She went quiet again once they were in the cab. As they rode uptown in silence, he couldn’t help but notice the red mark on her wrist. It didn’t look as bad as it had the night before, but he had to wonder what had happened. It wasn’t a rope burn from the dog’s leash, that much he was sure of. It was too neat a wound, not ragged at all. The mark on her face wasn’t quite as visible, but it looked like she’d covered a bruise with makeup.
“Detective Tanaka called you ‘Rev.’ What does that mean?” she asked abruptly.
“Cops love nicknames. My dad’s a minister, and I guess he rubbed off on me, even if I didn’t go into the family business. I’m more of a straight arrow than your typical cop, so they started calling me ‘The Reverend.’ Over time, that became ‘Rev.’ To make matters worse, Saint Michael the archangel is the patron saint of cops, and they manage to fit that in, too.”
“That would explain the very interesting collection of refrigerator magnets you have.”
“You should see my desk. I have to rotate them to the fridge at home to leave room for the new ones. If anyone finds anything with an angel on it, it’ll end up on my desk.”
The tiny ghost of a smile that touched her lips made him feel that spilling that story was worthwhile, even if it was a little embarrassing. Then again, he could barely stay on his feet for five minutes without leaning on her, so it wasn’t like she’d ever seen him as particularly macho.
When they got back to his building, she paused at Emily’s door and said, “Thank you for going with me.”
“No one should have to go through that alone.”
“I appreciate it. Do you have any sisters, Detective?”
“Michael,” he corrected. “And no, no sisters. But I have two brothers.”
“Older or younger?”
“Both older.”
She nodded and gave him a wry smile. “You’re the third brother. If you were in a fairy tale, you’d be the lucky one, the one who marries the princess and inherits the kingdom. Though, really, it’s not so much luck as it is good karma. The youngest is the nice one who helps the people and creatures the older ones ignore, and they then help him succeed in his quest.”
“So the moral of the story is that I should be nice to people?”
“It doesn’t seem to me that you have to work very hard to do that.” It was hard to tell in the stairwell’s dim light, but he thought she might have turned a little pinker. She ducked her head and turned toward the door, saying, “I’d better see to Beau. He’ll be hungry.”
She opened the door, and Michael called to her, “Sophie!” She looked back, and he hurried to say, “If you need help, please tell me. Don’t get yourself in trouble.”
“I’m not in trouble,” she insisted. “I can take care of myself, believe me.” She chuckled softly, as if at some secret joke. “Oh yes, I can take care of myself. Good evening, Michael.”
He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like he really ought to get upstairs. And then he should probably take one of his pain pills and get some rest. Yes, that was what he should do. His chest hurt again, and he was very tired. He trudged up the stairs, got to his apartment, and was just about to open the pill bottle when he stopped and shook his head. He didn’t hurt all that badly, actually. He was feeling much better. The compulsion went away entirely and he put the bottle down. Instead, he fumbled with the coffeemaker to make a pot of coffee. If Sophie was up to her usual nighttime activities, he wasn’t going to lose her this time.
Thirty-one
Maeve’s Apartment
Meanwhile
Emily woke gradually with the feeling that there was something important she needed to tell her sister. She knew she was supposed to call Sophie and tell her what the reviews said, but that wasn’t it. What was it?
Her eyes flew open and she sat up with a gasp as it all came rushing back to her. She wasn’t at home. She was in an empty, dimly lit room. It looked like a basement utility room, only without the utilities, just a bare concrete floor and cinder-block walls, all painted a stained and faded industrial gray. Given that most of the room’s appearance was likely a glamour, Emily was impressed that they’d bothered to make the place look dank and depressing.
It wasn’t so empty, after all, she realized once her eyes adjusted to the light and she saw Eamon slumped against the wall on the far side of the room. “Eamon!” she cried as she rushed to his side. He looked like hell, his skin an ashy color and the silver in his hair dimmed to a dull gray. She soon saw why: They’d shackled him with iron handcuffs. “Oh no! How could they do this to you?” she asked, placing her hand on his cheek. She then had to yank her hand away because his skin burned so hot that it felt like it would scorch her.
