Charlotte

by Mima

  With a terrific gasp, she shrieked. Her hands batted at her hair, pulling the heavy wetness from her face. Sputtering, she laughed into his grinning face, squirming as their hips separated. “Ryder!” she scolded. “You dumped us!”

  He shrugged. “What is the American phrase?” He kicked them over to the stairs and stood.

  “For what?” She didn’t want to let him go, but slowly let her arms fall from their grip around his neck. Her shoulders ached.

  “When you make a splash. Ah, I believe it is ‘cannonball.’ ”

  Her body shivering from the sex, the flight, and the water, she couldn’t stop laughing. Bent over the aluminum railing on the stairs, she laughed until she gasped. He did, too. When she quieted, he drew his knuckles across her cheek. “We play well together, fairy Charlotte.”

  She ducked her head. Wringing out her hair, she whispered, “I think so, too.”

  “Will you be with me tonight?”

  She nodded, heart full for this sexual friend she’d stumbled on.

  “Let me hear more of what you dream about. Now, right here. Tell me what you crave.”

  She took the large, round globe full of deep ruby liquid. It was heavy and textured. She held it with two hands and felt like she should be in church. Sniffing it, she was surprised. It smelled like a campfire on a beach. Blinking, she leaned in again and inhaled more slowly. Smooth driftwood shooting colored sparks, sea glass, sneaky gulls . . . Memories flashed in such perfect precision she could hardly hold on to the goblet. What a weekend that had been. They’d all been so happy.

  A woman flew by with dragonfly wings. They were as long across as she was tall, and clattered. Charlotte stared as she landed with a swish of watered green silk.

  “Hello, Ivor! I have to say I’m surprised to see you back tonight. I thought for sure Isabella would keep you safe till dawn.”

  “I’m hardly the kind to be kept at all, Yossev.” Ivor snatched a bite of meat from his stick so decisively it cracked. He plucked the broken skewer from his mouth and tossed it carelessly to the floor.

  “Just so.” The dragonfly woman left, walking.

  Hmmm. Isabella? A whirring drew her gaze down. A tiny sleigh pulled by a mouse slid up. A man no taller than her ankle hopped out. He wore nothing but a red cap on his head. He took it off, revealing a shock of black hair, put the skewer in, and put his cap back on. It flopped into place with no sign of the rigid stick inside. His stocky body toddled up to the sleigh’s high seat. With a snap of shimmering silver reins, the mouse was driven off.

  Charlotte stared doubtfully into the wine goblet. It was a far cry from Gram’s sherry, but she didn’t think Ivor had had a chance to drug it. He’d approached the glasses at the same time. She held the goblet up to her face and drew in another deep lungful of memory from the summer she was ten. Seaweed wigs, burned hot dogs, fireworks taking her breath away.

  She gave her head a hard, quick shake. Holding the goblet out in front of her with two hands, she considered the Kool-Aid–perfect color. And she hadn’t even taken a sip! Suddenly she knew she wouldn’t. Everything was so bizarre here.

  Tuning out the slightly edgy conversation he continued with an equally aristocratic-looking man in a tuxedo, she stared around her, looking for the dragonfly woman. But she’d truly seemed to . . . fly off. Which wasn’t possible.

  Everyone was either dressed for the Oscars or in costume. There were blue, red, green, and black people scattered through the crowd. There was a mix of races, but the black people were not African-American. They had Caucasian features and were completely obsidian, like onyx statues come to life. She still struggled to be concerned about her possible drugging. It was all fascinating.

  A strong, warm arm slid around her torso, banding her back against him. “Are we not the most beautiful creations on earth?” His lips brushed the rim of her ear.

  “We?” She leaned into him, identifying a couple on the dance floor who seemed to be floating.

  He hummed, nibbling on her earlobe. “Dance with me?”

  She nodded. He took her goblet from her and set it aside. Onto nothing. His hand trailed down her arm to grip her slack fingers, and he led her through the people. She almost snapped her neck keeping her floating wineglass in view. She tripped, her rope-soled sandals completely sailing out from under her on the polished glossy floor.

