Faery Tail

by Deborah McNemar

  The Sylph's hair glimmered like golden fire in the watery light. Her eyes were a misty, pale green.

  "You can't still be angry with him?” Gwernen eyed her with open amusement from the shadow of the trees. “It's hardly his fault that you shot him and he didn't die. He's the son of the King of the Dead, Eithné. You can't hold him to blame for that."

  Star ignored Eithné's snarl and looked up to where the sliver of the new moon rode low in the western sky. “No,” she agreed softly. “You can't blame someone for who their parents are. Just what they choose to do."

  "It isn't that,” Eithné snapped at Gwernen. “But Carradoc has lasted a good hundred and fifty years longer than any of the others. That worries me. If Arawn has finally achieved his goal, we'll have two of them to contend with. As soon as he bestows the full powers of an heir on Carradoc, our troubles will double."

  "If this Carradoc is perfect to be heir, why hasn't Arawn already bestowed those powers on him?” Star asked the question absently. The fact that she was finally safe was slowly sinking in and she could feel the drowsiness pressing in around her.

  Both Sylphs turned to stare at her. A smile spread Gwernen's face and he began to chuckle. “You see, Eithné? I'm not the only one to ask that question.” He picked up his bow and nodded cheerfully at Star. “I've asked her that question for the past fifty years and she still doesn't have an answer, Princess."

  Eithné tossed another snarl at his departing back but it lacked conviction. Star turned back to the sight of the setting moon. Foxglove buzzed over to settle on her shoulder, a small but comforting presence as he leaned against her. She was surprised that he could sit still for more than a moment, but he stayed, his hand tangled in her hair and his cheek pressed to hers.

  "I'd offer you something to eat but you can't stay here that long,” the Sylph apologized stiffly after a long moment. “The Lady said that you are to stay here the night and she will send you where you need to go."

  "Why would the Lady help me?"

  Eithné shrugged. “The Lady does as she chooses. You can't go into the Vale itself but you will be safe.” She was scanning the sky, her manner distracted. “That griffin,” she said abruptly. “Are you familiar with the creature?"

  "No.” Star rested her chin on her knees. “He attacked the ogre and I ran like crazy. That's it. Why?"

  "Because he reeks of Anwyn.” Eithné slanted her an apologetic look. “I know the scent. The scáth smell the same.” She touched Star's hand lightly. “Sleep. I will keep watch and Gwernen will patrol tonight. No harm will come to you as long as you are under our care."

  In a single, lithe movement, she gathered her bow and rose to take up a post in the shadows of the encircling trees leaving Star with her thoughts.

  It was impossible not to remember that the last time she had slept on a bed of leaves under a blanket of stars, she had slept safe in Centauri's arms. Tears welled up and she dashed them away with a furious hand. She wasn't going to cry over him. He was no better than Luna. In fact, he was worse. He hadn't just betrayed her. He had made her dream, raised her hopes only to crush them in a single moment. She had been falling for him like a star-struck fool and he had only been playing a game.

  Luna has played us both for fools. His words drifted through her mind like an errant breeze. Perhaps, he had been telling the truth. But it didn't stop the pain in her heart. Star gently removed Foxglove from her shoulder and curled up on the soft loam, closing her eyes in an attempt to forget.

  She fell asleep, tears still glimmering on her cheeks. Foxglove sighed at the sight. Tucking his toes in her hair, he wrapped on arm along her jaw and curled the other around her ear, laying his cheek against hers. All night, he held her as tightly and as well as his little arms were capable.

  As the dawn began to brighten the eastern sky, he looked up at the rustle of golden hooves on leaves and gazed into the lavender eyes of the Lady.

  "Are you going to help her?” he begged, his wings quivering with his distress.

  I will send her to the place she needs to be, the Lady told him. The rest is up to her. She must find a way to heal her heart or nothing else will matter. She is an anchor, Foxglove. To anchor the realms, she must be whole.

  The Lady dipped her head to touch her twisted, golden horn to Star's pale hair. Foxglove bowed his head in grief as the little Princess vanished.

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  Chapter Nineteen

  Star woke, disoriented, to find herself lying on the sparse grass of a rest area. A pair of young boys chased each other around an RV where a woman, most likely their mother, was shouting at them to come and eat their sandwiches.