His eyelids fluttered open. “Emily Drake?” he croaked. “You’re awake. I was worried. You slept a very long time.”
“A girl needs her beauty sleep,” she said with a shrug that she tried to make look casual to hide the fact that she wanted to hug him. Where had that feeling come from? A kiss or two was one thing, but this was real caring. She must have developed a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome. But no, though he may have kidnapped her, he’d proven to be a real friend once he’d realized his mistake. “We need to get you out of these cuffs.”
She’d seen people unlock things with hairpins dozens of times in movies, and the lock on these cuffs looked simple enough that it might even work—if they weren’t magically locked. What she needed was a hairpin. They put dozens in her hair every night to hold it in the Grecian-style bun of the Regency era, and though she took her hair down after the show, she was always finding stray hairpins later because they disappeared into her thick curls. With any luck, this would be one of those times. She raked her fingers through her hair, frantically searching, until she came across a pin. “The unruly mop saves the day. Now, let’s see if I can make this work.”
She stuck the pin into the keyhole and wiggled it around. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do beyond that. Eventually, she felt a click, and the cuffs popped open. She yanked them off him and hurled them to the opposite corner of the room. The skin on his wrists where the cuffs had been was blistered. “Oh, you poor thing,” she said, cradling his hands in hers.
He tried to sit up, shuddered violently, and sank back to the floor. She caught him and pulled his head into her lap, where she used the hem of her T-shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“Don’t mention it,” she said, making her voice sound cheerier than she felt. Then she realized what he’d just said. “Wait, you thanked me.”
“You saved my life. I am truly in your debt.” His voice sounded stronger, but she didn’t think he’d be back on his feet for a while. Did fairies have medicine or doctors?
“I guess we’re even now,” she said, forcing a smile as she smoothed his hair back from his face. “You kidnapped me, and then I saved your life. No, wait. I think you still owe me. But considering we’re both prisoners, we can worry about settling who owes whom later.”
“Yes, I would prefer to defer that discussion.”
Her stomach growled, and as close to her as he was, he heard it. “You are hungry,” he said.
She bit her lip and cringed before saying, “Yeah, a bit. But I’ll live. Depending on how long we’re stuck in here. Considering there’s no fairy food, either, we’re in the same boat.”
Both of them were quiet for a moment. Emily wondered if he was contemplating starving to death while locked in a small room with a human. He eventually said, “Do you think you could unlock that door the way you unlocked the cuffs?”
She wanted to smack herself on the head. “Oh, duh! I should have thought of that.” She helped him sit up—he already seemed stronger—and then she found the hairpin and went to the door. One quick look at the handle dashed her hopes. “It locks from the outside,” she reported. “The hairpin doesn’t do any good. I’m afraid we’re stuck until Maeve wants to gloat at us.”
He leaned his bac
k against the wall. “Then perhaps we should prepare to greet her or her minions.” He grinned in a way that reminded her of Sophie when she’d spotted someone’s weakness and was about to pounce. “And she seems to have locked a large piece of iron in here with someone who can handle it.”
She followed his gaze to the iron handcuffs lying in the corner where she’d thrown them. “I like the way you think. One booby trap, coming up.”
Thirty-two
Michael’s Apartment
Friday, 8:00 p.m.
Near dusk, Michael lurked by the window, waiting to see if Sophie made another one of her nightly trips. She’d walked Beau earlier, returning after about fifteen minutes. Beau had never been game for more than one walk in the evening, so if she went out again, it would probably be for her own agenda. He waited until well past nightfall, but she didn’t go out.
