“I warned her to stay away.”
Emily snorted. “Yeah, that’ll do a lot of good.” At his blank look, she explained, “When I was feeling lonely here in the city and missed my big sister, I got a bulldog to keep me company. Do you get the picture?” He obviously didn’t, so she clarified further, “Sophie can be stubborn.”
“But I didn’t tell her why she should stay away.”
“You think that’s a good thing?”
“If I’d told her she was the one Maeve really wanted, do you think she’d have stayed away?”
“Wow, you understand her pretty well.” They danced a few steps in silence, then she said, “While you were out and about, did you figure a way to get me out of here?”
“Maeve’s court seems to be enchanted so that no human may leave without permission.”
“So, I’m stuck. Do you want to know what I learned while you were out?”
“You learned something?”
“I did.” She glanced around the party. “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?” He steered her off the dance floor to a secluded corner, and after one more glance around, she got out her phone to show him the map. “Does this mean anything to you?”
He squinted at the image on the screen. “It’s the palace. She’s found it.” He sounded stunned, and his breathing became more rapid. “Where did you find this?”
“In Maeve’s room. But I thought you couldn’t map this place.”
“There are some markers … But if she knows where the palace is and she hasn’t acted, there must be more to it than that.”
“Like drawing a sword from a stone. But that still doesn’t explain why she needs Sophie.” Her stomach growled, and she winced in embarrassment. “I don’t suppose you brought me any food?”
He smiled. “I have cookies. And milk.”
“You spoil me.”
“Your sister gave me a cookie, and I liked it well enough to bring them to you.”
“If she’s giving you food, she likes you.”
“It was an emergency. Someone saw us together, and she thought that was bad. I was too weak for glamour without human food.”
“I wonder who that could have been,” she said as he handed her a cookie from his pocket. She devoured three cookies and half a small carton of milk before thinking to offer him a cookie. His reaction was a visual representation of sheer bliss. His eyes went heavy-lidded, and all the tension drained from his face as the corners of his mouth turned up. She tried to memorize his expression to use the next time she needed to portray that kind of ecstasy in a role.
“Perhaps I could go find this palace, and that would help me learn what more might be needed,” he mused after he’d finished the cookie. “Though I hate to leave you alone again.”
“No, go!” she urged. “It’s more useful than you hanging out here with me. Anything you learn could help.” She looked up at him, and the way he looked back at her made her shiver. “I know I’m not supposed to thank you directly,” she said, suddenly feeling shy with him, “but, well, I don’t know what I’d have done without you—other than not being here at all, I guess, but you know what I mean.”
He tilted his head and studied her before saying, “Do I?”
“You’ve brought me food and carried messages, and you’ve tried to help, and I—well, I’m glad, I guess.” That still sounded empty. She was a good Southern girl whose mother had forced her practically at gunpoint to write thank-you notes for every gift she received or party she attended, and expressing appreciation without direct thanks didn’t feel right. “Aw, hell,” she muttered as she placed her hands on either side of his face and kissed him. He froze for a moment before responding and pulling her against him.
“I didn’t realize this was how humans customarily expressed gratitude,” he whispered, his face still so close that his lips brushed hers as he spoke.
“Only when we’re dealing with people who’ll be insulted or think we’re obligated to them, or whatever your deal is, if we dare use the words ‘thank you,’” she said. “And only when—” She broke off when the front door opened and two fairy men limped into the lobby, followed by a few others who seemed relatively unscathed. The one with the slightest limp had red burns across his neck and on his cheek, while the other walked like he had a broken foot. “Something tells me you didn’t convince her to stay away,” Emily remarked.
He kept his arm around her waist as she turned to watch the proceedings. “Perhaps I underestimated her stubbornness.”
“They must have really pissed her off. Usually, she doesn’t have to get physical. They give up when she destroys them psychologically.”
Maeve soon appeared at the top of the stairs and forgot to look regal as she hurried down, demanding, “Where is she?”
