To Catch a Queen (7 page)

She automatically signed autographs as she made her way through the crowd to Eamon. She barely held off throwing her arms around him. There were too many cameras in the vicinity. She settled for standing in front of him and saying, “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you. I was afraid you were avoiding me.”

“I thought it best that I taper off our acquaintance to allow you to readjust to this world.” He paused, then added softly, “It doesn’t seem to have worked.”

“But why reappear now? Did you miss me? Oh, wait, let me guess, Sophie sent you.”

He didn’t confirm or deny it. “I thought you were getting better, but your senses are dulled, are they not?”

After glancing around, she said softly, “This really isn’t the place to discuss it.” She slid her arm through the crook of his elbow. “Come on, I need a drink.”

She didn’t know if it was his magic that got them away from the stage-door crowd or if it was the appearance of the actor who played Mr. Knightley, who was quite the hunk with a glorious voice (it was a pity about the offstage personality), but soon they were heading down the street, unmolested by fans.

Although she normally avoided that kind of place like the plague, she dragged Eamon to one of the touristy chain restaurant/bars on Times Square. It would be impossible to talk safely in a quieter place, but noise and crowds would mask any conversation. Besides, if she had enough stimulation, she might feel a little more alive.

She ordered two of the brightest, fruitiest-looking drinks on the multipage cocktail menu and solemnly presented one to Eamon as a formal offering. She didn’t know what real-world alcohol would do to a fairy, but his kind sure knew how to drink in their own world.

“So, what does Sophie think’s wrong with me?” she asked, after taking a sip of a laser-red drink and finding it disappointingly bland. Even the bite of the alcohol was subdued.

He choked after swallowing a sip of his own drink. She patted him on the back until he could breathe again. Blinking tears out of his eyes, he gasped a couple of times, then said, “She believes you are under some kind of bond or thrall.” He put his glass down on the bar and grabbed her hand. She couldn’t help but yelp out loud at his touch. It was so startlingly real. And cold. Nodding, he added, “And I concur.”

He moved to withdraw his hand, but she clutched it desperately, unwilling to let go and lose the sensation. “This is something different from the effects of being in the Realm and drinking the Kool-Aid?”

“I am aware of no beverage served in the Realm called Kool-Aid.”

Trying not to roll her eyes, she said, “You know what I mean. This is different from that?”

“I believe so. When did it begin?”

She downed the rest of her drink and signaled for another. “Well, let’s see … I was kind of in a haze for the first few weeks after getting back. I was on fire onstage, but everything else was dim. Since I only felt alive when I was performing, I threw myself into it. That was when my career just exploded. They stopped talking about looking for a permanent lead, and I got all kinds of buzz. Then I started feeling better about the rest of my life. Not normal, but not in the same kind of fog. I seemed to have hit a plateau a few weeks ago, where I wasn’t getting any better. At least, not that I noticed. Then last week I started going downhill, to where I am now. I’m not as foggy as I was when I first got back, but I am kind of numb. I think I’d be begging you to take me back to the Realm so I could feel something if I didn’t have the show. That gives me a huge fix. So, Doc, what’s the diagnosis?”

“Why haven’t you said anything to your sister?”

Her new drink arrived, and she swallowed half of it before saying, “She has enough to worry about with the deadline for getting Jen back coming up. It’ll be seven years in just a couple of days, and that’s the cutoff.” The swirling colors in his mercury eyes bored into her, and she added sheepishly, “And I was afraid. I was doing so well in my work that I didn’t want to lose it. I didn’t
want
to be normal again.”

“Have you considered that your success may have been because it was the only time you felt truly alive, so you threw yourself into your performances?” He visibly braced himself, took a drink, then took her hand again and said earnestly, “You will never be entirely normal, Emily Drake.” His voice was a little husky, but she wasn’t sure if that was because of emotion or the effect of the alcohol.

Feeling a little flustered herself, she said, “You almost make that sound like a compliment.”

“You have fae blood. Of course you’re not normal.”

“I’ve had fae blood my whole life, but my career didn’t start working until all this happened to me.”

