Ever After (20 page)

“Why didn't you try to rekindle things with Lavender later?” she asked. “I mean, if she meant so much to you, why didn't you fight for that love?”

I sighed. “Every good warrior knows when to make a strategic retreat, when to admit when he's beaten, and when to stand and fight to the death. I loved Lavender, but she'd made her choice and I had to respect that. And, after a little while, I realized she'd made the right decision. As much as we cared for one another, the truth was, I wasn't the right man for her, and she wasn't the right woman for me.”

“How do you know that?” Arabella pressed.

I took her by the shoulders and peered down at her, emotion making my throat tight when I said, “Because she wasn't you.”

Arabella's expression went through another series of rapid transformations, but this time of a very different sort. And when she finally settled on one, it was so full of happiness, I couldn't help smiling back. And I was still grinning when she pulled me down to receive her kiss.

 

“So who do you think gave Guinevere the pendant?” Arabella asked as we made our way back to the car, leaning on my arm a little more than she would've ever admitted.

I frowned at the question. “There aren't too many possibilities. Most of my king's offspring are daughters. His only son is Puck, but he's just bestowed his pendant within the last few months. I've never been asked to forge another for him.”

“Could the king have another son that you're not aware of?” she asked cautiously, studying me closely as she waited for a response.

Curious.

I shook my head. “Not likely. The Tales the king has been with know exactly what they'd be missing out on if they didn't claim his paternity. None of his children want for anything—nor do their mothers. My king is extremely devoted to all of his children. I see to it personally. Even when he and Puck were estranged, I secretly watched out for Puck, making sure he never got into too much trouble, that all his debts were paid, that his business interests were secure. Secretly, of course. Mab would've been furious had she known as she was the one who turned Puck out in the first place.”

“The queen turned out her own son?” Arabella asked, aghast. “I can't imagine a mother completely cutting herself off that way.”

“Mab's never been particularly maternal,” I explained. “She only bore three of the king's children and never cared for them. They were her pretty little baubles, playthings, status symbols. She and Lavender are only friendly again because Lavender managed to redeem herself with her recent heroics.”

“Well, that's
something
, I guess,” Arabella said.

I grunted. “Yeah, except Mab hasn't restored Lav's true identity within folklore. The Ordinaries only know of her as Cinderella's fairy godmother. And Puck's identity has been wiped clean, sanitized as much as Mab could manage. He has a story through his association with the Willies, which she can't control, but that's pretty much all that anyone remembers about him. And good luck finding Mab's youngest daughter
anywhere.
”

Arabella's brows shot up. “There's another daughter?”

“Precisely my point,” I replied. “Poppy has unfortunate taste in men, but she's a good girl—a kind and gentle soul, generous and trusting to a fault. But she was never powerful enough or ambitious enough to suit Mab. The queen has refused to have her good name tarnished by the exploits of her offspring.”

“Good Lord,” Arabella said, shaking her head in disbelief. “To think of a mother being so callous to her own children.”

“It irks Mab to no end that the king demands she accept his illegitimate children,” I told Arabella. “In this one thing, the king will not allow himself to be ruled by his wife.”

Arabella fell silent again for a moment before asking, “So, what if the king
did
have children he wasn't aware of?” she pressed. “What if there are children whose mothers didn't realize who he really was. Or
what
he was?”

“What are you getting at?” I asked.

“What if the king had children with Ordinaries?”

This brought me to an abrupt halt. “I'm not aware of any.”

She shrugged. “Hypothetically speaking.”

“Very well then,” I said, willing to play along even though the conversation was making me angry for reasons I couldn't even begin to understand. “
Hypothetically speaking,
how would someone
else
know that the king had children with Ordinaries if he himself wasn't aware of any?”

Arabella pursed her lips and I could practically see the wheels turning in her mind. “What time is it?”

Frowning at the sudden change in topic, I glanced up at the night sky. “Edging on midnight. Why?”

“Then we have to hurry,” she said, grabbing my hand and dragging me behind her. “There's a shipment of fairy dust coming through tonight. I know a shortcut that will get us there in time to intercept the drop.”

