by Tasha Black
“How does that matter?” Tristan asked.
“The world is smaller than you think,” Tabitha said. “And everything comes around again. It’s best to be kind, if you can afford to be.”
“Is this some religious notion?” he asked. Humans had always had strange notions with regards to what was worth worshipping.
“No,” she replied. “It’s just common sense. Here we are.”
Thankfully, the pawn shop had a light on.
Bells jangled over the door as they entered the dim shop.
Tristan looked around and felt strangely at home.
The odd collection of musical instruments and old things under a ceiling of ancient light fixtures felt like a place that could be found in the fae realm.
An old man with a white beard sat on a stool at the counter, looking over his strange treasure with an expression of satisfaction.
Here was a man who needed none of Tristan’s light to lend him confidence.
“How can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m looking for a violin,” Tabitha said.
“Ah, a musician,” he chuckled. “Excellent. I’ve got two violins right now, let’s have a look.”
He beckoned her up to the case.
A pretty instrument shimmered under the lights, but it had no inlay.
“This is the nicer one,” he said, pointing to it. “Comes with a bow and a case.”
“That one,” he said, pointing up at the wall, where a dull instrument hung, “is more economical. Still comes with a bow, no case.”
It didn’t have an inlay either.
“I’m looking for a particular instrument,” Tabitha said. “I think Velma Hall brought it over with some other items? It’s an older violin with a pale-colored inlay - maybe ivory.”
Tabitha was probably right not to mention the real source of the inlay. Humans could be squeamish about that kind of thing.
“Oh, that’s in very poor condition,” the man said, his bushy eyebrows showing his surprise. “It’s not stolen, is it?”
“No,” Tabitha admitted. “But I would like to buy it.”
“Hmm,” the man said. “I haven’t had a chance to have it appraised yet. Why don’t you come back in a week or two?”
Tristan could see the crafty glint in the old man’s eyes. These humans really were like the folk in many ways.
“We’re only in town for today. May I have a look at it?” Tabitha asked.
“I don’t see why not,” the man said.
He slipped behind a curtain.
Tabitha looked in the glass case and Tristan followed her gaze.
He guessed the nicer items were displayed this way for security, and to show them off under the light.
Tabitha studied a beautifully detailed pocket watch. Its golden color and large numbers were quite striking. But the hands did not move.
“Here it is,” the man said, carrying out a box with something inside. “It needs a little work, but it’s very unusual. And I’d guess quite valuable.”
The bone violin was half-crushed at the bottom of the box.
“If I get my guy to work on it, I can have it good as new,” the man lied.
“What if I bought it as-is?” Tabitha asked.
“A thousand dollars, cash only,” the man said.
This time, it was Tabitha’s eyebrows arching in surprise. “I don’t carry that much cash,” she said.
“That’s too bad,” the man said, pulling the box down from the counter.
“What kind of pocket watch is that?” Tabitha asked, pointing at the one in the case.
“That’s a Hamilton Railroad watch,” he replied proudly. “It’s not working, but still a valuable collector’s item.”
“How much?” Tabitha asked.
“Eighty dollars,” he told her.
“And how much would it be worth if it worked?” she asked.
“I’d say at least two thousand,” he told her. “But don’t get any big ideas. I already had it sent to a watchmaker in New York City. Can’t be repaired.”
“I’ll take it,” Tabitha said, peeling out four bills from her wallet.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” the man replied, his eyes lighting up.
He took her coin and handed her the watch from the case.
Tabitha looked it over, then she held it between her palms as if warming it.
“Nice to hold, right?” the man asked. “Imagine being a conductor on the old Hamilton trains. Those watches had to fit to government standards of timekeeping.”
Tabitha opened her eyes again and opened the watch to expose the face.
She wound the little dial on the side.
Tristan heard it first, the whir of the gears just before the second hand moved with a crisp click.
“What in the world?” the man breathed.
“I’m good with old things,” Tabitha told him.
Tristan glanced at the old man, his face was turning red.
“Hey,” Tabitha said suddenly, as if inspired. “Would you trade this back for the broken violin?”
The man froze as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
Then he grabbed the box with the violin off the floor and handed it over to her. “No bow, no case, no trade-backs.”
“Deal,” Tabitha said, handing him the watch and smiling as she took the box from him.
The man gazed down tenderly at the pocket watch as if it were the face of a newborn child.
“Glad you all stopped in,” he said, not even looking up. “And I hope you enjoy your violin.”
“Thank you,” Tabitha said. “You don’t happen to know a good place to spend the night in town. It’s getting late for us to drive home.”
“Sure,” he said. “Try the Bright View Bed and Breakfast on down the road. Tell ‘em Hal from the pawn shop sent you.”
“Will do,” Tabitha said. “Thank you again.”
