Faebound Rhapsody

by Amy J. Wenglar

  “No. You don’t have to do this, Horace,” I whisper, my voice like sandpaper against my throat. “I know you don’t want to…” He chokes back a sob. “Who put you up to this? Was it Summer? Atticus Drake?” He gasps, as if I’ve just struck a nerve. I swallow hard against the sharp blade of the dagger. “Let’s just…get out of this mess here. Let’s talk about this like rational…beings.” I catch myself before I slip and say “humans”. No need to set him off in a rage right before he kills me.

  “I can’t do that, child. Please forgive me. Please understand that it is not personal.” His voice breaks.

  And that’s when I realize he’s going to kill me. There is no stalling…no talking him out of it. This is it. I throw out a silent call for help to anyone who may hear me. I pray that my magic will save me. I need it now more than ever. The dagger tears into my flesh, and I slump forward, gasping for air. My last thoughts are of Alexander, standing in front of that fire, waiting for a bride who will never show.

  Falling forward into the thick brambles, I brace myself for pain that doesn’t come. I wait for the warmth and light that they say accompanies death, but that doesn’t come either. I feel weightless, like I’m levitating just above the ground, suspended in some sort of purgatory. Maybe no one knows what to do with me. Heaven? Hell? Something else? As my life bleeds out of me, my vision falters, and the world around me fades into nothing.

  That’s when I see Horace floating above me, arms and legs flailing as if he’s being lifted against his will by some strange invisible force. He stares down at me, his eyes wide with fear, before his body hurtles backward, slamming into a nearby tree trunk. Darkness closes in around me. The last thing I see is the dagger plunged deep in Horace’s chest, and his eyes staring back at me, frozen in terror.

  14

  The first things I notice are the sunlight and a warm, tropical breeze. As I blink my eyes open, I can feel its warmth on my face as it streams in from an open window.

  Sunlight? Tropical Breeze? What the…

  If I am dead, then heaven is lovely, but I would’ve thought it might have nicer curtains. I sit up, pushing myself upright and wincing at the searing pain in my throat. I reach up, my fingers brushing against what feels like thick strips of gauze. Bandages, perhaps?

  It hadn’t been a dream at all. Horace had tried to murder me. But his plan backfired when an unseen force yanked him off of me, threw him into a tree, and pinned him to its trunk by his very own dagger.

  Someone…or something…saved my life. And brought me to…a resort?

  I push gruesome images of Horace from my mind and gape at the beautiful, but very unfamiliar room. What is this place? And how can it be so sunny when the rest of the world is dark and gloomy?

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed. That’s when I notice I’m wearing pink silk pajamas. My thoughts race, and my pulse hammers in my ears. What’s going on, and why am I wearing pink pajamas? Pink is a color I avoid under all circumstances. I take a deep inhale to calm the panic rising inside of me, despite the five-star accommodations.

  My legs buckle beneath me when I stand, and my feet seem foreign and detached from the rest of me. Once I find my equilibrium, I take tiny, careful steps toward the huge floor-to-ceiling windows and gaze out at miles and miles of ocean spread out before me.

  Identical bungalows built on stilts form a u-shape over the water. All are connected to a wooden deck leading to a beautiful white sand beach that stretches as far as I can see. I’ve seen places like this before. Fancy resorts on the other side of the world where the rich and famous play and post pictures to social media with cheesy humble-brags and hashtags about gratitude.

  People amble along the beach, dressed in breezy beachwear, their skin tanned and glowing. Some carry elaborate-looking cocktails with pieces of fruit and frilly umbrellas sticking out of the top. Couples walk hand-in-hand, murmuring to each other and laughing as if they don't have a care in the world. It doesn’t make sense. What is this place?

  Could I be in Faerie?

  I replay the series of events as I remember them until this point, hoping to trigger something…anything that might help me understand how I got here. I was supposed to meet Alexander. We were going to be lightbound. Then Horace came along and tried to kill me, but he was unsuccessful. I think. Now, the question is, who saved my life?

