A Fairy Tale (10 page)

She took a moment to collect herself before opening the door. The false cheer she’d put on when talking to her mother wouldn’t be necessary with Michael. She settled on a wan weariness so he’d assume she needed to rest and would leave her alone. When she opened the door, she was glad she’d planned her approach because his appearance left her momentarily too stunned to think.

Michael Murray looked very different from when she’d last seen him less than half an hour ago. He was still drawn and gray, with dark circles under his smoky green eyes, but he’d shaved the several days worth of stubble and combed his dark hair, and instead of the rumpled tracksuit he’d worn earlier, he wore a real suit. His shirt was open at the collar, and he wore the jacket draped around his right shoulder, over the sling. He held a tie in his left hand.

“Do you need help with that?” she asked, taking the tie from him. She had to stand on her toes to get it around his neck. As she straightened the knot and smoothed his collar, she became conscious of how intimate those little actions were and grew mildly flustered because he was rather handsome and she didn’t often get this close to a man. And he was married, she reminded herself, to a woman who had vanished because of her. She took a big step away from him and asked, “Now, where are you off to, all dressed up like that?”

“I had an idea.”

“Oh?”

“We ought to go to the theater and talk to the cast, see which ones went out with Emily last night. Tank might not get to that tonight, and we could give him a head start.”

It was a good idea, except that it was unnecessary. What she really needed to do was find a way into the local fairy realm so she could rescue Emily and Mrs. Murray. Twilight was the optimal time for that, when the barriers between worlds were weakest, and she might miss twilight if she went to the theater, which would delay her an entire day. “Are you really up to going out?” she asked, not having to fake concern. He’d cleaned up, but he still looked like death warmed over. “You should be resting.”

“I thought some fresh air would be good for me,” he said with a wry smile. More seriously, he added, “It may help if we can find out who saw Emily last, and where.”

She had to admit that he was right—more right than he realized. Knowing approximately where Emily disappeared might give her an idea of where to look for a gateway, but she couldn’t do that properly with him in tow. “I can go to the theater,” she said. “You don’t have to come with me. I studied dance in New York, so I can cope with the city.”

“I have no doubts whatsoever about that. But I’d like to come. It would make me feel a lot better to actually do something.”

Looking into his eyes, she could see that he needed this. It would be heartless to deny him. Maybe they could get it over with in time for her to get back and find a gateway. “Okay, but don’t look at me if your recovery is set back. I can’t go like this, though.” She indicated her muddy skirt. “Give me fifteen minutes to change.” She picked up the end of Beau’s leash and handed it to Michael. “Take Beau for a walk before we leave him alone.”

As soon as he was gone, she jumped in the shower and scrubbed the mud off her legs. After putting on a blue jersey dress, she coiled her damp hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, put on enough mascara to make her eyelashes visible, and finished her rapid makeover with a bit of tinted lip gloss. She’d just put on a pair of black ballet flats and was pouring fresh water into Beau’s dish when Michael returned. The flurry of activity had restored her equilibrium, so she was back in total control of herself.

“We may have to walk over to Columbus to hail a cab,” he said as they went down the front steps. “But at least it’s stopped raining, so we might be able to find one.”

She noticed someone halfway down the block getting out of a cab, so she stepped forward and waved. The cab came down the street and stopped for them. “How did you do that?” Michael asked as he opened the door for her with his good hand.

She slid across the seat and told the driver the address of the theater while Michael got in and closed the door. As the cab took off she said to Michael, “I waved my hand. It’s not hard. I’ll show you sometime. Or can you not do that left-handed?”

“I never see cabs on my street.”

“Well, it’s not like I brought it here with my magic powers.” He didn’t look like he was convinced, and she wished she’d invented a good reason for being in New York so quickly, so she wouldn’t have had to tell how she’d known Emily was in trouble. Now he’d assume everything she did was uncanny. On the other hand, she thought while fighting back a smile, she might be able to make use of that. As long as he didn’t burn her at the stake, it would be easier to keep him in line if he thought she was a witch.

When they got out of the cab near the theater, she said, “Oh dear,” with a deep, groaning sigh. The place was a shrine to Emily, with candles, stuffed animals, flowers, hand-drawn posters pledging support, and enlarged photos of Emily. People wearing T-shirts from the show stood near the shrine, handing out fliers to passersby.

