Bride of Fae (Tethers) (19 page)

“Are you from London?”
Cissa said.

“No, Dumnos. Tintagos Village.”

“I know it. Near Faeview,” Cissa said. “Bausiney’s End, they call it now.”

Beverly stepped out. “Ta-da!” She was dressed in fishnet stockings and white patent leather boots, a plaid miniskirt with a plain black top, and a fringed leather jacket.

Cissa clapped her hands and bounced. “Good!”

Beverly
half expected her to extend wings and spin up into the air like Morning Glory.

“You’re almost mod,” Cissa said. “You need one more thing.” She covered Beverly’s curly brown hair with a long black wig.

“I’ve always wanted straight hair,” Beverly said.

“And now this.” Cissa handed Beverly a pink lipstick so pale it went on almost white. “It’s the piece of resistance.” She laughed at her own joke and held up a looking glass.

“Is this a magic mirror?” Beverly said. “I look fab.” Cissa had loaded her up with liner and mascara. With the straight hair and pink-icing lips, she was the image of a ‘60s go-go girl.

“A glimmer glass can enhance beauty,” said a voice from the street, deep and familiar. “But it can’t create it.”

“He returns at last,” Cissa said with mock exasperation.

Beverly looked over her shoulder. It was him. His dark ginger hair was the same, pulled away from his face and secured by silver hair picks and falling long and loose down his back. He wore a cord choker like Cissa’s, but his was much simpler, black, with only two obsidian beads and the same marcasite-like jewel just below his Adam’s apple. Simple but elegant.

A Nikon camera hung from his neck. His photographer’s vest had pockets all over the place stuffed with film and lenses. He’d pushed the long sleeves of his sky-blue cotton Henley up to his elbows. Beverly fought the urge to graze her fingers over his forearm.

He handed Cissa a paper bag. “I brought you a sticky bun.”

For Beverly it had been two days, but the chasm of a century lay between them.

“Dandelion,” Cissa said. “This is Beverly. She’s from Tintagos Village.”

“Hello, Beverly.” His eyes were like emeralds in sunlight, and his smile was pleasant…but formal. It was nice, and it was nothing. “Have you come to London to stay? Or are you like us, merely let out on parole?”

He had forgotten her. How could something so painful be so good at the same time? So good to know, really know, he existed on the planet. So painful that he didn’t know her.

His gaze traveled over her outfit. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he reached the fishnet stockings, and his hand moved to his camera. “I should take your picture.”

Beverly wanted to touch him. She wanted it so much it hurt. It was like being separated from the
real world by a glass window. She was suddenly hot and dizzy. If spontaneous combustion were real, she’d burst into flame right there. This desire was too much, too intense.

This was a mistake. She never should have come to London. She dropped the bag on the table and backed out of the stall onto the street. She let herself be carried away by the flow of the crowd.

T
HE NOISE IN THE CIRCUS
was a chorus of human voices, frustrated traffic, wind, and birdsong. Being jostled about worked in a weird way to calm Beverly down. The accidental shoves and bumps were impersonal, emotionless. They meant nothing, and that soothed her.

Everyone was smiling, happy. The city welcomed all. She was connected to every person and every thing in the universe. Marion, Ian, Dandelion, Morning Glory, Goldy. Even Cissa.

Even Lord Dumnos.

A burst of wind swept leaves and loose papers off the ground in swirls.
How had she never realized? The colors of the world were marvelous, even the grays and browns of the stone buildings and concrete sidewalks had their nuances of shadow and light, shallow and depth.

Music filled the air. A flute solo from near the fountain called to her. The notes were made of hot honey that traveled through the air
to her skin, permeating her with relaxing vibrations. She’d never felt music on her skin before, not even when she was in fae.

A rush of good feeling flowed into her. She loved everyone in the world, and she laughed aloud with sheer joy.

“Far out, pretty bird.”

A man’s slender hand gripped her shoulder and turned her around, surprisingly strong, and she looked into eyes the color of light purple lilacs. The guy was dressed like a highwayman, down to the cape and tri-corner hat.

He took in her costume and said, “Or should I say
groovy
?” His open silk shirt exposed a lean, muscled chest.

“What stall is selling these?”
Beverly asked.

He had one of those necklaces woven of cords. The choker fit snugly around his throat, and an elaborate macramé of beads and glass and small jewels extended to his sternum. Real stones, if
she wasn’t mistaken, garnets and emeralds and sapphires. There was the same cut metal jewel at the center.

She reached out to touch the
jewel, but a wave of dread swept over her. Something was wrong, dangerous. She pulled her hand away and stepped backwards.

“I’m Aubrey.” He smiled seductively.

She backed away. He stood firm and held her with his gaze. Though the crowd filled in between them, she felt bound to him. She had the sudden notion his clothes weren’t a costume. There was something
other
about him, something magical. Fairy-like, but dark.

His eyes weren’t any human color, but all the fairies she’d met so far had green eyes.

Aubrey was relentless and bedazzling, and her free will began to dissolve. She searched for a lifeline, an anchor. A flute solo from a Jethro Tull song rose above the crowd noise, and she focused on the melody’s dancing trills.

She broke free of Aubrey’s hold and moved closer to the fountain. The flute player
was there wearing a Cleopatra costume. Two Roman senators picked their way toward her through people occupying every inch of the fountain steps. One Roman carried a violin and the other hauled a stand-up bass. A guy on the steps was dressed like an astronaut.