When he went to bed—fully dressed, just in case—he left the window open. His bedroom window was directly above the front door, so he’d hear if that door opened or closed. He slept lightly, waking at every sound. Once, just after ten, he heard the door, but it was someone coming home. The next time he heard the door, it was nearly eleven-thirty, and he got to the window in time to see Sophie and Beau going down the front steps. She was fully dressed, with a tote bag on her shoulder, so he doubted it was a case of Beau needing a late-night potty break.
Michael ran to his front door, grabbed his keys, and went down the stairs as quickly as he could without falling. He had to pause and catch his breath at the bottom of the steps. Following Sophie would be a challenge late at night when there were no crowds to hide in, but unless she vanished into thin air again, she wouldn’t have anywhere to hide, either.
She went straight to the park. What was she doing in the park at this time of night? While it wasn’t the dangerous crime zone it used to be, it wasn’t a good idea for a woman to walk alone this late, even with a dog. He didn’t feel so safe, himself, not as weak as he was and without the reassuring weight of his service weapon on his hip.
Sophie seemed to be heading to Belvedere Castle, or perhaps going through the castle in an attempt to lose him on her way to somewhere else. She walked quickly enough that he had trouble keeping up with her in his weakened state and often lost sight of her as she moved between the pools of light cast by lampposts along the path.
A mewling sound near his feet startled him, and he barely held back an exclamation of surprise that would have given him away. He saw a flash of white on the ground and bent to see a small white cat tangled in what looked like a makeshift wire trap. He was in a hurry, but he couldn’t bear to leave a defenseless creature like that. Smiling slightly to himself as he remembered what Sophie had told him about third brothers in fairy tales, he knelt and whispered, “Easy, it’s okay, let’s see what I can do, and then I guess we’ll see what you can do for me.” The wire was wound too tightly for him to untangle it with one hand, so he got out his pocket knife and cut the wire. He was surprised by how calm the cat was. A trapped animal would normally hiss and claw, but this one seemed to understand that he was trying to help. When he got it free, it purred and rubbed against his ankles, then ran down the path Sophie had taken. It paused to look back at him, as if to say, “Aren’t you coming?”
He made his way up the stairs to the terrace in front of the castle and when he rounded the landing, he pulled back into the shadows. Sophie sat on the terrace, putting on ballet shoes while two women stood nearby. He got the impression that they were elderly because their hair appeared white, but that could have merely been a trick of the light because they didn’t move like old people. The three women were engaged in what looked like a spirited discussion. He would have loved to hear what they were talking about, but there was no way he could cross the open expanse of the terrace without revealing himself.
What was Sophie doing putting on ballet shoes in the middle of the night in Central Park? She didn’t seem to see the women as threats—she showed neither fear nor bravado with them—but who were they, and what did they have to do with her? A nearby snort startled him out of his surveillance. He glanced down to see that Beau had noticed him and had come to greet him. “Go away, you crazy dog,” he hissed as Beau flopped wearily down at the top of the stairs. Michael hoped Sophie didn’t go looking for the dog, but she seemed to be preoccupied.
She was doing what looked like warm-up exercises, bending and straightening her knees, swinging her legs, and popping up to her tiptoes and then back down again. Then she did a few dance steps, balanced on one toe with her other leg held straight out behind her, and spun so that her full skirt flew out around her hips. She stopped the spin and nodded to the women as if to say, “Okay, I’m ready.”
And then, in a heartbeat, everything changed. It was like someone had set off a flare. The castle, its balconies, and the terrace in front of it blazed with light. The terrace was no longer empty. It was filled with booths, like a festival or marketplace, and the most beautiful people Michael had ever seen thronged the aisles. Most of the people were tall and willowy, with hair that glowed in the bright light. Wild music and exotic scents filled the air.
In all his years on the force, he’d never heard of any midnight festivals in the park. They couldn’t possibly have a permit. An event like this required security, and that would mean a few uniforms on the scene. There wasn’t a uniform in sight.
Not that he planned to shut it down. He was on medical leave, and it didn’t look like they were doing any harm. Besides, it was … Well, the only word he could think of was magical. It was like something out of a storybook. Or a dream.