“Arabella!” I barked, bringing her up short. “What the hell are you talking about? I'm not going to knock over the king's shipment of fairy dust. I'm already in deep shit. The
last
thing I need to do is add robbery to my list of offenses.”

She huffed, frustrated with my resistance. “Gideon, if you want answers, this is the place to start.”

“How about you give me a few answers right now,” I insisted, standing firm. “I'm not taking another step until you come clean.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, then heaved a sharp sigh. “When I was stealing the fairy dust from the transports, it wasn't just for me.”

“What?” I said, shaking my head. “What do you mean?”

“There are nearly a dozen others
fading
, Gideon,” she told me. “And every single one of them is only half-Tale. Like me. But unlike me, it's their
father
who is Tale—and that father is your king.”

I
sat gripping the steering wheel of the Impala, my knuckles white, fury blazing through my veins as we waited at the airfield for the shipment of fairy dust to arrive. The information Arabella had shared with me on the drive to the drop location still buzzed in my head. The “children” ranged in age from infants to a man in his fifties who still looked like he was a strapping lad of twenty-five—or, at least, he
had
until he'd begun to
fade
.

The first case had surfaced just a couple of months after Arabella arrived, right around the same time she began to
fade
. It was a nine-year-old boy who had been healthy, happy, living a decent life with his adopted family in Oak Park. Then he suddenly began to waste away from a mysterious illness, and no matter how many specialists were consulted, no reason for his failing health could be identified. Then a similar case cropped up not far away in Glen Ellyn. A five-year-old little girl living in foster care. And then a fifteen-year-old set of twin boys in Schaumburg. The list grew rapidly.

Eventually, the National Institutes of Health was called in to investigate. There were three main commonalities linking all victims. They'd all been adopted or were living in foster care. Their mothers had either died under suspicious circumstances or had disappeared without a trace. And all the children had a blood type that no one had ever seen. And it was this last one that had raised the big red flag that had brought the Agency running.

“All of the children were taken to a medical facility in the Agency's Chicago headquarters for observation,” Arabella told me as I stared straight ahead, trying to take in all she was telling me.

Having been acquainted with the Agency for many years now, I could only imagine what they meant by “observation.” God knows what those kids had endured.

“It was only when Merlin made inquiries in his efforts to help me that the rumors of these lost and forgotten children came to his attention,” she continued. “And when it became clear that the small amount of fairy dust Merlin was able to procure was staving off my symptoms—at least temporarily—I made it my mission to help the children being held at the Agency.”

“And so what did y'do?” I demanded, well acquainted with her iron will. “March right up the steps and demand t'see the person in charge?”

I felt her shrug next to me. “Something like that.”

I smothered a smile, pride in my brave lass momentarily breaking through my fury and concern.

“Fortunately,” she went on, “the new director of the Agency didn't toss me into one of their holding cells or demand that Al Addin lock me away in FMA prison for barging in and threatening some damned treaty between the FMA and the Agency. How in the hell was I supposed to know there was a treaty anyway? I'd only been here a few bleeding months!”

I turned my gaze toward her at this, not surprised to see her aura growing weaker with the level of her frustration.

“The Agency refused to let the children leave, of course,” I filled in for her. There was no need for her to say it. These children were exactly the kind of chance to study our kind that the Agency had been looking for, even if the children were only half-Tale. They never would've walked away from that kind of opportunity just because some random—albeit adorably spunky—Tale asked them nicely. Or not so nicely. I can only imagine my brave lass barging in and demanding the children's release.

She grunted. “They gave me some cocked-up excuse about being responsible for the children's medical care and not wanting to take the risk of discharging them without a guarantee of the proper care.”

“The Ordinaries are good at fabricating ‘cocked-up' excuses to hide their fuckups,” I muttered. “Trust me.”

“Yeah, well, their attitude toward me changed when I assured them that fairy dust could slow the
fading,
” she said. “They agreed not to turn me over to the FMA for trespassing and all the other bullshit charges if I helped them gather the mass quantities of fairy dust they'd need for the children. It all had to be kept hush-hush, of course, so as not to jeopardize the agreement.”

