A Fairy Tale (11 page)

“She’s probably operating in stealth mode,” Emily said, even as she couldn’t help but wonder where Sophie was. She’d sent the food, so she was on the case, but why wasn’t she here yet? “You won’t see her coming. You won’t even know she’s been here until you notice that I’m not here anymore.” Not that Emily believed a word of this. Sophie had a particular talent for shock and awe. If she was in the Realm, everyone would know about it. So where
was
she?

Strangely, Maeve seemed more distressed by Sophie’s absence than Emily was. With a sick lurch of her stomach, Emily realized that Maeve was using her for bait. Sophie wasn’t easy to trap, but she could be counted on to rescue her kid sister. But why would Maeve want Sophie?

The front door opened again and an attendant meekly poked her head through the gap, keeping her body shielded behind the door. “Your majesty, we can’t wait any longer. They’re expecting your announcement.”

“I can’t make the announcement because it hasn’t happened!” Maeve screamed, her face momentarily losing its beautiful glamour and becoming terrifyingly ugly. An instant later, she calmed and said, “But it’s only a matter of time. I will be down in a moment.” The attendant nodded and ducked away, closing the door behind her.

Maeve raised her hand and snapped her fingers. The two goons who’d retrieved Emily went to stand on either side of the apartment’s front door, which Maeve opened with a wave. The goons led the way, with Maeve following and the rest of the fairies who’d been in the apartment falling in behind her. Emily got swept up with the procession. She doubted she had a choice, but she went willingly with the hope that she’d finally figure out what was going on.

They trooped through the hallway to a wide staircase that led down to what looked like the lobby of one of the old apartment buildings on Riverside, but bigger and grander than any apartment lobby, more like a ballroom. It was full of fairies dressed in Maeve’s midcentury style, caught up in the party to end all parties. Sophie had always sniffed haughtily that “party” wasn’t a verb—which told Emily that her sister hadn’t been much fun in college—but this gathering proved her wrong. This was
definitely
partying in verb form. There was music, singing, dancing, and vast quantities of food, with drink flowing freely from a fountain in the middle of the room. In spite of the energy bar and peanuts she’d had not too long ago, Emily’s mouth watered.

The others from the apartment hustled Emily with them down the stairs and into the heart of the party. Maeve remained above, standing with her hands on the railing of a balcony that overlooked the lobby/ballroom. A soft buzz spread through the room, and without any fanfare or announcement, soon everyone was quiet and facing Maeve, who looked like she would burst into “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” at any moment.

When she was sure every eye was on her, Maeve said, “I have wonderful news, my people! I have it within my power to take the empty throne, and soon, very, very soon, I will rule the entire Realm. Once I unite the Realm under my rule, we will turn our attention to the world above. They no longer pay us tribute. They no longer make offerings to us. Most of them have forgotten us. But we will remind them, and we will rule them!”

Emily’s stomach threatened to rebel at the thought of Maeve leading a fairy attack on humankind. The deafening cheering from Maeve’s people only made it worse. It sounded like they thought attacking humanity was a great idea. Then again, she got the impression that they were a bunch of sycophants who’d have cheered anything Maeve said, and if that was the case, why had Maeve been so worried about her announcement?

As the cheering continued, Emily noticed that it wasn’t as unanimous as she’d initially thought. She did a double take when she noticed some of the people who weren’t cheering. She thought she recognized the Nick and Nora couple, dressed to fit into Maeve’s court. Not too far away was another couple that looked totally out of place in Doris Day attire, and Emily was fairly certain they were the scary pair who’d led the procession that sent everyone fleeing in terror.

The two couples noticed each other, and Emily instinctively moved as far away as she could in that crowd because the hatred between them was so powerful it lit up the air around them. Even Maeve noticed it, as she interrupted her
Evita
moment to stare with horror down at her audience. “What are you doing here?” she hissed, her voice not much above a whisper but ringing over the sounds of the crowd. “Niall and Orla, Fiontan and Niamh, you are far from your courts.”