  Star sat up, her body aching, and looked around. The stark concrete restrooms boasted not only a soda machine but a snack machine as well. Just the other side of the parking area, the wide, black ribbon of an interstate roared with traffic. Magic still tingled disconcertingly through her body. Someone had used a great deal of power to send her here. But where was here?

  She made it to her feet and trudged the length of the on-ramp to stare down the hill into the valley below. Her stomach growled in protest but the sight that spread out before her silenced her hunger pangs.

  Heat boiled off the broken landscape. Against the distant horizon, the mountains lay in hazy purple silhouette. Red sandstone, layered and jagged, thrust up in sharp relief from the sand, striated with a lacework of black obsidian and volcanic stone. The road's edge was a carpet of broken glass, stripped rubber, goat-head thorns and litter. Far below, like a jewel held in the skeletal grip of the desert, lay the city.

  Vegas.

  From the plains of hell and into the city of sin, Star mused bitterly. How apropos. Like most big cities, Vegas had a personality all her own. By night, she was a beautiful woman, sparkling with laughter and ripe with promised pleasures. But when the sun rose, she showed a truer face. Daylight showed the old prostitute for what she was—an illusion that flayed the flesh from dreams, destroyed lives and livelihoods. But people flocked here by the thousands to worship at the feet of Lady Luck.

  But what in the world was she doing here? The sight of the city waiting below gave her an idea. There was one person she knew she would find here. But whether or not they would help was another matter entirely.

  The numbness that had insulated her was flaking away. She didn't want to think. She didn't want to feel. She just wanted to go home. With her hands in her pockets, she headed off the hill and toward the city below.

  The truck driver who gave her a ride was a man in his late forties, going to pot and living on hot coffee and beef jerky. Ignoring her protests, he bought her dinner at a truck stop just outside of town and left her at the off ramp for the strip with a new denim jacket and the admonition to be careful. He thought she was a runaway and she saw no point in trying to argue with him. She waved as he jockeyed the black Peterbilt back into the crush of traffic. George. Living proof that nice guys really did exist.

  The lights of the strip pulsed and strobed with unnatural life. People brushed past her. Laughter tinged with a manic sort of pleasure scraped her ears raw. Star walked slowly, her gaze never settling in one place. The garish glare of neon hurt her eyes. Bells clanged and whistles shrilled as a slot machine began spewing tokens onto a hysterically screaming woman. Laughter and shouts of encouragement spilled out of an open door tangled with blue smoke and the biting scent of alcohol.

  Star walked on. She knew what she had to do and surprise was her best weapon. She kept her shields tight around her.

  Her gaze locked on a tall, narrow building painted sandstone pink and her steps slowed. Blue and green lights flashed and chased around the neon flowers. At the very peak of the roof, a neon bee buzzed in flashes of light. This was the place. The lights here were more brilliant and less sporadic than elsewhere in the city. Magic pulsed with the lights like a beckoning finger, luring those receptive to the siren song of Fae magic. Star pushed through the doors, her jaw set with determi
nation.

  Black Jack tables were doing good business between the never-ending cacophony of the slot machines and the craps and roulette tables. A blond woman watched Star with dead eyes, one hand raised, holding a cigarette and a drink while she fed coins into the slots with the other. Across the way, there were shouts of encouragement as a man at the craps table kissed the dice he held, his forehead glistening with sweat.

  Stars nerves tingled.

  A woman with tousled red curls bobbed at the jaw line laughed and pressed a kiss to the man's cheek. A green silk sash posed as a blouse, barely covering her breasts. The tight leather mini-skirt brushed the tops of her thighs. Her boots made a valiant effort to remedy the lack, rising over her knees with a flair that would have made a dominatrix proud. The stiletto heels shoved her softly rounded bottom higher in invitation.

  Star joined the crowd at the table. The stacks of chips in front of the man were tumbled. His hands shook.

  "C'mon, Chris!” The red head laughed, leaning against his shoulder and shifting her hips in a way that made the question of undergarments moot. She wasn't wearing any. “Hit that baby!"