  Tears well up in my eyes as I search for my purse, for my phone—anything that might help me understand what is going on. But my purse is gone. My beautiful blue gown is missing. I am all alone in this room.

  My entire body tenses when the door to my room cracks open. I grip the edges of the bed as panic starts to build inside of me. A young woman around my age, or maybe a couple of years older, steps in. She offers me a friendly smile as she closes the door behind her. She looks familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen her before. In my head, she is with a dark-haired man with floppy hair and bedroom eyes. But those visions are fleeting and fade away before I can make sense of them.

  "You're awake,” she murmurs as she approaches the bed. I scan the room, looking for an escape. I could punch her in the face and make a break for the door. And then what? Run along the beach, screaming for help? “Don't be afraid.” She puts her hands out. “I’m not here to hurt you or anything. I’m checking on you.” She peers down at my bandages. “You’ve been through a lot, and…the nurse sent me…may I check your injuries?” I don’t have much choice since she’s invaded my personal space, so I nod in response. Her hands are gentle as she lifts the bandages. “Good,” she says with a relieved smile. “I’m no doctor, but I’d say you’re on the mend.”

  “Where…am I?" I croak, pain tearing through my vocal cords. “And who are you?”

  “They call me Jess,” she says, toying with a lock of her luxurious blonde hair. A gigantic smile spreads across her face. The calm that radiates from her tanned, slender body is almost unnerving. Either she’s high on some pretty potent drugs, or she’s been here way too long.

  “What do you think? Isn’t it great?” she asks, clapping her hands and marveling at the room. “He’s saved us all…brought us here when we had nowhere else to go and nowhere else to turn.” She lets out a dreamy sigh. “He treats us so well, too.” Her eyes meet mine. “You’ll love it. Every day, we get all-you-can-eat buffets, along with all the drinks we could want. There’s even a world-class pastry chef on the island. And it's all free.” Her smile widens as if she can hardly believe it herself.

  “Who is he?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “Does he have a name, or is it a secret?” Jess offers a sympathetic smile in response. “I was on my way to get married. I had somewhere to be…somewhere to go.” Anger and frustration build up inside of me. "I was on my way to meet my husband when you people…whoever you are…brought me here.” My voice cracks with emotion.

  “Yes,” says Jess, her brows pulling together. “And, as I understand it, you almost met with a terrible end. You’re lucky we were there to save you.”

  “Who are you people?” I ask, growing more annoyed. “Is this some kind of cult?” A chill races up my spine at the thought. "Did you bring me here to…oh, I don’t know…sacrifice me?”

  I realize the ridiculousness of this assumption. They wouldn’t be treating my injuries and putting me up in a luxury-resort-bungalow if they were going to turn around and kill me. Would they?

  “Oh, heavens no,” she giggles, as she makes herself at home by plopping down on the bed beside me. Jess apparently sees no need for personal space. “You will meet with him tonight. He’ll explain everything.” She reaches for my hand, and despite the weirdness of the situation, I feel her out, trying to determine if she’s magical. But there doesn’t seem to be anything magical about her. “He’ll be so happy you’re awake.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “You're so lucky. He seems to have taken a special interest in you. All the girls are jealous.” She releases my hand. “And between you and me, a few of the guys are as well.”


  "Who?” I ask, throwing my hands up in frustration. “Who are you talking about? Does this mystery man have a name?” It’s as if I’m beating my head up against a beautiful-blonde-bimbo wall.

  "I'm not supposed to say anything,” she says, lowering her voice. “He doesn’t want to reveal his identity yet. But trust me… you are, like, the guest of honor. You are receiving the best of care, and he’s insisted that you have the best room in the house. You're like royalty."

  “If you only knew,” I mutter.

  “Hey,” she says, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “We have some time. If you're feeling well enough, there are some clothes in the dresser. Get dressed and meet me outside on the beach.” She leaps to her feet. “You’ll get a better and more in-depth tour from him, obvi, but I can still show you some cool stuff.” She holds her hands out like she’s just finished a major presentation. “What do you think?”

