A Fairy Tale

by Shanna Swendson

  At the end of the dance, the colorized woman nodded, as if accepting the payment. “She made a public announcement,” she said when Sophie rejoined the group. “But she has made no moves since then, other than sending out her people to try to capture someone. Even before her announcement, she had people in our court, seeking a fugitive.”

  “Do you know whom they sought?” the smaller of the two women with Sophie asked.

  “No. I have heard rumors of mighty battles, though.”

  “Winter is upon the Realm, isn’t it?” Sophie asked, and apparently the question was as much a surprise to her cohorts as it was to the woman they were questioning because they turned to stare at Sophie.

  “Whatever made you ask that?” the taller woman asked.

  “Winter?” the colorized woman asked.

  “The Realm is the Summer Country, the land of endless summer,” the smaller woman said, as though pointing out something obvious. “It’s never winter.”

  The colorized woman glanced around nervously, then said so softly that Michael had to move further out of his hiding place to hear her, “Some say that things are changing, even that the Realm is dying. That is why some support Maeve. The Realm may die without a queen, and although few of us would choose Maeve, anyone who can find the throne would save us all.”

  “Find it?” Sophie asked.

  “I’ve said enough,” the woman said.

  “Now really, I did ten fouetté turns,” Sophie argued, grabbing the woman’s arm. “That should count for something.”

  The woman seemed to go through an internal struggle, then blurted, “The throne has been lost—the palace has been lost. One would have to find the throne to win it, and no one knows how to win it.”

  “Presumably Maeve has figured it out,” Sophie said, but the woman jerked out of her grasp and ran. “And it must have something to do with my sister or me, unless the timing is pure coincidence,” she concluded, seemingly speaking as much to herself as to the women with her.

  Michael slunk back into concealment, more confused than ever. It sounded like Sophie knew who had Emily, but why hadn’t she shared that information with the police? Were they threatening her? Was that where her injuries came from?

  He noticed a new group entering the market. This group looked a little more normal than the other people at the festival—though that was in relative terms. They were at least in real clothes instead of dressing in spiderwebs and flowers. It looked like the Rat Pack had invaded. The men wore slim-cut suits with skinny ties while the women wore dresses that were either tight through the body and with full skirts or tight all over so that they walked in mincing steps on high heels.

  The woman at the center of the group was a living department store mannequin, with an impossibly perfect face and figure and hair so golden that it couldn’t have been natural. The crowd parted for her, but it looked like the distance had as much to do with distaste as it did with fear or respect. There was a lot of muttering around the marketplace, and those who hadn’t noticed the group’s arrival were elbowed or tapped on the shoulder until made aware.

  “Speak of the devil,” Sophie muttered, heading toward the newcomer so quickly that the women with her were left behind. Michael didn’t quite manage to turn away as she passed, but she was so intent on the newcomer that she didn’t see him. When she was within earshot of the woman, she called out, “Maeve, it’s been ages,” in a drawl heavy with sarcasm. “Let’s see, when did we last see each other? Why, I do believe it was the last time you tried to kidnap my sister. We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” The crowd parted to clear a path between her and Maeve, and she moved forward slowly, walking as though she was still dancing, her leg extended and her toe pointed with each step. When she was face-to-face with Maeve she glared up at the much taller woman and said in an iron-hard voice, “Let her go.”

  Maeve laughed again. “Didn’t you already find her in the morgue?”

  Moving so quickly that Michael didn’t quite see how she did it, Sophie had the other woman on the ground and was holding her there with one foot on her throat. The pink satin ballet shoes might have looked delicate, but the toes were strong enough to support a woman’s weight. “Did you really think I’d fall for your little trick?” she asked, her voice low, but still carrying. “It was bad enough that you took my sister, but trying to trick me into thinking she was dead? That’s low, even for you. The sad thing is, it didn’t fool me for a second.”

  A crowd had formed around the combatants, and while Maeve had her entourage, most of the rest seemed to be on Sophie’s side—or at least were opposed to Maeve. Michael left his hiding place, picking up Beau’s leash to drag him forward, and blended in with the spectators.

  The two women who’d been with Sophie caught up, and the taller one caught Sophie around the waist, lifting her away from her victim. “Harm her, and you may not get your sister back,” she said. Sophie must have seen reason because she didn’t struggle. The smaller woman handed Sophie her tote bag, as though with the hope that the bag would keep her hands too busy for another attack.

  Maeve’s entourage rushed over and helped their leader to her feet. “I can see why you’re reluctant to hand over your prize, considering you need her to take the throne,” Sophie said.

  Maeve froze, then with a weak laugh she said, “Why would I need a mere human girl?”

  “If you could have done it on your own, you’d have gone for it already.” Sophie shook her head and moved closer to Maeve. “I’m not yet sure why, but you can’t do this without Emily.” She frowned for a moment, and then a light dawned in her eyes. “Or is it Emily? You’ve had her for a couple of days, and you haven’t yet done anything. Meanwhile, your minions have tried to grab me every time I’ve gone near. She was just bait for your trap. I’m the one you need.” She shook her head in mock pity. “Maeve, honey, what makes you think you could hold the Realm, even if you won the throne?”