“I thought it happened just before. That was how I found you, after all.”

“So even if you’d never grabbed me, that would still have been my big break that made me a star?”

“Perhaps not to the same extent, since you would have had no reason to push yourself as hard as you have.”

The bartender slid a fresh drink in front of her. It was just as tasteless as the last one, but at least she was starting to feel like she was
supposed
to be numb. “I guess that means that the key to acting success is to perform like it’s your only reason for living.” She raised her glass in a toast, drained it, and signaled for another.

“I do wonder where these bonds came from, as I am certain they were not there before,” Eamon said, staring at her like he was analyzing her aura. “Perhaps it has something to do with that impostor queen.”

Even as tipsy as she was, Emily snapped to attention. “What impostor queen?”

“There are people being cast out of the Realm, supposedly by the queen.”

“Sophie would never do that.”

“Exactly.”

The bartender provided a new drink just in time. “Oh, great, I get to be a hostage again,” Emily groaned before taking a big gulp.

“That is a possibility.”

“You know, this is the last thing Sophie needs to worry about right now, since she’s got to save Jen. I don’t know that she really wants to, but she’s being all martyr-like about it and just wanting Michael to be happy. Blech.” She mimed gagging. “So don’t tell her, okay?”

“She is the one who told me.”

Emily signaled for the bill and handed her credit card to the bartender. “Then she’s gonna have to learn to delegate. She needs a council, or an army, or something.”

“She should know she has us at her disposal.”

She paused in signing the credit card receipt to look up at him. He was growing fuzzy and wobbling in a strange way. It occurred to her that downing a number of strong drinks on an empty stomach after hours of performing might not have been the best idea.

“Why don’t we go back to your place?” she asked, surprising herself.

“My place?”

“Your library. It’s cozy there.” She ran a finger along his jawline. “We could snuggle by the fire and think of how to help Sophie.”

“I don’t think so. We will go to your home.”

“Works for me.” She slid off the barstool and took a moment to get her legs under her before she dragged him out of the bar. She hailed a cab, and they settled into the backseat. He looked equal parts terrified and fascinated, and she realized this was probably his first ride in a car. She hoped there wasn’t enough iron in the car to poison him.

When they left the cab in front of her building, she found herself wanting to run toward the park, where she knew there were entrances to the Realm. He took her hand, distracting her with his touch. That could work, too, she thought, then said, “Why don’t you come inside?”

“I plan to.”

Her pulse quickened and her breath grew short. “You could stay the night.”

“That is my plan, as well. I don’t want you going out again in this state.”

Grinning to herself, she ran up the front steps. She had to release his hand to unlock first the front door, then her apartment door. Once they were inside, she threw herself at him, kissing him for all she was worth. He kissed back for a moment before pulling himself together and stepping out of her grasp. “I do not think that would be a good idea now, Emily.”

She grabbed his hand and reveled in the coolness of his touch. “You thought it was a great idea the last time.”

“The circumstances have changed.”

Still gripping his hand, she tugged him toward the daybed. He was tall, but as insubstantial as his kind tended to be, so she was able to drag him with her. “Come on, I know you’re different, but your people aren’t good at resisting temptation.” With one final yank, she pulled him onto the daybed with her.

For a moment, she thought he’d melt against her, but he resisted. His voice husky, he said, “Your sister would kill me.”

“What business is it of hers?”

“She is my sovereign. You swore an oath to her, as well.”

“I thought that was just for show.”

“If it worked, then it wasn’t just for show.”

Annoyingly, tears welled up in her eyes. “I need this, please,” she whispered.

He shifted so that he held her against his shoulder, like he might hold a child who’d awakened from a nightmare, and he stroked her hair gently. “It would be ungentlemanly of me because I believe you are el stinko.”

In spite of herself, she burst out laughing. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one in a very long time.”

“It’s wrong?”

“It’s a bit archaic.” With a sigh, she settled against him. “But yeah, I think maybe I am el stinko. Blotto. Wasted. Drunk off my ass. Three sheets to the wind.”

“What do sheets and wind have to do with inebriation?”