Michael took her elbow and guided her through the crowd to the shrine. He dropped her arm and put his hand in his jacket pocket, then brought out and displayed a police badge. “Are you Emily Drake’s friends?” he asked brusquely.

With a sidelong glare at him, Sophie said, “I’m Emily’s sister, Sophie. She told me she was going out with some friends last night. Do you know who that would have been?”

A tall woman with skin the color of chicory coffee handed her stack of fliers to someone else and came over to Sophie. “I was one of them,” she said. “I’m Olivia Washington.”

Michael took a notebook out of his breast pocket, then fumbled one-handed for a pen while trying to hold onto the notebook. Sophie reached over and took the notebook from him, found a pen in her purse, and wrote down Olivia’s name.

“Where did you last see her?” Sophie asked.

Olivia frowned in thought, looking confused by the straightforward question. “In the cab, I think. We went to a diner—Fay’s, over on Eighth—then we couldn’t get a cab, so we started walking. A cab came along when we were about halfway there. Emily was the last stop, so she was still in the cab when I left.”

“Who else was with you?” Michael asked while Sophie wrote down what Olivia had said.

“Will Carter. He’s handing out fliers at the TKTS booth in Times Square, but he should be here soon because it’s almost cast call time. He was the first one we dropped off, though, so I was the last to see Emily.”

“Where did you catch the cab?” Sophie asked.

“Near Tavern on the Green, on Central Park West.”

“Was there anyone else?” Michael asked.

Olivia looked confused again, then she shook her head. “No, it was just the three of us.”

Sophie jumped in before he could ask a follow-up question. “Were you in the driveway, near a park entrance, or inside the park itself?”

Olivia shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t looking at the scenery. I was watching to see if the cab would stop for us.”

“And all of you got in the cab?”

That should have been another easy question, but Olivia wavered before saying, “Of course.”

With a glare at Sophie, Michael asked, “What time did you last see Emily?”

“I think it was sometime around two thirty.” He cast a glance down at Sophie at that, which she made a point of ignoring. Why did people always make a fuss about her little bursts of insight? They probably got them, too. They just didn’t listen to them.

Michael got Olivia’s contact information, which Sophie wrote down. “The detective who’s in charge of this case will be in touch with you,” he said.

“Thank you so much for your help,” Sophie added.

“We’re having a vigil tomorrow before the show—that is, if she hasn’t been found by then,” Olivia said. “We’d love to have you speak.” Before Sophie could demur—since she hoped the vigil would be unnecessary—Olivia said, “Oh, here comes Will. Will! Over here!” A young man with fair hair that flopped rakishly over his forehead came to stand by Olivia. “Will, this is Sophie, Emily’s sister. And …” She trailed off with a glance at Michael.

“This is Detective Murray,” Sophie said. “He’s Emily’s neighbor, and he’s been so kind to help me.”

Will’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he grinned and whispered out of the side of his mouth to Olivia, “It’s Officer Friendly.” Her eyes widened, too, and she shot a grin at Will. Michael made a valiant effort of pretending to ignore it. He hadn’t shown any signs that his relationship with Emily was anything more than platonic, but Sophie could see how Emily’s friends might wonder about the handsome detective upstairs.

Sophie took Will’s contact information, and he repeated the story Olivia told, with the same occasional look of confusion as he described the evening’s events. Then the two dancers said their farewells and headed for the stage door.

“They’re lying about something,” Michael said when they were gone. Sophie thought it looked more like they’d been magically befuddled, but of course she couldn’t tell him that. “We should go check out that diner,” he continued. “Maybe we can talk to someone who was working last night, and they’ll know if anyone followed them from there.”

Sophie heard him, but her attention was focused on her surroundings. She had the oddest feeling that she was being watched, and not merely in the sense that she was being observed at the center of a minor public spectacle. Moving in the direction of the feeling through the encroaching crowd of theatergoers, tourists, and arriving musicians and actors, she looked for the watcher. To give her that strong a tingle between the shoulder blades, someone would have to stare hard, and someone staring that hard should be noticeable.