“You’ve found the ancient palace, have you?” said the white-haired fairy woman—Niamh, the fairy in the park had called her. “But if you have found it, then I must wonder why you do not present yourself as the crowned sovereign rather than merely announcing your intentions.”

And that, Emily realized, explained Maeve’s nerves. Announcing her plan to take the throne must have been plan B, and her original plan had been to present it as a done deal. It sounded like not finding Sophie had something to do with plan A not working, and that meant that Sophie was somehow essential to making it happen.

But what could Sophie possibly have to do with taking the throne of the fairy realm?

Maeve didn’t have a good answer for Niamh, and while she was still struggling to come up with one, Niamh and her consort exchanged a glance, then vanished in a shimmer of light. “You don’t have that throne yet, darling,” the one Emily thought of as Nora, but who must be the one Maeve called Orla, purred, and she and Nick—probably Niall—also vanished.

Maeve looked close to panic, her eyes going wide and white as her fingers grasped the balcony railing. “Find her, now!” she shouted.

Emily found herself in the odd position of hoping her sister
didn’t
come rushing to her rescue this time.

The Theater District

Wednesday, 7:15 p.m.

“That diner is a few blocks this way,” Michael said, then realized he was talking to himself. Sophie had vanished. He had a flash of panic at the thought of another woman disappearing on him. A tour bus had just disgorged a swarm of theatergoers, and black-clad musicians were flocking to the theaters with instrument cases strapped to their backs. In all that confusion, it was impossible to spot one small woman. Or so he told himself.

His heart racing furiously, he shouted her name as he sidestepped a cello. He forced his way through the crowd, leading with his left shoulder and guarding the injured side. Finally, he caught a glimpse of blue ahead. Fortunately, she’d worn a bright color. He’d never have seen her if she’d worn black. He nearly caught up to her just as a guy reached for her purse.

Michael’s warning died in his throat when he saw her suddenly whip out a leg and spin to catch the guy. The would-be pickpocket looked utterly stunned. He was a weird one, with hair dyed a metallic silver color. The guy was tall, so Sophie had to be standing on her toes—on one foot, since she had one leg wrapped firmly around her assailant—and yet she seemed a lot steadier than her captive did. Michael had caught a few pickpockets and purse snatchers in his time, and even with a uniform, badge, and gun, he’d never made anyone look as scared as this kid was. He’d have given his good arm to hear what she was saying, but he suspected the kid would never grab another purse, ever again.

Michael felt like he ought to come to the rescue—of the purse snatcher, not Sophie. “Hey!” he called out, and her victim looked up to see him. Michael pulled out his shield and waved it, and the kid wormed his way out of Sophie’s grasp and took off.

Sophie spun to face Michael, and if she’d looked at that kid the way she looked at him now, not only would he never grab another purse, he’d probably enroll in seminary or join the Peace Corps. Then she tore off after the purse snatcher.

“Sophie!” Michael shouted, but his voice was swallowed by the din of the city. He knew better than to even try running after her, since normal walking was about as much as he could handle. She wove her way expertly through the throngs on the sidewalk, and the crowds seemed to clear a path for her.

Michael figured he could stand there, waiting for her to return from her fit of vigilantism, or he could go on to the diner. She’d probably know to meet him there, and if not, he was sure she could find her way back to Emily’s apartment. He headed toward the diner.

There, a ponytailed young waitress greeted him just inside the door. He flashed his shield and asked, “Have you heard about the disappearance of Emily Drake?”

The waitress pointed to the flier taped to the window. “Of course. Everyone’s talking about it. I just saw her last night, and now …” She shuddered as her voice trailed off.

“If you were here last night, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“No problem. I’m not too busy right now.” She frowned as she looked at him. “Are you okay? Maybe we should sit down to talk.”

He wasn’t feeling very steady, to be honest. There was a reason he was supposed to be taking it easy. “Good idea,” he said. She gestured him toward a nearby booth, where he took the seat facing the door.

Once he’d caught his breath and fought off a wave of dizziness, he said, “I understand that Emily and her friends were here after the show last night.”

“Yeah, they hung around until about two.”

