused and shuddered, searched for a word, then finished his thought, “… formidable as the changeling you know as your sister.”
“Yep, you definitely met Sophie.” She paused to consider Eamon’s revelation. Then she shook her head. “Nope. It doesn’t work. For one thing, Sophie carries iron at all times. Some girls keep a canister of mace or pepper spray on their keychains. Sophie carries a mini horseshoe. A fairy couldn’t do that, could she?”
“I doubt it.” He frowned in confusion.
“How was she, by the way? Where was she? What was she doing?”
“She appeared to be in good health.” He shuddered again, and Emily could only imagine what Sophie had done to him. “She was near the theater. There was a man with her who had a badge of office.”
That had to be Michael, Emily thought. In his condition, he shouldn’t have been out like that, though, and she was surprised Sophie had let him. She consoled herself with the knowledge that if he tried to do too much with Sophie around, he’d find himself handcuffed to his bed and then tucked in gently under a down comforter with a pot of chicken soup nearby.
She shook herself out of that train of thought. “But changeling or not, why would Maeve need Sophie?”
“Your sister has a powerful aura. She could be a valuable ally in Maeve’s quest for the throne.”
“Sophie isn’t the kind of person you want anywhere near a throne that you don’t want her sitting on. She’s not exactly the vice-presidential type. Whatever the reason Maeve wants her, I need to get out of here. I don’t want to be a hostage. Sophie might actually go along with them if they threatened me.”
“You don’t understand the way our people think. Holding a hostage would never work in the Realm. We don’t value any life over our own desires.”
“But using me as bait works?”
“We will do anything to retrieve our treasures.”
“Then we won’t suggest the hostage thing to Maeve, okay? But I still want out of here. They’re guarding the doors. Do you maybe know another way?”
He glanced behind him, but before he could say anything, the front doors opened, and some of Maeve’s goons trudged in. The party stopped as everyone turned to stare. Their clothes were pristine—probably because they were a glamour to begin with—but two of them had angry-looking welts on their faces and several moved with distinct limps. All of them had cuts and bruises on their exposed flesh.
“Well?” Maeve demanded. “Where is she?”
The head goon bowed deeply, then said, “Forgive us, your majesty, but she escaped.”
“Escaped? Escaped?” Maeve’s voice rose into a shriek as she rose from her sofa. “How?”
“The wild ones, your majesty. They attacked us and helped her reach a gateway.” He glanced sheepishly at the ground. “And she had a dog. He was vicious.”
Emily had to clap a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud. Leave it to Sophie to find instant allies and, apparently, a dog. It couldn’t possibly be Beau. She doubted he could be bothered to bite an ankle. Licking a shoelace would be the extent of his help.
Maeve flew into a rage. “How dare they defy me?” she shouted. “I was one of them! When I am queen, I will punish them for their disloyalty!” With no wild fairies handy to punish, she took her anger out on the guards who’d brought the message, raising her hands toward them. They screamed and fell to their knees, their glamours stripped away to reveal ugly, shriveled creatures. She then stomped around the room, shouting and screaming, and everyone got out of her way.
Eventually, Maeve sank onto her sofa in a pique, and the party gradually resumed. “We should go now,” Emily told Eamon. “Get me out of here while they’re distracted. If I’m not here, Sophie won’t have a reason to come back.”
“I doubt Maeve will give up,” he warned.
“Yeah, but we’ll be on our turf then. Come on.”
“I know a way that may not be guarded,” he said, taking her hand to lead her through the crowd of revelers to the stairs. Under the stairs was a door that looked like it belonged to a utility closet. He put his hand on the doorknob and turned it, but nothing happened. “That is odd,” he said, frowning. “This is how I got here.” He released her hand so he could use both hands, and the door opened easily, but when he took her hand again, the door slammed shut.
“It’s keeping me here,” Emily said, her spirits sinking.
Eamon released her hand and opened the door again, then got his body halfway through and beckoned to her. Her toe barely crossed the threshold before the door swung at them. He jumped backward into the passage and she jumped backward into the lobby as the door slammed shut. She lunged for the doorknob, but it wouldn’t turn. “Find Sophie and warn her!” she shouted through the closed door.
Nineteen
Michael and Emily’s Building
Thursday, 6:30 a.m.
Having gone to sleep soon after eight, Michael woke very early the next morning. He also woke hungry, and although he thought it would be like Sophie to offer to make him breakfast, he suspected it was too early for that. She’d had a long day, and it was an hour earlier in her home time zone. He’d have to fend for himself, and he was completely out of Pop Tarts.
He was just coming down the stairs when the vestibule door opened and Sophie came inside, Beau trailing behind her. “Why, good morning!” she said, not quite managing to sound as perky as she seemed to be trying for.