  The crowd behind Sophie liked that. They laughed and cheered, and Michael moved further forward so he could see and hear better. He had a feeling Sophie was too busy at the moment to notice him there.

  Maeve pulled herself together with visible effort and spat, “What do you know, little human girl? Dancing with us doesn’t make you one of us. Even with our teaching, what have you achieved? Those we taught have graced the greatest stages in the world. And then there’s you. Where is it you dance now?”

  That didn’t seem to bother Sophie—at least, not visibly. “I’ve had other priorities,” she said with a shrug.

  “Ah, yes, protecting your sister. You’ve done such a good job of that. Where is she now? As I recall, she’s been kidnapped.”

  That didn’t rile Sophie, either. “Well, yes, that’s why I’m here.” She moved another step closer to Maeve and asked sweetly, “How long did it take you to get your hands on my sister? And how many wrong women did you grab along the way? But at least you had a real reason. I thought you were after payment or revenge.”

  This exchange raised a lot of questions for Michael. For one, what throne? Was this some secret society they all belonged to? He was missing a lot of context. He searched for a friendly-looking face to ask what was going on. As a cop, he was good at spotting those who were eager to show off what they knew, and while these people were like nothing he’d ever seen before, he hoped he still had the instincts to find good sources.

  Then he noticed a small group nearby. A couple of women in the group looked different from the other people, more substantial and less like imaginary beings.

  “Her majesty is not going to be happy,” one of the women said.

  “She doesn’t need this girl,” the other one said.

  At the sound of her voice, he froze. He knew that voice. He still had it on an old voice mail message he couldn’t bear to delete. The woman was tall and red-haired, and she was … she was … “Jen?” he blurted, stepping toward her like he was moving in a dream. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath, and his bod
y didn’t want to obey him.

  She didn’t even turn her head. It was like she hadn’t heard him or didn’t recognize her own name. Instead, she wrapped her arm around the man standing next to her and leaned her head against him. Michael’s blood felt like it started flowing properly again, hitting him in a rush. He went up to her, faced her directly, and said again, “Jen!”

  She took a step backward, hiding behind her escort, then turned to exchange a glance with the other woman. This close, he knew it was definitely Jennifer. She looked exactly the way she had when she disappeared, though her hair was in a different style. He grabbed her arm. “Jen, it’s me, Michael. Your husband?” He twisted his wrist so that she could see his wedding band. “Where have you been all these years?”

  She looked at him like he was a complete stranger. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said, pulling her arm out of his grasp. “My name is Emma.”

  “No, it’s Jennifer,” he insisted desperately. “Your name is Jennifer Murray.”

  “I don’t like him,” the woman with her said in a stage whisper, and one of the guys with them stepped forward to block Michael from following as the women walked away.

  Michael struggled against them, but they were stronger than they looked and he wasn’t at full strength. “Jen, wait!” he shouted, but one of the men shoved him so hard he lost his footing. He landed awkwardly on his bad side, and the muscles in his chest weren’t strong enough to support the weight that landed on that arm. He was afraid he felt something tear, and he was too winded to get up.

  One of the men loomed over him like he was ready to finish him off, but then something flung the attacker backward. “Get away from him,” a firm voice said, and Sophie moved to stand between Michael and his assailant.

  Thirty-three

  The Cell in Maeve’s Apartment

  Meanwhile

  “Is she ever going to come back?” Emily griped as she paced the cell. Attacking Maeve’s people with their own iron shackles when they came to retrieve or torment the prisoners had sounded like fun when she and Eamon came up with the plan, but after hours of waiting, the fun had faded into boredom. “What if she’s forgotten us?”

  “She won’t forget,” Eamon said. His voice was stronger, though still a little hoarse with pain. “Not you, at least.”

  “Yeah, I’m her worm to bait the hook. But what happens to the worm when the fish don’t bite? It gets dumped in the lake.” She could tell he had no idea what she was talking about, but she didn’t think it was worth explaining the concept of fishing to him. Or did fairies fish?

  She stopped pacing and leaned her back against the wall. “Since Sophie’s not dancing to her tune, she’s probably just leaving me to rot.” She slid down the wall to sit beside him.

  He took her hand. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “To rot?”

  “For your sister to stay away so Maeve can’t use her.”

  “If Maeve has Sophie, she doesn’t need me. She could just leave me here.”

  “Do you really think your sister would be here without freeing you somehow?”

  “Not if she could help it,” Emily admitted. Forcing a smile, she added, “And we’d have heard the explosions. Even if she went down, she’d have gone down fighting.”

  He leaned his head back against the wall. “In the meantime, we may as well relax and enjoy the peace and quiet. Maeve is giving me the opportunity to rebuild my strength.”

  “Speaking of which, how are you doing?” She lifted the hand that was still clasped around hers so she could examine the wounds on his wrist. The blisters were healing, but the wrist was still a mess. The other one looked similar. She placed her hand on his forehead. “The fever seems to have gone down.”