  She landed nearly on top of . . . some muscular dwarf. He had the burly form of the short Italian men she knew from her grandmother’s old neighborhood. He was almost lumpy from all the muscles bulging under his double-breasted suit coat. He plunked her on her feet, glaring at her from under a heavy brow, his clenched jaw dark with stubble that fit him better than the fine fabric.

  “What the fuck did you do with Isabella?” He wagged his finger at her like she was a puppy who had soiled the carpet.

  Drawing herself up, she snapped, “Isabella isn’t here.” Who was this woman?

  Ivor appeared at her side. Two more very short Italian-looking men arrayed themselves behind the man who’d caught her. One had a set of bad scratches on his jaw, with a very large and often-broken nose. The other winked at her and licked his lips lewdly, leaving his thick lips shining with spit.

  She wrinkled her nose.

  Lewd Lips closed his expression into a snarl, and his face erupted with a thick coating of moss. The puffy beard appeared out of nowhere, even rising up over his nose and forehead. She yelped and clutched at Ivor.

  “You dare lay hands on my partner, Giovanni?”

  Her savior folded his arms, threatening to split his coat. “Just steadying a lady in distress. I seem to have the right touch to soothe discarded lovers.”

  Ivor’s hand moved so fast, she didn’t have time to gasp. It was just instantly around Giovanni’s throat. “Don’t poke at me, troll.”

  Mossy Lewd Lips crouched, growling, but also backed away. The other man shuffled restlessly. Giovanni left his arms folded, black gaze dropping from Ivor’s.

  After a too-long moment where nothing happened, Ivor shoved Giovanni away. Her gaze darted among the trio to see if Ivor had just picked a fight where he’d be outnumbered. But the other two drew away from Giovanni, gazes down. The moss melted from Lewd Lips’s face, and he hunched as he stomped off.

  Ivor curled his arm gently around her, steering her on toward the whirling crowd. Blinking at the casual violence, she forced herself not to look back. No one in the strange and elegant gathering seemed to notice the trio menacing her, nor Ivor’s confident physical rebuke. They were focused on drinking . . . and dancing.

  Charlotte had stored a lot of fantasies, ones she’d never really expected to experience. Ryder managed to tease them from her one by one. On the pool edge, on a chaise lounge, on the railing of the ship heading to his cabin, he took her again and again.

  Then after a shower, he laid her out on his bed and they kissed, touching softly as dawn grew closer.

  “I would like to see you again tomorrow—well, tonight, I guess.”

  She swallowed. She’d gone into this as a matter-of-fact exchange of pleasure, but after hours upon hours of laughter and thrilling orgasms, she was growing awfully starry-eyed. He’d even taught her more about the fantastical world, having her practice pooling her power inside her, directing her to give him small commands, and telling her some of the major rules.

  In Gram’s stories, she mentioned glorious bursts of connection with men, but she always left them. Her adventures were temporary, before she came home to her parents and job. Charlotte wanted to ride this adventure through to the very end. “I’d like that.”

  He trailed his hands through her hair. He’d called it amber earlier, pleasing her.

  “Stay out of sight today. Or at least, don’t wander. I’d like to avoid registering you with the Elder until we can do it by proxy. She’s a tyrant with the soul of a toad, and your untrained power ma
kes you vulnerable. Let’s get you more in control before she hears of you, so she will not be tempted to try to use you.”

  Charlotte snuggled against him. He was always so cool, and she liked thinking that she warmed him. “Can I stay here with you?”

  “Ah . . . no. I am not aware during daylight, Charlotte, and so before I sleep I set powerful protections all around my room. No one has ever been allowed to stay with me as I sleep, and I have survived long with that rule.”

  She nodded. “I understand.”

  “I know what you can do! I shall arrange a stay at the human spa for you. It’s great. A massage, a facial, get your nails done.”

  She blinked. “All day?”

  He shrugged. “Read a book or sleep. But no, I do not think you should walk the deck or go out and about without me.”

  “Why not?”