He could understand the lack of perkiness. She was still wearing the dress she’d had on the night before, with a sweater over it. Her hair had come unpinned and hung haphazardly around her face, which was pale with dark circles under her eyes. He opened his mouth to ask where she’d been, but a warning voice in his head whispered Don’t ask, and he suddenly felt compelled to close his mouth.
She held up a white paper bag. “Doughnut?” she offered. “I know I shouldn’t, but I thought I deserved a treat.”
“I don’t suppose you have any coffee in there.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t drink coffee. I was about to make some tea.” She hesitated, then added, “You’re welcome to join me.”
It wasn’t the most enthusiastic invitation he’d ever received, and tea was no substitute for coffee at this time of the morning, but he wanted to know what she’d been up to, so he said, “Yes, I’d like that. Thank you.”
She unloc
ked Emily’s door, ushered him inside, then unhooked and hung up Beau’s leash and stepped out of her shoes before heading into the apartment. She put the paper bag and a folded-up copy of that day’s Times on the tiny bistro table and went to the kitchen to make tea. Beau collapsed on the floor near the table, panting like he’d just run a marathon.
While the kettle boiled, Sophie took off her sweater and folded it carefully over the arm of the daybed, which either hadn’t been slept in or had already been made. Then she went back to the kitchen and brought plates to the table. When Michael couldn’t stand it any longer, he asked, “What were you doing out all night?”
She turned to face him. “Out all night? What makes you think that?”
“You’re still wearing the same clothes.”
She poured tea into mugs, brought them to the table, then sat across from him. “I’ve got glazed and jelly. Which do you prefer?”
He started to demand an answer to his earlier question, but he reminded himself that this wasn’t an interrogation and she didn’t actually owe him any answers. Besides, he’d likely get better results if he let her set the pace and didn’t make her feel pressured. “Glazed is fine,” he said, trying not to let his tension come through in his voice.
She put a doughnut on his plate, took one for herself, took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and took a sip of tea, then glanced at her watch. “I was barely out for two hours,” she said.
He studied her carefully, but his internal lie detector told him she wasn’t lying. Even so, being out two hours at this time of day wasn’t something to let slide. “Are you insane? The city’s a lot safer than it once was, but not a lot of good things happen before dawn.”
She gazed back at him, the blue eye looking wide and innocent while the gray one appeared shadowed. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t in any danger.”
That was a lie. The needle on his mental polygraph shot straight up, going right off the paper. “Sophie! I’m serious. Do you realize that two women other than Emily and Jen who fit that same pattern have gone missing?”
She took another bite of doughnut and another sip of tea, then smiled at him. “But I don’t fit the pattern. I’m not nearly tall enough, and I’m not an actress.”
“We don’t know what the important parts of the pattern are, and until we know what’s going on, I don’t think you should be out wandering the streets at night or very early in the morning. We don’t need another missing person case.”
“Nobody’s trying to abduct me,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
Lie, his mental polygraph said.
Wait a second, someone had tried to abduct her? He noticed then that she had red marks on one wrist, and there were faint scratches on her arms, hands, and face. She’d escaped, but it looked like it had taken some effort, and his instinct was to lock her up in protective custody.
She turned to the side in her chair and straightened her legs, pointing and flexing her feet and rotating her feet at the ankles. She also had a few scratches on her legs—legs that were solid muscle, he noted. “Besides,” she continued blithely, seemingly oblivious to his scrutiny, “I have Beau to look after me, and he can defend me, can’t you, boy?”
Michael was about to remark on Beau’s unlikely abilities in that area when he realized she’d told the truth about that. Beau got up and flopped down next to her, and she rubbed his back with her bare toes. “Yes, you are a good boy,” she crooned. Beau looked up at Michael, and it seemed like the dog was smiling smugly at him. Michael glanced back at Sophie, who regarded him with the same steady gaze she’d given Tanaka the day before. He got the distinct feeling that she knew he knew she’d been lying, and she was daring him to challenge her.
It was a dare he couldn’t resist. “Then what did happen to you? I’d have thought a dancer would be graceful enough not to get this banged up on an early-morning doughnut run.”
She gave him a rueful smile. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”
“Let me guess, you ran into a door.”
“You should see what the door looks like.” There was a hint of something bloodthirsty in her thin smirk.
“So something did happen while you were out at oh-dark-thirty,” he said, fighting back a smug smile of his own. “You were set upon by an evil door that failed in its attempt to carry you back to its lair, and you taught it a valuable lesson about messing with ballerinas.”
“Yes, that about sums it up, though I did have help. Chivalry isn’t dead, after all, and this city isn’t as heartless as its reputation.” He took a moment of studying her face before he decided that she was telling the truth, though probably not all of it.
“Sophie,” he warned in a tone that was almost a growl. He looked straight at her until she was forced to make eye contact with him, and then they held each other’s gaze. He wasn’t sure how Tank had stood it for so long the day before, but he refused to blink, even though the direct stare from her odd eyes gave him chills.