I huffed. “Wouldn't have expected any less of 'em.”

“I enlisted Merlin's assistance,” she admitted. “I told him if he helped me, he'd get the chance to dive into pages and pages of medical records and other documents to help find an answer to save us all. He couldn't resist.” She sighed, growing visibly weary. “Merlin's search was futile, as it turned out. But he did make an important discovery about the children's shared blood type: it perfectly matched that of your king, which was on file with the FMA's database.”

I pulled a hand down my face.
Fucking hell.
The king had managed to keep himself out of all the Tale databases for nearly two centuries. But thanks to his unexpected sojourn in the hospital a few years earlier, his rather unique medical profile was now public.

“You should've informed the FMA,” I told her, diverting the topic slightly. “Al Addin wouldn't have let this go on had he known.”

“No one is supposed to know about it,” Arabella insisted. “They said they would kill the children if we interfered. Or if I stopped delivering fairy dust. They have them booby-trapped in some way. Something about a ‘kill switch' microchip embedded in their skin. If the kids leave the premises, it will trigger the switch and stop their hearts.”

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, scrubbing the stubble along my jaw. “There's got to be a way. We can't leave those children—old or young—in there for the Agency to experiment on.”

“We'll get them out,” Arabella assured me. “As soon as we figure out a way to save them, we'll do what we have to.”

My chest was growing increasingly tight the more I thought about what was happening. If these were, in fact, the king's offspring, I was duty-bound to protect them at any cost. And I'd be damned if anyone could keep me from doing my duty.

I wished Arabella had come to me sooner, had enlisted
my
help instead of Merlin's. Perhaps we already would've had a resolution to the dilemma—and she wouldn't be slowly dying, sacrificing what little vitality she had to try to save these children she'd only heard about in rumors.

“The search for the relics,” I said, a gut-wrenching thought suddenly occurring to me. “It was never about saving you, was it, Arabella?”

She didn't immediately answer, but her silence told me what I needed to know before she said, “No.”

“It won't work,” I snapped, fear sparking my temper. “The legend states that a person has to possess them all to be immortal. They can't be spread out among the children. You can't save them all.”

“I know!” she shouted. Then she took a deep breath and let it out slowly before adding, “But maybe I can save
one.
If I can save even
one . . .
”

I took her hand in mine, holding it gently, knowing the kind of hell that was weighing on her shoulders. I'd been there. “But which
one
, lass?”

“I don't know. Right now, I'm not even sure I can save
any
of them. Once I have all the relics, if the
fading
stops, then I'll figure it out. I'll figure out some way . . .” Her face fell, sorrow and hopelessness overwhelming her and swamping my senses. “My God, Gideon . . . How can I possibly
choose
? They're children!”

I pulled her into my arms, holding her against my chest. Smoothing her hair, kissing the top of her head, murmuring what words of comfort I could. Knowing damned well that it wasn't enough.

“I'll go to the king,” I told her. “I'll persuade him to help. He will not refuse.”

She pushed against my chest, pulling out of my embrace, her eyes wide. “But, Gideon, if you go now while you're disavowed—”

“Hush, now,” I soothed, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Let me worry about that.”

“If you insist upon going, I won't let you go alone,” she vowed, stubborn as ever. “I'll go with you.”

I scoffed. “Don't be daft, lass. I'm not about to let you stroll in there and risk the king's wrath.”

“Oh, but it's fine for you to face his wrath alone?” she huffed. “You have no problem waltzing headlong into danger and leaving me at home to fret and worry and be the good little helpless woman, wringing her hands until your return, is that it?”

I sighed, savoring the taste of the foot I'd firmly lodged in my own mouth. “That's not what I meant—”

“Then I'm going and we'll not have another word about it,” she spat, lifting her chin at that stubborn angle, ever defiant.