“Pleasure was mine,” Hal said to the pocket watch.
As they headed back to the carriage, Tristan realized he hadn’t spent one minute worrying about Tabitha’s mortality during that interaction.
Her life was bound to be short, but there was certainly no lack of action in it. And her cunning and magic were certainly fae-like.
It was no wonder he was drawn to her. She interrupted the dull existence of a fairy king, bringing him anticipation and surprise.
But how could he steel his spirit against her mortality, against the thought of losing her?
He determined that his best course of action was to hold strong and protect his heart as best he could.
17
Tabitha
Tabitha looked around the bedroom of the tiny bed and breakfast.
It was small, and mostly taken up by a gigantic bed with a moth-eaten quilt. Three of the walls were decorated in floral paper. The third was completely covered by a built-in bookcase. Instead of books, colorful sock monkeys in various outfits filled the shelves, threatening to spill over in places.
A small desk with a chair was crammed into the corner in front of the single window. Tabitha rushed over to the desk and placed the box with the precious violin on its surface.
The instrument was truly in poor condition. Lately, Tabitha had been more confident than ever in her abilities, but this felt like it was just too much, even for someone whose talents bordered on magic. The poor thing was crushed.
Though Tabitha had played the violin, at her mother’s insistence, all through her school years, she certainly didn't know anything about fixing them. And this was more than a tune-up. Repairing this one felt almost like building a violin from scratch.
She closed her eyes and tried to picture what it had been like to hold her old violin in her hands, to get her mind around the proper shape and weight of it.
"Should we eat something before you begin?" Tristan suggested.
His voice brought her back to the present.
"Why don't you order a pizza?" she asked.
"What'
s a pizza?” he asked. “And what kind of food should I order it to make?”
She laughed in spite of herself.
"Never mind, I'll do it. Watch and learn."
She pulled a menu out of the desk drawer and called the number. The pizza shop agreed to bring a large pepperoni in thirty minutes. Her stomach rumbled at the thought.
"Okay, that's taken care of," she told him. "Now I'm going to try and fix the violin in time for dinner."
It was a tall order, but a deadline could be a good thing when it came to doing the impossible.
She lifted the pieces of the violin from the box and placed them on the wooden surface of the desk, spreading them out so she could see them.
"You are familiar with this instrument," Tristan said encouragingly.
"Well, a little," she admitted. "It's been a long time since I played."
"Still, you know how it works," he said.
She nodded and placed the pieces roughly where they belonged. The neck was detached from the rest and only holding on by the strings. The chin rest had been pushed into the body, and the bridge was in splinters.
"I'm not sure I can do this," she said.
"Of course you can," he told her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Peace fell over her, and for a moment she felt an inexplicable wave of hope.
Then she remembered.
"Don't use your powers on me," she whispered.
"Why not?" he asked. "I want to help you."
"Making me feel like I'm doing well won't help me actually do well," she complained.
"You might be surprised," he said. "Feeling confident has helped many mortals accomplish their goals. And a lack of confidence has shredded the life's work of many more."
"I wasn't trying to downplay your importance," Tabitha said quickly, feeling a little guilty. "It's just that I want to be realistic with myself."
"Realistically,” Tristan said, “that thing doesn't have a chance against you.”
His dark eyes were so serious and his hand so warm on her shoulder.
She turned quickly back to her work, not wanting to acknowledge the heat between them, or have the conversation she knew they needed to have.
She closed her eyes and reached backward with her mind as her hands moved along the cool wood and strings of the instrument.
It was hard to imagine the life this violin had led. She knew the most recent part - how it had been crushed inside a cardboard box under the various possessions of a man who didn't know its true value.
The scents of pot and patchouli greeted her next and she felt the instrument being plucked by a hand, a ticklish sensation, and better than the years before during which it had been in a musty case.
She clutched the cool wood and willed the thing to move back through its history, farther, faster.
She heard the high, throaty notes spilling out as the instrument was played in its prime, with its own bow. She tasted the sweet, familiar air of the Rosethorn Valley night, redolent with the scent of pine and dogwood blossoms.
Suddenly, a horrible, wailing cry split the night.
It was real. This was the violin from her story.
A man's cries joined those of the violin, and she felt his pain rip through her as if she were a paper doll. She felt all of his agony and fury, and the longing for a love who was gone to him forever.
Tabitha let go slightly and the past receded, just a bit, giving her a second to catch her breath.
But she couldn’t let it go completely. She had to go back to repair the thing, had to push through the anguish.
She squeezed her eyes shut and let time pass forward again, sliding into the near-present to a moment when a crashing sound signaled the source of the damage.