“She declined our invitation to join us,” the one with the burned face said with a wince.
“She got away?”
“You might say that, your majesty. She had a message for you, though. She said that until you release her sister, she will do everything in her power to bring you down.”
“Empty threats,” Maeve said with a dismissive wave. “The two of you couldn’t overpower one small human within our own realm?”
“Forgive us, your majesty,” the limping one said, “but she does have power—magical power. She is an enchantress.”
Emily barely bit back her exclamation at that, but it wouldn’t have mattered because Maeve’s shriek was loud enough to drown it out. “She can’t be!”
“She broke every spell we used,” the one with the burned face said. “Her power isn’t controlled, but it is there. I would consider her threats to be real.”
Maeve spun, searching the room, then spotted Emily and came toward her. Emily slipped out of Eamon’s grasp and met Maeve halfway. “What do you know of this?” Maeve asked.
“It’s the first I’ve heard of it, but it doesn’t surprise me. It explains a lot. And I would take any threat my sister makes very, very seriously.”
Maeve grabbed Emily by the face, held her for a second, then released her, hurling her away with such force that she stumbled. “You’ve been touched by magic, but I don’t find it in you. How can that be? You are sisters!”
“I’m also about six inches taller than Sophie. Maybe I got the height and she got the magic. Or she could have learned something. I don’t know.”
Maeve turned back to her henchmen. “What else happened?”
While the two injured fairies told a long story about how helpless they’d been when confronted with a being of such magnificent power, Emily edged her way back to Eamon. “Is it true?” she asked him.
“I hadn’t considered it. Perhaps that was the power I sensed in her.”
“Well, if Sophie has magical powers, the world had better look out, that’s all I can say. Maeve may have bitten off more than she can chew.”
At the moment, Maeve was chewing out her henchmen. “Incompetent! That’s what you are! All of you!” Her beautiful face screwed up into an ugly red mask of fury. “I don’t care if she is an enchantress, you are fae! How many armies do I have to send after one small human girl?”
Eamon stepped forward. “I’ve found her.”
That got Maeve’s attention. “Where is she? Is she here?”
“I didn’t say I have her, just that I’ve found her. I might be able to do so again, and she trusts me now.”
Emily stared at him, open-mouthed. What was he up to? Sophie said you could never trust a fairy, but she’d thought he was different. He then gave her a sidelong glance that she interpreted to mean that he was up to something. She decided to play along. “No! You can’t!” she shouted, grabbing his arm.
Maeve ignored her, focusing on Eamon. “You know I would be most grateful if you brought her to me,” she purred.
“I’m sure you would, but I don’t need more books. I do need to know why you want her. You lied to me about Emily Drake. I will do nothing more for you until you tell me the t
ruth so I may decide if I want to be a part of it.”
Okay, this was a pretty good plan, Emily thought, impressed. But would Maeve go for it?
Twenty-seven
Central Park
Thursday, 8:45 p.m.
Michael whirled at the sound of Sophie’s voice. His eyes widened when he saw her, then he frowned and glanced around, like he was trying to figure out where she’d come from. Still on the offensive, she said, “We need to get you home and dry.” She tried holding her umbrella over both of them, but it required her holding her arm straight over her head. “Here, you hold it,” she said, putting it into his left hand. “You’re too tall for me to cover.” He took the umbrella without protest, probably because he was too stunned to speak, then went along when she put her hand on his back and began walking.
He finally found his voice. “What are you doing out in this?”
“It wasn’t like this when I went out. I thought Beau could use some exercise.”
“How did you get Beau to come with you? I can’t get him to go to the end of the block.”
“Maybe he likes me better.”