He patted his breast pocket for his notebook, then remembered that Sophie had it. “Was anyone else here?”

“There were a few other theater people, a couple of cops, and a guy I hadn’t seen before.”

Michael perked up. “Do you know the names of the cops?” Witnesses within the department would help.

She shrugged. “Sorry, no.”

“What about the other guy, did he interact with Emily and her friends?”

“Yeah, he asked her to autograph his
Playbill
. He’d been in the audience.” She frowned, then said, “Come to think of it, he left around the time they did.”

The bells on the door jingled, and he looked up to see Sophie entering the diner. She was a little flushed and a curl had escaped the knot of hair at the back of her neck, but she didn’t seem to be at all winded. He returned his attention to the waitress. “Could you describe him?”

“He had light blond hair—really light. I thought it was white at first, but he was too young for that. It looked almost silver sometimes, depending on the light. Twenties, maybe, but it’s hard to say. Tall, thin.”

“We may have you work with a police sketch artist. I’m just asking some preliminary questions. Another detective will be in touch with you.”

“Okay.” She gave him a concerned frown. “Would you like a glass of water? You really don’t look so good.”

Probably not as bad as he felt. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks,” he said.

As soon as the waitress got up, Sophie slid into the seat across from him. “So, here’s where you went,” she said, like he’d been the one to run off.

“Did you catch him?”

“No,” she said with a deep sigh.

“What were you thinking?”

“Wouldn’t you say he fit the description of the person in the diner who left with Emily and her friends?”

“You think he’s the same guy?”

“Maybe. And you let him get away.”

“I was trying to save you from assault charges.”

She swatted that excuse away with a flick of her wrist. “It’d never stick. He laid hands on me first, so it was self-defense.”

“That was some move you pulled. What was that, ballet as a martial art?”

“A dancer is one of the best-conditioned athletes you’ll find,” she said primly. “To dance at a high level, you need strength, flexibility, speed, and endurance.” She gave him a smug smile. “I can get air that would have made Michael Jordan green with envy. I merely applied a little speed and strength to our friend back there. I don’t think he was expecting it.”

His brain finally caught up to the conversation. “Hey, wait a second, you didn’t hear the description of that guy until just now. The friends didn’t even mention him. How did you know to chase him?”

“I caught him following me.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t get a chance before you started waving your badge around.”

The waitress came back with a glass of water, then she saw Sophie. “You’ve got to be Emily’s sister. I’ve heard so much about you.” Michael noticed that the waitress took a tiny step backward, and he had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. Apparently, Sophie’s reputation preceded her.

Sophie didn’t seem to notice the waitress’s response—or didn’t react to it. She smiled and said, “Thank you so much for your help.”

While he drank the water and tried to rally his last reserves of strength so he could get home, Sophie dutifully wrote down the waitress’s contact information and the description of the mysterious diner patron. As they left the diner, he said, “I wonder why Emily’s friends didn’t mention that guy.”

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice vague, like she was thinking about something else.

“They both seemed to be lying or hiding something, and they must have planned their stories because they had all the same details. I guess they didn’t get to the waitress, though.”

“Are we done here, or is there something else you want to look into?” she asked, handing him his notebook.

“What? Oh, yeah, I guess we’re done. I’ve got enough to give Tank a good start.”

Once they were in a cab and on their way home, Michael said, “Why would her friends lie to us?”

“You don’t think they did away with her, do you?” she asked, her eyebrows arching skeptically. “They’re the ones organizing the search.”

“Yeah, but sometimes you get people who cause problems just to get attention.”

“Your job must make you very cynical.” She went silent, staring out the window. He leaned back against the seat and tried to make himself relax. His chest throbbed mercilessly. It appeared he wasn’t yet ready to go off the painkillers.

He glanced at Sophie and saw that she’d fallen asleep with her head leaning against the window and one foot tucked up under her skirt. As they neared his street, he wondered what he should do. A gallant gentleman would carry her up the stairs, letting her sleep, but he wasn’t sure he could get himself up the stairs. She resolved the dilemma by waking just before the cab stopped, and she paid the driver before Michael could grope for his wallet.