  “I am much better,” he said in a hoarse whisper. His silvery eyes locked onto hers, and her breath caught in her throat. She slid her hand down to rest against his cheek, and then she moved to kiss him. This time, she hadn’t fallen under a spell and she wasn’t trying to find a way to thank him. She simply wanted to kiss him because she liked him and she’d gone through far more with him than with any other man she’d known.

  “Emily Drake,” he breathed against her lips as he returned her kiss. He cupped her cheek in his hand, and his cool touch made her shiver all over. “You’re so warm,” he murmured.

  She pulled back, shaking her head. “What are we doing? This is crazy. Romeo and Juliet just had families who hated each other. We can’t even live in each other’s worlds. Once I get home, I may never see you again—that is, assuming I get home.”

  “But we’re here together now,” he said, drawing her back to him. “We may as well make the most of whatever time we have.”

  Thirty-four

  Belvedere Castle

  Saturday, 1:00 a.m.

  Sophie reminded herself to keep her cool as she faced Maeve, even though all her instincts cried out for a good, old-fashioned catfight. “If you don’t need me and you don’t need my sister to take the throne, then let her go.”

  She held her breath, waiting for the response. If she remembered Maeve at all, her ego wouldn’t let her appear to need any help—unless she truly needed the help.

  Maeve took a long time to respond, which Sophie took as a sign that she had to think about it. At last, Maeve pulled herself to her full height, and maybe a little higher, then looked down her nose at Sophie and snarled, “How do you know that your sister didn’t join me willingly?”

  Sophie couldn’t fight back a smile. Maeve had just told her everything she needed to know. “If she’s happy with you, then perhaps you’ll allow me to visit her sometime.”

  A ruckus from the other side of the market distracted them before Maeve could respond. A group of Maeve’s people moved threateningly toward a tall, dark-haired man, threw him on the ground, and encircled him. “Michael?” Sophie gasped. How did he get here? she wondered as she rushed toward him. He shouldn’t even have been able to see this market.

  With a thought, she flung his attacker backward. Positioning herself between Michael and Maeve’s people, she shouted, “Get away from him!” She realized a moment later that she’d just used her magical abilities in front of Michael, but if he was at the market and fighting with Maeve’s people, he was in on the secret and had to know that there was something odd about her. As if he didn’t already suspect that.

  One good look at the group of Maeve’s people clustered nearby told her exactly what the fight was about. She recognized one of the women—a human woman—from the wedding photo in Michael’s apartment. He’d found his long-lost wife, and from the looks of things, she either didn’t remember her husband or wasn’t inclined to go with him. Oh dear, Sophie thought, this could get ugly.

  Maeve sauntered over and joined her people, smirking at Sophie. “So, your sister isn’t the only one you care about.”

  “I don’t like seeing anyone get hurt,” Sophie shot back. “Honestly, all your goons, ganging up on an injured man?”

  Behind her, she heard Michael struggling to catch his breath. She wanted to go to him, but she was afraid to turn her back on Maeve and her people. Then again, she probably needed to restrain Michael before he tried to go after his wife. She could hardly blame him; if Emily had been at this market, she knew she wouldn’t leave without her, even if she had to carry her out over her shoulder. But if his wife was part of Maeve’s court, and if she didn’t want to go, the chances of him getting away alive with her were extremely slim, even with Sophie’s help.

  A low bark from below her knees told her she wasn’t entirely alone. She’d nearly forgotten about Beau, who must have joined Michael while she was busy. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Amelia and Athena come over to flank Michael. The odds looked a little better. The big question was what the free fairies would do.

  As if Sophie had any doubt about what—and whom—Maeve wanted, Maeve turned to her men and said, “That’s the one. Take her, or else! I am tired of failure!”
>
  Maeve’s goons moved toward Sophie, one of them sending a silver chain flying at her. Not this again, she thought as she raised a hand and sent it back at him to wind around his neck. He stumbled backward, bumping into his colleagues. They tried to move forward but the air between them and Sophie shimmered and they bumped into something. A glance to the side showed Sophie that Amelia and Athena had sprung into action, creating the shield.

  While they held off the fairies, Sophie crouched beside Michael and got her arms around him to pull him to his feet. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Jen,” he gasped, struggling to get away from her. “They have Jen. She’s with them.”

  “I know, honey,” she murmured. “But we have to go, now.”

  “I’m not leaving without her.”

  “I understand, trust me, but that could be a bit of a challenge.”

  By this time, the rest of the free fairies had come to see what all the commotion was about. Some of them attacked Maeve’s people, others stood by as spectators, and a few joined in the attack on Sophie. Meanwhile, Maeve and her people were trying to dissolve the enchantresses’ magical shield. “Get him away from here!” Amelia shouted over her shoulder.

  “Easier said than done,” Sophie muttered. She grabbed Michael by the chin so she could look him directly in the eyes and said as forcefully as she could, “We’ve got to get out of here. Can you walk?”

  “I’m not going anywhere without Jen.”

  The shield wavered. Beau snarled, barked, and growled, and Sophie was getting desperate. “She won’t go with you right now. She can’t,” she said, pleading. “But we need to get out of here. I can find her later.”