A Fairy Tale (29 page)

“Maybe she knows more about the song,” Athena suggested.

Sophie shook her head sadly. “She has Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t seem to remember much of anything, other than making sure I remember the song.”

Michael said, “This is good, right? You know what to do, so you can stop Maeve from doing it.”

“That depends on how much Maeve remembers—or how much Emily remembers and Maeve manages to get out of her. She won’t know that she’s not supposed to tell, but Em is pretty stubborn. She may withhold information just because she’s annoyed about having her life messed with.”

“If Maeve remembered precisely, she wouldn’t need Sophie and she wouldn’t have taken Emily,” Athena said.

Then Sophie reread the last stanza of the song and realized that Athena was wrong. There was a reason other than the song that Maeve might need Sophie. The last line went, “My heart it bleeds for my one true love, and with her blood she’ll win my heart.”

If Maeve thought the song was the key, and if she thought it was significant that Sophie was the keeper of the song, then she’d think she needed Sophie’s blood to seal the deal. And if she thought that Emily’s blood was the next best thing … Well, she didn’t think Maeve would stop at a drop or two, and if that was the only thing she remembered about the song, she’d spill blood just to see what happened.

And that meant Sophie had to do the one thing she knew would prevent that.

The Realm—Maeve’s Apartment

Meanwhile

Emily was running out of songs to sing for Maeve. She’d resorted to commercial jingles and television theme songs so she could keep stalling for time. Her throat felt like someone had run a cheese grater across it, and her mouth felt full of sand and cotton. She would have killed for a sip of water, but she kept rejecting the drinks the fairies offered her.

An attendant entered and whispered something to Maeve. Emily strained to hear as she kept singing, but all she could tell was that it wasn’t good news. “Enough!” Maeve shouted, waving for her to stop singing. Emily was so tired that she sagged with relief even as panic seized her.

She rasped, “But your majesty, I know more songs.”

Maeve ignored her and snapped her fingers for an aide, then said, “Send out a raiding party to find Sophie Drake. You must find her immediately. Both Niall and Fiontan are raising armies, and I must get there before they do. Bring her now! I don’t care what condition she’s in.”

“I just need a little break, and then I’m sure I can find the right song for you,” Emily pleaded. She might be singing bass by then, but she had to keep Maeve occupied.

“I don’t have time for this. And besides, it’s painful to my ears.” She turned away from Emily to give more instructions to her flunkies.

In desperation, Emily tried to think of something, anything, she could do to keep Maeve away from Sophie. She might have joked about how difficult it would be to capture Sophie, but a big enough group of fairies ambushing her in the city might do it. She thought she knew the song Maeve wanted, and maybe if she sang just enough, she could keep Maeve on the hook. She opened her mouth and sang, “I had a love, then she was lost.” All that came out was a faint whisper, and Maeve didn’t even notice that she was singing.

The last beverage she’d been offered still sat on the table next to her. It was a clear, sparkling liquid, and beads of condensation trickled down the outside of the glass, making the drink look cool and refreshing. But it was a fairy beverage, and even one sip might trap her here for good, or else make it impossible for her to adjust to life in the real world again. Even if she did make it out, everything else she drank from this point on, from the sweetest fruit juice to the finest champagne, might be drab and tasteless.

But her sister’s life, the fate of the fairy realm, and maybe even the fate of humanity was at stake. It would be a small sacrifice on her part, and it would save her a lot of money if all drinks tasted like water from now on. Hoping her sister would understand and forgive her, she picked up the glass, then squeezed her eyes shut as she brought it to her lips.

The liquid was the coolest, most refreshing thing she’d ever had. It tasted the way television commercials made bottled water or sodas look. Her sore throat instantly felt better, and a surge of energy rushed through her entire body. It took every ounce of self-control she had to put the glass down after two sips instead of guzzling the whole thing.

Now she felt she could sing. She tried again, raising her voice like she was singing to the back of the upper balcony. “I had a love, then she was lost. I dream she’ll find me once again.” At those words, Maeve’s head snapped around, and all conversation in the room stopped. Emily pretended not to notice as she kept going with the first verse. “It won’t be long ’til she’ll hear my song, and she will know the way to my heart.”