“I have no idea. I’m too drunk for etymology. I should know better to drink like that without eating.” She’d feel better in the Realm, she knew it, and if it hadn’t been for his solid grip on her, she’d have gotten up and gone. His stroking gradually lulled her into relaxation. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was better than she’d had in weeks.

She wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but when she woke he was gone and daylight was streaming through her window. Cold, she reached for a blanket and paused with it halfway over her body, suddenly conscious of the soft, fuzzy texture. She pulled it up to rub against her cheek.

Soon, she noticed other things—the taste in her mouth, the scent of Eamon on her pillow, the sound of traffic outside. The sense of being muffled was gone almost entirely. She leapt out of bed and into the bathroom, where she squirted toothpaste into her mouth, only to spit it out a second later when the mint was more than she could take.

“I don’t know what you did, Eamon,” she muttered to herself, “but baby, I owe you one.”

Maybelle, Louisiana

Thursday, 7:00 p.m.

“Look up, Madison!” Sophie shouted as a group of girls in black leotards and pink tights did grand jetés diagonally across the studio. “Watch your arms, Cameron! Flapping them won’t get you any higher.” When the last group had reached the corner, she clapped her hands and said. “Good job. Now, everyone to center for révérence.” She led the class through an abbreviated set of flowing stretches, ending in a deep curtsy. Rising from the curtsy, she clapped again and said, “Great class. Thanks, everyone.”

The teen girls in the class applauded halfheartedly as they exchanged puzzled glances. This was Sophie’s last class of the day, and she never ended on time. She’d changed into street shoes, wrapped a jersey skirt around her waist, and put on a sweater while the girls were still pulling on cover-ups and changing shoes. Since the studio was still open, she didn’t have to wait for them to leave, so she hurried out to her car. The market wouldn’t start until midnight in New York, but that was only four hours away, and she had a fairly elaborate plan to explain the fact that she was likely to be out all night.

As soon as she got home, she ran upstairs and took a shower. Afterward, she put on heavy tights and dance trunks. Instead of a bra and slip, she wore a filmy dance dress with a snug camisole lining. She never knew what currency she might have to pay for information or favors, so she needed to be prepared to dance. Over her dancewear, she put on a knit wrap dress that fit snugly through the body before swirling into a full, calf-length skirt.

Into her copious tote bag she threw an old pair of pointe shoes, a small iron skillet, and the cookies she’d made earlier that day. While she finished doing her hair and makeup, she used the electric teakettle she kept in her room to brew tea for filling her thermos. She had sandwiches and apples in her room’s dorm-sized refrigerator. With any luck, her mother would have no idea that she was prepared to survive a couple of days and even keep another person alive.

Then it was time to test her cover story. “I’m getting together with a friend,” she said as she passed the living room on her way out. “I’ll probably stay over in the city instead of coming home late, so don’t worry about me.” That was all true, and was it her fault if her mother thought the city in question was Shreveport rather than New York?

“I’m assuming this friend is female,” her mother said icily.

As a matter of fact, the friend from the New York class she’d made plans with
was
a woman, but something in Sophie snapped, and before she even thought about what she was saying, she said, “Is that any of your business?”

Her mother’s mouth hung open in shock. Sophie had never gone through a rebellious teenage phase, so that might have been the first time she’d ever sassed her mother. Finally, her mother said, “While you’re under my roof—”

Sophie cut her off. “But it’s not your roof. Technically, it’s still Nana’s. When she passes, it’ll be mine. I’m not living here as your dependent. I’m living here to help you. If you decide you don’t care for the way I’m living my life, you’re welcome to tell me not to come back under ‘your roof,’ but then you’ll get to deal with everything I’ve been taking care of for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m running late for dinner.”

She made her exit while she was still riding the adrenaline high and before she found herself backtracking and apologizing. It was a sign of just how shocked her mother was that she didn’t manage to react before Sophie made it to her car. Sophie forced herself not to look in the rearview mirror as she drove away, lest she have second thoughts. She was shaking with disbelief about what she’d just done, but it was high time, she told herself. Her belated teen phase did have some good points. Now, if only she could get over that foolish crush.