It felt like they were in their own little world under the canopy of the umbrella. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the macho policeman holding the umbrella with Degas’s ballerinas on it. The dim light, the shadow of the umbrella, and the way she had to walk pressed against his side to stay in the umbrella’s shelter meant he couldn’t see her injuries and couldn’t read her face. She wasn’t sure what she’d do when they got home and he got a good look at her. Bruises took time to form, but the sleeve of her sweater wasn’t long enough to cover the burn on her wrist, and her cheek still stung from the slap, so she was sure it had left a mark.
Although her hand on his back was meant to steady him, it grounded her, as well. She didn’t know which of them was trembling—possibly both of them. He was at the end of his strength and she’d reached the point of emotional overload. His breathing had become ragged, like it took too much effort to get enough air, and that meant there was no conversation. When they reached the edge of the park, she said, “Are you okay? Maybe we should get a cab.”
He shook his head. “I’m fine.” But he gasped for air between words. “Besides, we’d never get one in the rain, with the dog. Even you couldn’t pull that off.” She was ready to argue, but she saw the number of people standing on the curb. She didn’t know if there was a spell for getting a cab or if the way she always managed to find one had been magic all along.
By the time they reached his street, she’d put her arm around his waist to support him, and he leaned heavily against her. “We’re almost there,” she said encouragingly as they neared his building. She half carried him up the front steps, and then she leaned him against the wall where the intercom was while she opened the door. Instead of groping for her keys, she stood so he couldn’t see what she was doing and touched the lock. She felt the now-familiar flow of power, and the door opened for her. Okay, it works in the real world, too, she noted.
She took the umbrella from Michael and held it to shield them while Beau shook himself dry. “Let’s stop at Emily’s place,” she said. “I don’t think I can get you up the stairs.” That door opened at her touch, too, and she dropped Beau’s leash, the umbrella, and her bag just inside the door so she could get Michael through the entry hall and onto the daybed. Then she stepped out of her wet shoes, unhooked the leash Beau trailed through the apartment, and found some towels.
Michael protested as she towel-dried his wet hair, but she ignored him. “You don’t need to be chilled. What were you doing out wandering the park at this time of day? I was walking the dog. I don’t know what your excuse is. Are you trying to catch your death of pneumonia?” She lifted the towel from his head and smoothed his hair back into place. “Now, I’ll put on the kettle, then run up and get you a dry shirt. I doubt there’s anything down here that would fit you.”
Before she could turn to go, he caught her arm just above the burn on her wrist. “Sophie, what is this?” he asked, then he looked up at her and saw her face. She didn’t need a mirror to know what a fright she looked because she could see it in his eyes. “What happened to you?”
“Beau saw a squirrel and took off, and he took me along for the ride. The leash gave me a rope burn,” she said as airily as she could manage.
He tightened his grip and frowned at her. She could feel him assessing her, see the doubt on his face. “Sophie, I’ve seen a squirrel run across Beau’s back—I guess it thought he was a rock—and he didn’t move a muscle.”
“You also don’t think he wants to walk beyond the end of the block, and I’m seeing otherwise.” She jerked her arm out of his grasp. She’d had enough of people grabbing her. “Now, I’ll get that kettle on. Where should I look for a dry shirt?”
“There should be a sweatshirt in the laundry basket just inside the bedroom door,” he said, sagging against the pillows. His posture looked defeated, but the glint in his eyes said this conversation wasn’t over.
“I’ll be back in a sec. Keep an eye on him, Beau.”
After setting the kettle on the stove, she dashed upstairs, forgetting the key in her haste, but she was able to unlock the door the way she had the downstairs door and Emily’s. Oh dear, she really did have powers. She wondered what she could do other than open locked doors. The NYPD sweatshirt was where he said it would be, lying in a basket of clean clothes. She grabbed it and ran back downstairs.
The kettle was just starting to boil when she got to it. It was too late in the evening for tea, so she rummaged through the cabinets and found a box of cocoa mix. Good, she needed a dose of sugar after all the shock, and it didn’t require the water to be fresh off the boil. She turned off the stove, then turned to focus on Michael.