He’d momentarily forgotten Sophie in the surprise of seeing a festival appear out of thin air right in front of him, and he craned his neck, looking for her. With all this commotion, he might be able to get close enough to find out what she was up to. She was hard to find in this crowd, though. She wasn’t as tall as most of these people, but she was willowy and had bright hair, so she blended in. He finally spotted her standing with the two women, talking to another person. He climbed the rest of the stairs to the terrace and headed toward her, Beau at his heels.
As soon as he entered the brightly lit marketplace, a woman in a white dress brushed his arm with her hand, then took his hand and tried to pull him into a dance. He shook his head apologetically, indicating his sling. He wasn’t up to anything that energetic. She smiled, released his hand, gave him a little curtsy, and danced off with feline grace.
A man came out from behind one of the booths and offered him a tankard of a drink that smelled like Christmas. The heady mix of spices was intoxicating even at arm’s-length, but before he could take the tankard, Beau rushed at the vendor, barking, snarling, and growling furiously. “Beauregard! No! Don’t be rude,” Michael scolded, but Beau didn’t back down. He stood squarely between Michael and the man, growling. “Sorry about that,” Michael said to the vendor. “I’ve never seen him do that before. He’s usually too lazy to be aggressive.”
The man bowed as he backed away. “No apologies are necessary, my good sir. Please forgive the intrusion.” The man acted like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
“What was that about?” Michael asked Beau. The dog snorted before giving one last growl. Michael found a spot behind a rack displaying silk scarves where he could lurk and listen to Sophie and the women without being seen, and settled in for a spot of eavesdropping.
“I may have heard something,” said the man talking to Sophie and the women. He’d have looked like he’d crawled out of a bush where he’d been hiding since 1968 if he hadn’t appeared no more than twenty years old. Had flower children come back into vogue?
“Would you care to share?” Sophie asked sweetly, but Michael heard the steel underneath her tone. If the flower child knew what was good for him, he’d spill, and fast.
Apparently this guy was made of sterner stuff. “That kind of information will cost you.”
“I can pay,” Sophie said. She gestured to the mu
sicians nearby, and they changed their tune to a lilting dance. Then Sophie went into action. She spun, leapt, and did an odd little step on her toes that made her look like she was fluttering across the floor, and it was absolutely mesmerizing. She was more ethereal than any human being had a right to be, all while exuding a sense of power and strength. Surely a normal human body couldn’t do these things. The dance ended far too soon, and Michael realized he’d forgotten to breathe while watching. The twinge in his wound reminded him forcefully.
As short as the dance was, it was apparently enough for the flower child, for he beckoned Sophie and the women to come closer. Michael edged out of his hiding place as far as he dared so he could hear. “Rumor has it Maeve announced that she’s found the throne and will take it soon,” he said, glancing around as if to make sure no one saw him sharing this information.
“Well, that’s silly of her,” Sophie said. “That’s only warning her enemies in time to stop her. I’m assuming she has enemies.”
“Everyone has enemies,” he said before slipping away into the crowd.
When he was gone, Sophie said, “I knew Maeve was ambitious, but making a bid to rule the Realm is big, even for her. You said nobody’s done that for centuries, so why her, why now, and what does this have to do with Emily or me?”
“We need more information,” the taller of the two older women said. She headed into the marketplace, returning with a woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a badly colorized old movie. The taller woman nodded at Sophie, who gestured to the musicians and began dancing again, much to Michael’s delight.
It didn’t take long for her to get caught up in the music, and it was like seeing a flower bud open as she truly came to life for the first time since he’d met her. He got the feeling he was getting a rare look past all her barriers into her soul. He’d considered her very pretty, but too restrained to be alluring. Now, though, she was beautiful. Behind all that control lurked a deep well of pent-up passion. She made a chain of quick-fire turns on the point of her toe, leapt so that she seemed to hang in the air, and spun on her toe with her other leg whipping around.
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