Maeve slowly rose to her feet. “Yes! That is the song. Sing me that song.”

“I’ll have to think about it. I don’t remember it all,” Emily said. That wasn’t a lie. She couldn’t remember much past the first verse.

“Then think!” Maeve demanded. She settled back onto the sofa and called back her flunkies with a gesture.

Emily hummed the melody, inserting the occasional word, and she wondered how long she could keep this going without either giving away too much or frustrating Maeve into taking impulsive action.

The China Shop

Saturday, 12:30 p.m.

Once they’d figured out that the song was the key, Amelia and Athena insisted they go to the shop and cross-reference their fairy information with Sophie’s song so they could figure out what to do to stop Maeve. Michael felt out of his league, since he knew nothing about magic or fairies, and he felt completely out of place in the small, low-ceilinged shop full of fragile things. Instead, he focused on Sophie. She acted like this was all in a day’s work, but he could see the strain on her face. She reminded him of the more stoic class of crime victim, the ones who insisted they were fine but who were barely hanging on.

He was suspicious of how little she involved herself in the planning. The two old women scurried around with books and papers while Sophie did a lot of nodding. Her focus was on those lyrics she’d written. Even though she’d written them from memory, she looked like she was trying to memorize them.

“You’re able to pass into the Realm yourself,” Amelia said to Sophie, startling her enough to make her jump. “I think it would be best if we came with you for this, though. Once you open the gateway, you may be able to bring us through with you.”

“I suppose so,” Sophie said. “I’ve never tried it with another person, other than getting Emily out.”

“I still wonder how you do that at all,” Athena said, resting her chin on her hand. “We can’t do it, so it’s not an enchantress power.” She kept staring at Sophie, then her eyes narrowed slightly. “I wonder … I wonder what happened to the last queen. They’re immortal unless they’re killed, so she didn’t die of old age. If she’d been murdered for her throne, someone would be on the throne now. It’s like she just disappeared.”

“Maybe she retired to Florida,” Michael quipped. “After a few centuries of ruling, she might have wanted a break.”

Instead of laughing, Athena tilted her head and went, “Hmmmm.”

“Right now, I don’t care what happened to the last queen,” Sophie said, sounding like her temper was fraying. “I just want to get Emily back.”

Speaking of getting Emily to safety, there was one question Michael had to ask. “So, Jen, if they have her, can we get her back, too?”

She sighed deeply, then said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know. The longer someone’s in the fairy realm, the more difficult it is to leave. The real world looks pale and dim in comparison. The first time they took Emily, I spent that night sitting on her to keep her from trying to go back, and she was there less than an hour. Eating fairy food can also trap a person. They start to magically belong to the place. They’re transformed a little. It
is
a beautiful place, one big nonstop party, and it would be easy to fall under its spell.”

“That’s why she doesn’t remember me. Why she didn’t even know her own name.”

“Her old life would feel like a distant dream. But now that she’s seen you, memories may return.”

“So there is a chance of getting her back?”

She hesitated. “Maybe.”

“When, exactly, did she disappear?” Amelia asked.

“It will be seven years at Halloween.”

“Then there’s still a chance,” Athena said with an encouraging smile. “Seven years is generally the point of no return. Or, in some stories, it’s the term of imprisonment, after which she may be freed. And you haven’t remarried or fallen in love with anyone else, which is one of the barriers in the folklore.”

He realized he was staring at Sophie as he considered what Athena had said. Until a day or so ago, he could have said without a doubt that he was in the clear. Now, though … No, he decided, it wasn’t love. He liked Sophie. He was intrigued by her. There was maybe even a small side order of lust—it had been a very long time, and she could do some amazing things with that taut little body. But he wasn’t in love with her, not like he still loved Jen. “Well, that’s good,” he said. “There’s still a chance.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to get her out,” Sophie said, “but you have to realize that she may not want to leave, and she may never be happy again in the human world.”

“Is she happy there?”

“If she’s forgotten, then, yes, she probably is.”

“And Emily still stands a chance?”

“Emily knows not to eat the food. I may have to borrow your handcuffs for a few days, but I’m pretty sure she could go back to normal life.”