  I’m not sure what choice I have at this point. It appears that I am out in the middle of a tropical-nowhere, and until I can make a daring escape plan or my friends come looking for me, it’s probably a good idea for me to comply with Peppy McPepperson.

  “I’m okay,” I say, forcing a smile as I make my way to the dresser. “Question, though.” I fix Jess with my friendliest smile, realizing I’m about to broach a taboo subject. “Despite the generosity and kindness this mystery host shows you all, does anyone ever leave this place?”

  “Oh, no. That's not possible,” she says, laughing as if that’s the silliest thing she’s ever heard. “But don't worry. After you've been here long enough, you'll never want to go home. This is heaven on earth.”

  Aha! So we are still on earth. That's a start.

  "Okay, I guess I'll…meet you outside.”

  Jess flounces out of the room, her long, blond curls bouncing behind her. I find a pair of flowy pants and a tank top inside the dresser drawers, and as I dress, I examine my injuries in the mirror above the dresser. The woman was right. My injuries are healing.

  She waits outside for me, that same huge, carefree smile pulling at her lips. She’d been standing there smiling at the door the entire time.

  “Ready to go?” she asks. As I step out of the bungalow, I glance down, realizing I’m not wearing any shoes. “Oh, you don’t need shoes here.” She laughs and gestures toward the white sand beach.

  Jess gives me an overview of what she calls “The Island”, her movements animated, almost theatrical as she shows me around. On the beach, there is a casual sand volleyball game taking place. Others wait in line for drinks at a huge outdoor bar set up just off the volleyball court. Vintage tiki lounge music wafts over the air from unseen speakers, and I watch as a lean surfer emerges from the water. Silhouetted by the sun, he tucks his board under his arm and jogs up the beach toward a stately white building overlooking the water, but I swear I catch him doing a double take when he sees me.

  Probably wondering who the pasty, sickly looking girl is and why she’s bandaged up like a mummy.

  “…we were all in desperate need of help." Jess stops and turns to me, lightly touching my arm. “Some of us were dangers to ourselves. Others were being pursued…sort of like you.” She nods toward the bandages on my neck. “He saved us. We owe him everything." She smiles at me. "This may seem a little strange for you. It's strange for everybody in the beginning. But I promise, once you meet him…once you talk to him and you see how good…how kind he is, you will be happy. You're one of the lucky ones. Just like us."

  Just like us…Just like us… And that's when it hits me. “Just Like Us” is the name of a movie. A rom-com, to be exact.

  “Wait! You’re Jessica Naughton,” I blurt, stopping to gawk at the confused woman as if just now seeing her for the first time. “You were in ‘Just Like Us’ with that one British guy with the floppy hair and sexy bedroom eyes!” My mouth falls open. Greg and I had this conversation weeks ago. “You vanished without a trace.”

  “And yet, here I am,” she says, looking slightly annoyed that I’ve blown her cover.

  “But why?” I ask. “Why would you come here? You were…are…an A-List actress.”

  “I was miserable,” she admits. “Strings and strings of bad relationships and constant pressure to look a certain way…act a certain way. It was too much. I was ready to take my own life.” Her eyes drift down to the ground. “I met him at an industry party. And he saved me…from myself.”

  “Oh.” I’m not sure if I should be completely star-struck or completely terrified. Because, if this A-List actress disappeared without a trace, then I think it’s safe to assume that I did, too. “I’m…glad you’re here. I’m glad he saved you.”

  “Yes.” She nods. “I owe him everything,” she says for about the fiftieth time.

  “Can you at least tell me his name?" I ask, my heart speeding up in my chest. “Come on. I’m just dying to know. You can tell me,” I urge. “I promise to act surprised when I meet him.”

  Jessica scans the beach and then glances over her shoulder. “Okay," she says with a secretive grin. “I don't suppose it would hurt anything, after all. You’re going to meet him soon enough, anyway. And it’s not like you’d know him or anything. He’s very modest and wishes to remain out of the spotlight, despite his generosity.” She pauses, chewing her bottom lip. “But, if you can’t stand the suspense any longer, then I will tell you.”