The violin was in a box and a large piece of pottery had just been dropped in on top. There was a moment of confusion - it was used to being treasured and cared for. And then there was a wave of horror as its neck popped from its body, strings jangling unhappily, chin rest groaning into its belly.
Tabitha moved her hands over the surfaces of the pieces, willing them to remember themselves in their original arrangement.
Usually she could convince the things she repaired to resettle themselves in their proper places. But she had never worked on something this far gone. It was like the violin itself fought her efforts - as if it demanded that she hear the pleas of its original owner.
But the man's horrible pain frightened her. What if she let it in and it wouldn't let her go?
What if it drove her mad, like it was supposed to do to the banshee?
She could feel the encouraging warmth of her healing touch along the wood of the violin, so she pushed onward until she felt it click into place. At last, she opened her eyes to see the result of her work.
It was in one piece again. That was good. Though it didn't look new and polished as her work sometimes did.
"Here's the bow," Tristan offered.
She took it wordlessly, thankful that Helen Thayer had been generous enough to let them borrow it. She lifted the instrument to her shoulder, though the idea of it was chilling now that she knew its purpose so intimately.
Tabitha took a breath, then drew the bow across the strings.
It sounded like a cat in heat.
"Oh," Tristan said in surprise.
"I'm not that good a player," Tabitha admitted. "And... the repair didn't go as well as I wanted."
"You were holding back," he said.
"I don't want to lose myself in this thing," she admitted, as much to herself as to him. "It's powerful, the love and hate that give it its magic.”
Tristan didn't reply.
The old-fashioned telephone on the bedside table jangled and Tabitha jumped.
"Hello," she said.
"Pizza's here," the owner said disapprovingly.
"I'll be right down," Tabitha told her, dashing off, glad for any excuse not to talk any more about the violin.
18
Tristan
Tristan yawned as the carriage took another bend in the long mountain road.
He’d tossed and turned all night, getting no sleep at all.
He told himself it was the strange substances in the mortal foods he had foolishly eaten so much of.
But the truth was that it had been impossible to rest with Tabitha inches away from him, her delicious scent filling the room, and his foolish heart flopping like a fish out of water.
And on top of it all, he didn’t just feel drawn to her, he also felt furious.
She was a simple mortal, blessed with a magical gift as strong as it was inexplicable. And yet she refused to give herself over to it fully.
Before Tristan’s arrival that might have made sense. She hadn’t realized what she was using was really magic, and she might have been frightened of what she could do with that power.
But the King of Light had bowed down before her, ready to help her in any way she saw fit, ready to protect her from anything - even from herself.
And she turned her nose up at all of it.
He could lie to himself and say she would get over it, but she had already let him know her mind.
She didn’t want to talk about their bond.
She didn’t really want to embrace her own magic.
And there was only one reason for that.
She didn’t want him.
After dinner, she had claimed to be tired, so he suggested they turn in early and get some sleep.
As much as he wanted another night of passion with her, he knew that it would only confuse the issue if she didn’t really want to be bonded to him. He needed her to choose him with her mind and soul, not just with her body.
So he had spent a night of torture beside her, biding his time.
And now he was riding again in her infernal carriage, down the twisting roads of the mountains, and presumably back toward her village of Rosethorn Valley.
He was a man of his word. He would help his brother capture that banshee someh
ow.
And then he would return to the realm of the fae to restore his powers and find someone who could help him lift a royal bond mark.
He glanced down at his hand, wondering if the mark would fade of its own accord now that he had made his decision.
It looked horrifyingly darker, but he decided that was just the morning sunlight.
“I’m sorry I failed last night,” Tabitha said. “Maybe there’s something Sara can do.”
He shrugged, afraid of what he might say if he opened his mouth.
“Or Dorian,” she added quickly, as if thinking he would be offended that she hadn’t mentioned his brother first.
Frankly, he was glad his soft-hearted brother wasn’t the most powerful person she could think of.
He gave her a grudging smile. “We’ll figure out it.”
She smiled back, like sunlight on the surface of a rippling creek. The sight made him feel at home.
Damn this mortal woman and her witch’s smile.
“Would you like to stop for fast food on the way home?” she asked.
He preferred something slower - a meal shared in a romantic restaurant, a chance to reconnect and convince her to let the magic in.
But the King of Light shouldn’t have to convince his true queen of anything. She should come to him freely.
And the mistaken bond between them would not lift any more easily if he kept drowning in her smile.
“Let’s just get back to town,” he said. “I want to meet with my brother and make a plan.”
“Sure,” she said. “Of course.”
It was impossible not to see the hurt on her face, but he had no idea how he was supposed to do this without hurting her.
After all, she was hurting him, too.
The light king leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window and closed his eyes.
His Nanny had been right. Consorting with mortals really was a recipe for heartbreak.
19
Tabitha