“Let’s focus on that first. You need to stop Maeve, we’ll get Emily back, and then we’ll worry about Jen.”

She raised an eyebrow.
“We?”
Then she shook her head. “No, you’re staying out of this.”

“They have my wife!”

“You’re hurt, you’re not at full strength, and you have no idea what you’re dealing with. You’re a liability, not an asset. You’ve already helped more than enough by thinking of the song.” She shoved her chair back and stood up. “I have a splitting headache and I need to lie down for a while. I’ll see you this evening around sunset. We’ll meet at the park. Come on, Beauregard.”

The dog blinked awake at the sound of his name, got up, stretched, and went to her. While her back was turned, Michael reached across the table and palmed the sheet of lyrics, tucking them into his sling just as she turned back to give a half-hearted wave. She frowned for a second, as though trying to remember something, then shook her head and departed. As soon as the door closed, Michael turned to the two women and said, “She’s up to something.”

“What makes you think that?” Amelia asked.

“Do you really think a headache would slow
her
down, at all? I’m not sure she’d even admit to feeling pain. Going to lie down for a headache? I don’t buy it.”

“What do you think she’s up to?” Athena asked.

“I think she’s going to ditch us and attack Maeve directly, on her own.”

The two women looked at each other, then back at him. “She wouldn’t!” Amelia said.

“How long have you known her?” Michael asked.

“About as long as you have.”

“Anticipating what people are likely to do is part of my job.” He gestured toward the door where Sophie had disappeared. “She’s got a plan that doesn’t involve us.” He pulled the sheet of lyrics out of his sling, and his eyes went right to the word “blood.” A chill went down his spine. “I think I know what she’s up to,” he said. “There’s something here about needing blood. If she thinks Maeve might resort to using Emily’s blood, Sophie will give herself up.”

Both women looked alarmed. “That can’t happen,” Amelia said. “That would allow Maeve to win the throne. We have to stop her.”

Michael stood with some awkwardness and said, “I’d better go keep an eye on her.”

Amelia wrote a number on a scrap of paper and said, “That’s my cell number. Call us if you notice her sneaking out.”

“Just a moment,” Athena said. She disappeared into a back room and returned with a small bag. “Take these,” she said, handing him the bag, which was heavier than he expected. “They’re iron nails—good weapons against the fae. I may have some iron bullets around here somewhere. What caliber weapon do you carry?”

“Athena,” Amelia warned. “I’ve told you about those bullets. They’re not a good idea.” To Michael she added, “They’re ancient. I’m not sure they’d even work in modern firearms, or that they wouldn’t just blow up in your face.”

“Iron nails should be enough,” Michael said, hefting the bag in his hand before sliding it into his sweatshirt pocket. He folded the lyrics and pocketed that sheet, too.

When he got back to his building, he paused by Emily’s door. He could hear Beau snoring from inside, so if Sophie had gone anywhere, she’d left Beau behind. She might really have wanted to rest. Or else she’d left a recording of Beau’s snores playing on a loop to fool him.

He got some rest, himself, keeping an ear open for sounds of anyone coming or going. When he knocked on Emily’s door again a couple of hours later, there was no answer, and now he couldn’t hear Beau. He had a bad feeling about that. He went upstairs to get his cell phone and anti-fairy ammo, then called the sisters as he went down the stairs. He was just ending the call when he opened the front door and found himself face-to-face with Gene Tanaka.

“Hey, Tank!” he said, trying to sound a lot more casual than he felt. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know. You called me.”

Michael didn’t have to fake confusion. It had been a day full of life-changing discoveries and revelations, so the morning seemed to belong to another lifetime. “Oh, yeah, I guess I did,” he said, weighing his words carefully. Tanaka was an even better human lie detector than he was, so he had to avoid any outright falsehoods. “Last night was pretty bad, probably the worst since I’ve been out of the hospital. The painkillers either knock me out cold or give me wild, vivid dreams—the kind where it takes you a while after you wake up to realize that they were just a dream.” That was all entirely true. “I think I dreamed about Jen last night, and I must have called you while I was still not sure what was real.” That was technically true, but if he’d given that testimony under oath in a courtroom, he’d have perjured himself. “Sorry about that.”