  I plaster an eager grin on my face and lean in toward her, waiting to learn the identity of the mystery-man, when another young woman, this one wearing a short, frilly bathrobe, her hair piled up in curlers and her skin caked with heavy makeup, comes running across the beach toward us.

  “What are you doing out here with her, Jessica?” she hisses. “They’re waiting for her in the salon, remember?” She turns to me, a no-nonsense expression on her face. “Take off those bandages and let’s go.” She gives me a quick once-over and nods toward the big white building. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, and you don’t want to be late.”

  The salon is abuzz with activity when I arrive, and I feel as if I’ve stepped backstage at a reality show audition. Frantic women in various stages of dress run around like chickens with their heads cut off. They shriek and squawk, waving their hands, and fanning their faces as they fight back tears that threaten the stability of their fake eyelashes and heavy eye makeup. It’s obvious they’re preparing for something big.

  All eyes are on me the moment I step in the room, and I am whisked to one of the few open chairs in the room by an eager attendant. I keep my eyes trained forward, but I can still hear the catty things being said about me as I race through the salon. The frilly robe-woman had been right. Compared to these women, I have a long way to go before I’m ready for this big event, whatever it is.

  “So, what are we doing here today?” asks a tall woman with perfectly waved brunette locks. She runs her hands through my hair and frowns. I feel a little embarrassed when a couple of leaves flutter out of my tangled strands and fall to the floor. “How do you want me to style you for your presentation tonight?” She blows a bubble with her gum and frowns at my mess of hair that has long since fallen from Jo’s glamorous updo.

  “Uh…” I stammer. I thought I was going to meet the mystery resort owner. “I’m… not sure. What’s the occasion?”

  The woman rolls her eyes, not impressed by my complete ignorance. And a thought occurs to me: what if this is a reality show audition?

  “Funny,” she says, snapping her gum again before turning back to my disastrous hair. “So, you’ve got a lot of products in your hair already.” She pauses as she picks at my hair again. “I will still need to wash you. I have no idea what products you use, but I can’t get my hands through this.” She steps back for a moment to study me. “I know what I’ll do,” she says, brightening. “You’ve got this beautiful silvery-blonde hair that’s totally on trend right now. I’d hate to put it up.” She pauses, tapping her finger against her chin. “I’m going to do long waves and then a sort of half-
up style. Best of both worlds.” She walks around to study me from the other side. “Yes. That’s what I’ll do. He’ll like that.”

  She brings me back to the hair-washing station where she washes and conditions my hair. And then I’m pretty sure she washes it and conditions it again. She’s not used to Faerie-strength hair products.

  “My name’s Hannah,” she says, grinning down at me.

  “Sophia,” I say.

  “Oh, I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are,” she laughs, waving a soapy hand. “You’re the most important person here right now.”

  “That’s…nice?” I say. “But I’m afraid I don’t understand. And Jessica didn’t tell me anything, so I’m just sort of wondering…what…is going on?”

  Hannah says something, but obnoxiously shrill cheering sounds from the other end of the salon drown her out.

  “It’s like this for every single presentation,” she says once the laughter has died down. “He’s like a celebrity. And these girls all think he’s going to choose them.” She rolls her eyes again, making air-quotes around “choose,”.

  “Who?” I ask as she leads me back to her chair and gets to work. “And what is this presentation-day-thing? Who am I being…presented to exactly? Someone from the royal family?”

  “He may as well be,” Hannah snorts as she combs through my hair. “His name is Atticus Drake.”

  And just like that, the mystery man’s identity is revealed. Why couldn’t Jessica have ripped that band-aid off earlier and told me? Hannah had no problem. I feel the blood drain from my face and my lips go numb as panic seizes me, pressing me into the chair.

  “Atticus…Drake?” I repeat, my voice sounding distant and strained. I don’t want to freak out. According to my friends and to Chris…sources I can trust…Atticus has been flying under the radar since we’ve been back. But he still escaped a highly secure Fae prison for some unknown reason. He’s still a bad guy. He still wants to kill Alexander…and probably me, too. Trying my best to push those thoughts aside, I take a deep breath. “I’m being presented to Atticus Drake?”