I shook my head, marveling at the iron will of my darling girl. She'd never been one to hide in the shadows and wait until danger had passed. Not my little love. I should've known better than to even suggest such a thing. “Then we'll have to be strategic about it,” I relented, smothering a proud grin. “It won't do me any good if you're captured along with me.”

A satisfied smile curved her lips and lit her eyes. “That's more like it.”

I had just leaned forward to brush a playful kiss to her lips when she abruptly straightened, suddenly on alert. Regrettably, my kiss missed the mark, landing on her cheek instead. But before I could even groan in frustration, she was scrambling out of the car.

I threw open the door and joined her behind the shipping container where she'd taken cover. “There they are,” she whispered, nodding toward the nondescript black armored truck from the fleet that the king used for all his shipments.

I narrowed my gaze, taking in the scene before me. Two of the king's guards got out of the truck and went around to the back to unload the cases of fairy dust that would be neatly stacked inside.

I knew from the incident reports I'd read that every time one of our transports had been attacked, the thefts had taken place sometime between when they were unloaded from the truck and when they were transferred to whatever was the next mode of transport. Hardly surprising. Tonight, the crates were to be loaded onto a plane that would be flying the shipment to the fairy clinic that served our kind in Alaska and half of Canada. Because of its remote location, that clinic only received shipments three times a year, as opposed to the monthly shipments most of our other North American clinics received, so it was even more imperative that this shipment make it.

“Have you ever seen the other thief?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I never take more than one crate,” she assured me. “The person who steals the rest of it must come in after I'm already gone.”

As I watched the guards moving the crates from the truck to the plane, I couldn't help grunting in disgust. It was no wonder that the transports were regularly attacked. The lackadaisical way in which the guards unloaded the crates made me want to march over there and crack some heads. Knowing full well the problems we'd been having, they should've had at least two guards on watch, keeping an eye on things as the others moved the crates. And there was no protective barrier, no spells shielding the transports or the guards.

“This is bullshit,” I grumbled. “Incompetent idiot.”

“Who do you mean?” Arabella asked.

“That bastard Reginald Mann,” I spat. “I gave him specific instructions about how to improve security for the transports. He's disregarded every single one of them.”

“I'm going to go down and have a closer look,” Arabella whispered, gesturing toward the truck. Before I could respond, she had draped her invisibility cloak around her shoulders and was tiptoeing in the guards' direction.

I cursed under my breath, wishing I knew what spell her mother had used on that damned cloak so I could replicate it. Instead, all I could do was hold my position and wait. And hope that Arabella wouldn't do something foolish and give herself away.

Fortunately, I didn't have to wait long.

The guard had only managed to move about half the supply to the plane when a sleek, silver Porsche came racing toward them. The driver braked too fast, sending the car skidding and throwing up a cloud of dust. But the little maneuver was controlled, all for show.

I grunted, knowing who the driver was even before he got out.

Reginald strolled toward the guards, one hand nonchalantly tucked in the pocket of his slacks. The guards immediately halted and came to attention, treating the asshole like he was their commander instead of the queen's glorified errand boy.

Arrogant son of a bitch.

I could hear the murmurings of a conversation taking place between him and the guards, but even with my enhanced hearing ability, they were too far away for me to make out what they were saying. No doubt Reginald had decided to drop in on the guards unannounced to check their progress and make sure they didn't fuck up another transport. If the nervous expressions they wore were any indication, they'd been given one hell of a warning about what might happen to them if they failed.

Of course, if Reginald had wanted to ensure a night without incident, he would've chosen two more capable and experienced guards—not the two men who stood before him, shaking in their boots. These two had only been hired two months before, having been recruited from new arrivals in Make Believe at the behest of the queen. She'd felt our current guards were growing lazy and incompetent and insisted that we needed to increase our numbers to ensure the Seelie interests were adequately protected.

In that one regard we had agreed, but instead of leaving the hiring to me, she had once again depended upon Reginald's opinion. And here before me was the proof of his impeccable judge of character. Instead of hiring fierce warriors who would be loyal to the crown, he'd managed to find two of the most nervous, cowardly recruits I'd ever seen.