Beverly’s heart raced with fear. She’d made a mess of time again, and it was all mixed up. A shaft of sunlight hit the statue atop the fountain, an Eros with drawn bow. On the steps below, couples kissed, oblivious as to who watched.

No, wait. This was 1976. Her time. Mischief Night. She’d stepped on the white rabbit’s foot and he’d given her a brownie. Time wasn’t bent. The brownie must have been laced with a mind-bending surprise. She was high.

The threesome of Antony and Cleopatra and Julius Caesar finished tuning to each other and launched into a chamber music version of
Classical Gas.
The listeners applauded briefly in recognition and went back to making out.

Musical notes tripped over the air and teased Beverly with little pelts of vibration against her skin. She should have stayed and talked to Dandelion. She shouldn’t have been so proud, so embarrassed he’d forgotten her. She should have reminded him they’d sky-surfed the northern lights.

“Groovy.”

Aubrey with the lilac eyes had followed her. Not so scary, now she realized she was high. “Hello again.” His insistent desire radiated outward and penetrated her as easily as the music.

She put her palm against his skin and answered, “Groovy.”

It was so funny. He was so funny.

He said, “It’s a beautiful world.”

“Beautiful
.” She nodded. “Everything. Everyone.”

“Times like this, I believe the universe is one freaking organism.” His smile was like sunshine. Eight bars of music went by.
She considered following them, but Aubrey started talking again. “Have you found what you came for?”

“What do you think I came for?”

Whether from the brownie or the music or the general excitement in the air or Aubrey’s magic, she was aroused. Excited. And afraid at the same time.

He looked at her lips, and it felt like they sizzled.
“Why don’t I tell you what
I
came for,” he said.

His eyelashes were as yellow as his hair. His lips were sensuous and soft-looking. She imagined them on her neck. And other places. Like the song said, she could move, really move.

What was she about to do with her life? In this marriage of convenience, did Lord Dumnos expect she’d never be with a man again?

Aubrey leaned so close his lips brushed against her ear. “I came for you.” He nibbled at her earlobe with a soft murmur. A shock of heat flashed from her ear downward. Her nipples hardened, and she felt wet and
anxious.

“What do you want from me?” She didn't want him. He wasn’t Dandelion. She should walk away. This minute. Aubrey pressed one finger gently against her throat in the dip where the collarbones met.

“I want more from you than anyone ever will.”

“Oh.” Her pulse quickened and beat against his finger.

“I want to sing to you, and I want you to hear me in the depth of your soul. I want to dance with you, and I want to lead.”

Her lips parted, and her breath came in short pants.

“I want to strip you naked and lick every inch of your skin. I want to plunge inside you and feel your heat. I want you to pull me deeper into you than you ever imagined possible.”

She opened her mouth wider, but no words would come out. Aubrey moved his finger to her lips. She was so hot. Throbbing. From behind her came a seething animalistic growl
. Two strong hands gripped her shoulders.

“This one’s from Tinta
gos Village, Aubrey.” Dandelion! He was there at her back. She wanted to lean against him. She wanted him to extend his wings and wrap them around her, right here, right now, and carry her away. “Idris wouldn’t approve.”

Aubrey’s gaze shifted upward,
behind her, and a smirk spread over his face. “I’d heard Idris let you out, but I didn’t believe it.”

“Cissa wanted me.” Dandelion stepped between Beverly and Aubrey. “Or I wouldn’t have come.”

He was lying. Beverly was certain he was in London for the fairy cup.

“And whatever Cissa wants Cissa gets
, eh?” Aubrey said. “I fear our regent is besotted.” His gaze rested on Dandelion’s choker. “It’s good to see you back on your tether. Going solitary can’t be good for your mental health.”

“Move along.” Dandelion’s loathing was unmistakable.

Aubrey glanced at Beverly with a smirk—and a look of contempt that turned her stomach. “I didn’t mean to interfere,
my prince
.” He fingered the large jewel in his necklace, and before she could think of a clever remark he evaporated into nothing.

Dandelion led her to the fountain. A guy and girl on the steps wearing chokers
rose and pulled their partners to their feet to give Dandelion a place to sit. The guy with the choker wore a t-shirt that said
disco sucks.
He appraised Beverly from head to foot with a lecherous grin.

“Nice shirt, Fen,” Dandelion said. “You and Violet be off. Get the
others out of here, into the parks. And check in with Cissa before dark.”

The human guy put his arm around Violet’s waist and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Green Park is gear,” he said.

Violet and Fen exchanged a sly look and led their partners away. Beverly was sure they were up to no good, but Dandelion didn’t seem concerned.

They sat on the steps, and his thigh brushed against hers, bare but for the fishnet stockings. She felt a rush of longing for him, but confusingly Aubrey’s hold on her lingered. Dandelion lifted a lock of her
wig’s hair and held it to his nose. He dropped it with relief and said, “Look at me.”

“Do you mean to look into my soul?”

“I mean to look at your dilated pupils.”

“
The world is so beautiful. You’re so beautiful, Dande- …”

He put his finger on her lips. A fiery light flashed in his eyes like a warning. “The world is
indeed beautiful, but I have a feeling your bliss is drug-induced. You didn’t accept any edible gifts from a large white rabbit, did you?”