  He sighed, plucking at her nipple. “I told you about the Elder. The fairies are one of the most prolific fantasticals. You could already have been noticed and reported to her. An unregistered fairy that has grown up outside the community will be of interest. I will work on a way to register you through paperwork instead of an audience. Also, staying among the humans means you’ll avoid fantasticals. Just remember the strictest rule is to never reveal your magic to humans, not even by mistake. You know not to command them, and without the moonlight you’ll be safe enough.”

  “All right. I’ve never been to a spa.”

  “Ah. Well, I think you will find it enjoyable.”

  “Are you one of those metrosexual guys who do their nails?”

  “Absolutely. I must look beautiful at all times, for who knows when a moon nymph will show up perched on a bar stool, ripe for the taking?”

  They kissed through her giggles, and then he took her to the spa. When she asked about it being open at 5:30 a.m., he just smiled. Wrapping her in an immense, soft white robe, he kissed her nose and left with a murmured, “Until tonight. Je vais rêver.”

  Charlotte retreated to a soothing room full of contoured teak lounges and promptly fell deeply asleep. The day passed in a dreamy wave of hot tub, rain room, sauna, “treatments” that left her like a noodle, and even a yoga session. She slathered herself in exotic scented lotion, practiced pulling up her magic then pushing it down, nibbled on gourmet salads, and drank gallons of green tea.

  Toward dinnertime, when she finally got around to perusing the magazines, her shopper showed up. They were escorted into a private room.

  Drew was every gay cliché rolled into onyx skin. Not black as in African American, black as in obsidian. He was something called a fantome. He fluttered over her, fussing and fawning. Everything about him was stretched just a bit beyond human proportions. He was more than a foot taller than she, his arms long and lean, his fingers bizarrely elegant. His hair was silky smooth. Once he’d tossed off his sunglasses, she saw there were no whites to his entirely black eyes. He was in charge of her wardrobe, and he’d brought a store to her. Everything was in her size.

  After she’d chosen a periwinkle halter sundress with a daring, plunging neckline, he showed her an incredible selection of underwear. Charlotte discovered there were indeed bras in the world that were strong, comfortable, and gorgeous. They only cost the same amount as the cruise.

  He assured her Ryder was so wealthy he wouldn’t even blink at these gifts, and that if she didn’t select which ones she liked, Drew would use his own judgment. From his attire of fashionable black jeans and hip gray tee that clearly cost more than her whole outfit, she didn’t doubt she’d look good, but she preferred to decide for herself. She ended up with a banded canary-yellow panty and matching strapless bra, for the halter dress.

  Then Drew brought out the bathing suits. And cover-ups. And sandals. In the end he mentioned blithely that her old clothes would be burned as an atrocity to fashion, and he ordered her hair styled in long, glossy loose curls. Charlotte drew the line at makeup, but by the time the sun had finished its show, she was fed, relaxed, and looking the best she’d ever looked in her life. Drew kissed her cheeks in the European way, fluttered his long fingers at her, and sauntered off with his enormous bags of rejects. Her other choices would be delivered to Ryder’s cabin.

  Twilight fell and Charlotte was left alone as the workers departed. She restlessly walked the perimeter of the spa’s lobby, blindly staring at the products on shelves. The stars came out, and she stood at the door, growing uneasy at the empty hallway.

  A thin, tiny boy came skipping around the corner. Seeing the straightaway to the spa entrance, he took to the air, his feet blurring into smoke as he floated along. He landed lightly and opened the ornate door. Charlotte stepped back.

  “Good evening, fairy Charlotte.” His voice shimmer-sliced through her head, both exquisitely mesmerizing and agonizing. “You need to follow me or Ryder will die.”

  She clasped her head in both hands, moaning.

  When the ringing stopped, she looked over her shoulder but knew it wasn’t the phone. Staring down at the boy, clad only in puffy Asian-style pants, she whispered, “I don’t believe you.”

  He smiled brightly and reached into his pocket. He drew out a thick hank of hair bound with a glittery red ribbon and presented it to her on upraised crossed palms.