“I can dress myself,” he grumbled as she approached with the sweatshirt.
“Do you really feel up to that?” He glared at her and eased his right arm out of the sling, then struggled to lift the hem of his long-sleeved T-shirt. When she couldn’t stand watching anymore, she snapped, “Oh, come on, no one’s going to give you a medal for changing shirts by yourself, and you’ll exhaust yourself trying.” As she helped him pull his arms out of the sleeves, she reflected that this was her first time to undress a man. She was glad the shirt was over his head so he couldn’t see her blush at the thought. Not that this was that kind of situation. It was more like helping a child get into his pajamas.
He had a lanky build, but he had a decent set of muscles, like he’d put some work into staying in shape. His ribs stood out, though, so he must have lost weight since being hurt. The upper right side of his chest was swathed in gauze bandages and surgical tape. “Do you need to change these bandages?” she asked.
“No, I’m fine. I saw the doctor earlier today, so these are fresh.” She helped him get the weaker arm into the sleeve of the sweatshirt, then left him to get the shirt the rest of the way on while she went to make cocoa. She put one mug into his hand, wrapped an afghan around his shoulders, and sat next to him.
He was breathing better, she noticed, and he wasn’t quite so gray. “You need to take better care of yourself,” she scolded.
“You’re one to talk. What happened, Sophie?”
“No one mugged me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“What about trying to abduct you?”
There was no way she could answer that question in a way that didn’t sound alarming without lying, and she knew he’d know she was lying. Even so, she looked him in the eye and said, “It’s not what you think.”
“How do you know what I think?”
“Oh, honey, trust me, there is no way you can be thinking this.” She couldn’t hold back a laugh that sounded borderline hysterical.
“Care to share?”
“It has nothing to do with you.”
“Does it have anything to do with Emily? Nobody’s threatening you or asking for ransom, or anything like that?”
“Would you? You’re lying to me about everything else. What about your meeting with our prime suspect earlier in the evening?”
She wavered between tackling that head-on and trying to deny it. Either way, it would look bad. “I see Detective Tanaka has talked to you,” she said. “It’s not what he thought. It wasn’t the same guy.” Metaphorically speaking, that was true. The first time she’d encountered the fairy, he’d been an enemy, but this time he seemed to be an ally.
“You can tell me off the record if you need help with something and you’re afraid to involve the police.”
“I appreciate your concern, really, I do, but this isn’t a police matter, and there’s nothing you can do to help. I’m not up to anything illegal, if that makes you feel better.”
“Are you in trouble?”
She paused, thinking, then shook her head, “No, no, I don’t think so.” With a bitter chuckle, she added, “I may be the one causing the trouble, but that’s usually the case.” She placed a hand on his arm and said, “You don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.” The memory of taking down her would-be abductors and flinging them around magically flashed before her mind’s eye and it took all her self-control not to burst out laughing.
“Just like they don’t give medals for changing shirts by yourself, they don’t give prizes for self-sufficiency. You don’t have to do everything.”
She sighed. “Yes, I do. Otherwise, it doesn’t get done.” She stood and nodded toward his mug. “Are you finished with that?”
He handed it to her, and she took both mugs to the sink, then turned to face him. “Can you make it upstairs by yourself, or do you need help?”
He grinned suddenly and shook his head in disbelief. “Look at you—you act like you have to do everything for yourself, and yet you’re the first one to offer help.”
“Okay then, when you’re back to full strength, I’ll let you carry me up the stairs.”
He got off the daybed, groaning only slightly, then stood still for a moment to steady himself. As he let her take his arm, he said, “I’ll hold you to that.” She had a vivid mental image of him scooping her into his arms and sweeping her up the stairs, and when she met his eye, his expression told her he’d seen a very similar image. Both of them quickly looked away, and she could hardly wait to get him up the stairs so she could take her arm from around him. She should have outgrown the hopeless crush phase years ago, so this was awfully silly of her.
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