She didn’t blink or look away, but she broke the silence first. “Okay, you’re right, it is dangerous out there at that time,” she said with a weary sigh. “But as I said, someone came to my rescue, and Beau defended me, and as you can see, I’m fine. Just a few scratches. Dancing Nutcracker is a lot more painful. I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve got enough on your mind.”
He held her gaze a moment longer, waiting to see if she’d waver or give any sign she might be lying. She didn’t, and he looked away with great relief. He still wasn’t sure he really believed her, though. There was something she wasn’t telling him, but did it have anything to do with Emily—or Jen? He intended to find out.
Twenty
Maeve’s Ballroom
Later
Emily might have felt better if Eamon had abandoned her again. Then she could have been angry at him instead of feeling scared and trapped. This time, though, she could only hope he’d heard her plea to reach Sophie. The party raged around her, but she resisted the temptation to dance. Now that she knew how dangerous that could be, she wasn’t risking it. Being at the party to end all parties but unable to eat, drink, or dance wasn’t the most fun way to spend an evening. Or a day. Or whatever time it was.
She wove through the crowd so she wouldn’t stand out as a wallflower. If she always seemed to be moving with a purpose toward another part of the party, she might not get dragged into joining the festivities.
The tone of the gathering shifted ever so slightly. Were the fairies finally running out of steam? A low murmur spread through the crowd, gradually building until it was clearly audible over the music. Emily studied the throng and noticed a wave of movement. The crowd parted and then coalesced, as though allowing someone to pass, but all she could tell was that someone was heading toward the couch where Maeve had collapsed after her earlier temper tantrum.
Since the crowds didn’t part for her, Emily elbowed and shoved her way around the lobby. Just when Maeve’s sofa came into view, Emily saw a tall, flame-haired woman approach it. Without breaking stride, the newcomer appropriated the glass from a tray being brought to Maeve and seated herself beside the self-proclaimed queen. Maeve jolted to attention and flinched, but she didn’t protest.
The newcomer leaned against the sofa back and languidly crossed her long, shapely legs. Her attire fit into Maeve’s decorating scheme, but she wore it as though she was attending an early-sixties costume party where many of the other guests were men in Doris Day drag. “I see you’ve done well for yourself, Maeve,” she said. After taking a sip of her drink, she added, “And I hear you’re about to do even better.”
Maeve jumped to her feet. “We should go up to my rooms and catch up,” she said, smiling as though attempting to convey friendliness, even while her tone suggested she was inviting her guest to visit her torture chamber. “It’s hardly fitting for you to mingle with the commoners, Tallulah.”
Tallulah’s smile in response said, “Ha! Knew it!” Emily silently prayed for her to refuse to move, but she rose gratef
ully to her feet. “I’d be honored.”
Emily groaned as the crowd parted to allow the two fairy women to reach the staircase. She was sure this conversation would reveal something about Maeve’s scheme, especially since Maeve had insisted on moving it to a more private venue. Emily doubted she’d be a welcome guest for this little tête-à-tête.
Once Maeve and Tallulah had passed, the crowd filled in behind them, which impeded Emily’s progress while also making it less obvious that she was following them. People stood along the sides of the great staircase and on the balcony above, so nobody noticed her. She just had to resist the urge to elbow people aside in her impatience. She reached the hallway in time to see the two women go through a doorway. Emily remembered that the balcony behind the apartment spanned multiple rooms, so she took a chance and opened the nearest door.
The room she entered could only be called a boudoir. Calling it a bedroom sold it short. It was a room for lolling in sultry elegance on the satin-draped bed or maybe even for performing a musical number about falling in love while dancing around in cute pajamas. “I was born at the wrong time,” she lamented softly to herself. They didn’t make movie musicals the way they used to. But it looked like someone had tossed the place. The bed was unmade, and she’d have bet that the CSI guys from TV would find interesting stains on the sheets with their special lights. Pieces of clothing were strewn everywhere, which Emily found odd, considering that Maeve’s attire seemed to be mostly glamour. Did she conjure up and scatter lingerie just for atmosphere?
But she wasn’t there to analyze Maeve’s wardrobe or critique her housekeeping. There was a wall of heavy curtains on the other end of the room that she hoped hid balcony doors, and she hurried over there. She was sidetracked along the way by a piece of paper on the nightstand. It had something drawn on it that looked like the maps at the beginnings of fantasy novels. She wouldn’t have thought maps would be very useful in the Realm since the geography was so fluid, but why would Maeve have it if it didn’t mean anything? Maybe it was a map to that missing palace and Eamon could make some sense out of it if he made it back. She didn’t have time to study it, but she got her phone out of her pocket and found that although she didn’t have network access, the camera still worked. She snapped a couple of pictures of the map, then headed for the balcony.
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