The feeling grew more intense as she moved away from the theater, and then a hand brushed her arm, near her purse strap. She doubted a mere pickpocket would give her this degree of unease. She kicked out one leg and wrapped it around the interloper’s leg while she whipped her body around and grabbed his wrist. Then she was glad that she’d caught him with her leg before she saw him because her grip faltered. She’d caught herself a fairy, right there on Forty-fifth Street. She wouldn’t have thought they’d get that deep into a city.

He was taller than Michael, and he had silver hair and quicksilver eyes with a young/ancient face. The funny thing was, he looked just as shocked as she felt, even a little scared. He’d been watching her, but either he hadn’t expected her to fight back or she wasn’t what he expected.

“Are you Sophie?” he asked.

“Where’s Emily?” she demanded, wondering if she could reach the miniature iron horseshoe on her keychain.

She didn’t really expect the fairy to tell her, but he didn’t get a chance. Michael’s voice boomed behind her, shouting “Hey!” The fairy froze.

The Realm

Soon Afterward

Maeve’s men marched Emily through long hallways that didn’t seem to belong in the same world as Eamon’s library hut. She tried noting each turn, in case she had another chance to escape, but she soon gave that up. The Realm was impossible to map. She got the feeling she could go through the same door twenty times and never wind up in the same place twice. Her next step felt like it spanned an entire continent. When she blinked and cleared her vision, she found herself back in Maeve’s apartment.

Emily braced herself to be berated by Maeve, but the would-be fairy queen was otherwise occupied. She lay on the sofa, dressed in a marabou-trimmed peignoir, and complained to a group of attendants who didn’t fit the décor. “She should be here by now. This is taking far too long.” Emily thought Maeve was talking about her, but then Maeve looked right at her and said, “Oh, good, they found you,” before turning back to her people and saying, “Don’t return unless you’re bringing her to me.”

The attendants scurried away, and another group approached Maeve. One said, “Your majesty, the Gentry are gathering, as you instructed. It will have to begin soon.”

“I’m not ready,” Maeve thundered, and the attendant shrank away. More calmly, Maeve added, “Let them wait. Have the musicians play.”

Maeve made a few more decisions about what sounded like party plans, and when the attendants had all rushed off to do her bidding, Maeve finally turned her attention fully to Emily. “You should know better than to run off like that. The Realm is a very dangerous place. I shall have to reward Eamon for sheltering you until I could send someone to bring you back safely.”

Emily stiffened at the implication that Eamon had been cooperating with Maeve. She’d thought she’d reached an understanding with him. Had he been playing her, or was Maeve deliberately making her doubt her one possible ally in the Realm? “I’m sure he’d love another book,” Emily said with a careless shrug.

The front door opened and Maeve turned to face it, forgetting Emily’s presence. A man dressed like one of the wild fairies out in the park entered and dropped to one knee in front of Maeve. “There has been no sign of her, your majesty,” he said, bowing his head.

“No sign?” Maeve shrieked. “You must not be looking very hard. She’ll be here, I know it. Go, go look for her,” she ordered, pointing at the door. The man scrambled to escape, looking like he knew he’d dodged a bullet. Maeve took a few long, deep breaths through clenched teeth as her hands formed fists, and then she turned back to Emily, a cheerful smile on her perfect face. “What
are
you wearing?” she asked. “You’ve got to get ready for the celebration.” She glanced down at herself and laughed, adding, “And I’m not much better.” She waved her hand, and in a heartbeat, Maeve wore another fabulous Doris Day gown, this one a metallic gold to match her hair. Emily looked down to find that she now appeared to wear a pale blue dress with a lace overlay, like she was going to the prom in 1959.

“Ah, that’s better, now, isn’t it?” Maeve said with a satisfied smile as she rose gracefully from the sofa. “You’re a pretty girl. You should dress like it.”

More attendants arrived, updating Maeve on the celebration preparations and hinting that time was running out. “I’ll be there,” she insisted. “It’s royal prerogative to keep the court waiting.” When they were gone, she said to Emily. “I’m surprised your sister hasn’t come for you yet. The last time, it was a matter of seconds before she came to whisk you away. She does still love you, doesn’t she?”