  Charlotte took the hair in slow motion. She’d spent most of last night running her fingers through this hair. It was Ryder’s. Questions exploded in her mind. Dread of the level she hadn’t felt since Gram’s death filled her with a chill. Who, why, where, it didn’t matter.

  She was no hero. She needed help. If she went into this insane trap, something bad was going to happen. If she didn’t go, something could happen to Ryder. But it wasn’t like she’d be able to help him. Exchanging herself for him was noble but not very bright. What was needed was a cavalry, a very magical cavalry. With swords. An image of the blond Viking from last night popped into her head.

  The spa had effectively closed, while she’d been allowed to stay. She couldn’t run back there and get help. She nodded to the boy. She’d go with him, then out in the hall, make a break for it, rushing off to call for Ivor. She’d hope he was available, but if not, shouting for help to every person they passed would work.

  The boy stepped up to her, holding out his hand. She took it cautiously, his bones so fragile-looking she wondered if he was abused.

  “You’re very stupid,” he said cheerfully, his words shattering through her.

  The world sucked her down. There was no air to scream as her bones stretched and her blood turned to grinding glass. When the agony ended, she crashed to her knees.

  “I have brought her, Elder!”

  Keening, Charlotte clutched her head against the echoing words. Her knees stung, but her lungs worked again, and she blinked hard. A portable rack of clothes sat before her in a jumble of satin, spangles, and feathers.

  “Thank you, Liam. You may go.”

  Voices chattered with the din of a large crowd nearby. Feet pattered up and down a hall.

  A man called, “Sound check complete!”

  Cloth whispered and a black floor-length cloak drifted to the side of her view. Panting, still shaken from the pain, Charlotte looked up. A lined face stared down at her with flat, opaque blue eyes.

  “So. You’re the will-o’-the-wisp who spent the night gathering moonlight while frolicking in water. Did you think I would be taken unaware?”

  Charlotte rocked, arms tight around her midriff. The smoke-footed boy had taken her somewhere else. Instantly.

  The woman sneered at her. “Who sent you?”

  She shook her head.

  With a deep sigh, the woman folded her hands in front of her. “I suppose you’re right. It doesn’t matter.” She waved her hand and the rolling cart of clothes skittered aside.

  Ryder hung in chains. The only way she recognized him was his leather pants. He was beaten into a
misshapen, slashed mess. His hair was shorn in uneven tufts. His face could barely be distinguished, eyes swollen shut, mouth crushed. Blood coated him, running in rivulets down his pants. Through one wound she could see the gleam of a white rib.

  Charlotte stopped breathing, but her heart banged hard in her throat. All she could do was stare.

  “This vampire’s disapproval of me was beginning to draw notice in other royal courts. Perhaps he brought you here to test me, but at the least he tried to hide you. I’m delighted to teach him a lesson.”

  The Elder bent, lowering her face toward Charlotte’s. She cowered back and that bony hand flashed out to grab her jaw, seizing her into stillness.

  “Will it be a lesson he learns, or merely torture unto death? You can decide. I’ll walk away from him if you do one small, easy thing. You’ll stand up and walk through that door.” She motioned to the door where the murmur of voices came. “You’ll stand onstage and find your magic. That’s all. Just call it forward and draw their gaze, and I’ll leave him in this room. For it’s you who interests me, not him.”

  Charlotte’s gaze darted from those horrible blue eyes to Ryder’s bloody length. Unconscious, he hung from his wrists, the chains wrapped around a steel beam in the ceiling. His legs were bent, feet dragging on the floor.

  Nausea roared through her. Why the Elder wanted her to go onto the stage was clear. This was indeed a trap. Ryder had told her to never reveal her magic, and she was fairly positive they were now on a human level, backstage at one of the ship’s theaters.

  “You’ll kill me.”

  The whisper was more to herself than the Elder, but the woman answered. Her voice was strangely young, low, with a Hispanic accent. “I? Oh sweet fern juice, no. There are enforcers who will do that. I might just be able to drink some of your power in, but since you are not registered as my responsibility, I have no jurisdiction over you, and no obligation.” She yanked her fingers from Charlotte’s chin.