  The dice tumbled across the green felt. Star felt the flexing of the magic around her. Shouts of victory punctuated the air. The man hung his head, panting. He had just won ten thousand dollars.

  The woman's eyes met Star's. She straightened away from the man, her smile fading as her green eyes took on a wary look.

  "Well, well, well,” she purred. “Now what would be the odds of this? My baby sister comes to visit. Hello, Astrid."

  Star met her gaze unwaveringly. She had never gotten along with Stella very well but she wasn't here for a family reunion. “I need to talk to you. Now,” she added for emphasis.

  Stella raised one perfectly shaped, auburn brow. “And with an attitude,” she mocked. “If I don't?"

  Star didn't blink. The three slot machines directly behind her erupted, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Stella's eyes narrowed.

  "People do a lot of wishing around here, Stella. Wish I were as rich as Wayne Newton. Wish I looked like a showgirl. Wish I could pet Roy's tiger. All sorts of wishes."

  Stella knew a threat when she heard one. If Star stayed, wishes and luck would butt heads in a major way. Stella's mouth twisted mockingly but her eyes remained as hard as emeralds. “Only Siegfried is allowed pet Roy's tiger,” she said, her voice ripe with innuendo.

  Star didn't twitch.

  Stella sighed. “All right. Give me a moment. Ok?"

  With a loose-limbed saunter, she rejoined the man at the table. Stella leaned in, her whole body caressing the man as she whispered something in his ear. He nodded his agreement.

  Star watched as the man carefully placed five, one thousand dollar chips on the table and took up the dice again. Stella was watching him, her amusement gone. This time, as the dice danced and tumbled across the table, there was no accompanying surge of magic. Groans of dismay told the tale. The man didn't seem particularly worried about losing but gathered the rest of his chips into a white bucket.

  "Hey, Stella,” he called as she walked away. “Your tip?"

  Stella tossed a brilliant smile over her shoulder at him. “Leave it with Benny at the front desk. Ok, Chris?"

  As Stella turned her toward the elevators, Star felt something rising through the gibbering clamor of greed, something softer. Something she understood. She glanced back but the man was already gone.

  Stella didn't speak as the elevator took them to the top floor. Star refused to question what was driving her, what she hoped to get from Stella beyond a way home. This particular sister of hers prided herself on doing the unexpected. Star had long ago given up on the idea of help from her family and Stella had her own agenda with the Fae Realms. The elevator doors slid open to the penthouse suite before doubts could sabotage her.

  Sumptuous white carpet spread like warm snow from wall to wall. Star resisted the urge to take off her boots and wriggle her toes in the thick pile. Around her, elegance had been laid on with a discerning hand. Soft lighting, unobtrusive art and even the crystal lamps had class that belied the garish opulence of the rest of the casino. There was even a sunken conversation pit around the circular fireplace. Stella's suite was a far cry from Star's small, dim rooms in New York.

  Star stepped from the elevator but went no further. Stella stopped in the center of the room, turning to study Star intently.

  "You look about twelve years old,” she muttered in disgust.

  "And you look like you've watched Pretty Woman one time too many."

  Stella shrugged. “The girl knew how to work it.” She sighed and the hard-edged look faded from her eyes to be replaced by an ancient sort of weariness. “Luna found you, didn't she?"

  Star dug her hands deeper in the pockets of her jacket. “Can you think of any other reason for me to be here? You're not exactly in my comfort zone, Stella."

  Stella rubbed at her forehead, thinking as she walked slowly to the conversation pit. “Luna came here about two months ago. She fed me some story about Alpha Centauri wanting to marry you,” she said, much to Star's surprise. “I didn't believe her at first. She wanted me to make sure he got lucky if you take my meaning. I refused which totally pissed her off. I don't believe in stacking the deck,” she explained in a distracted tone. She fell silent, lost in thought.

  Star let her. She couldn't force Stella's hand. She could only make things uncomfortable for her. While wishes and luck were similar, they were still vastly different in execution. She could be obnoxious, but she didn't really pose any kind of a threat to Stella.

  "What did he wish for?” Stella asked softly.

  "Who?"

  "Chris. Downstairs just now. What did he wish for?"

  Star tucked her head. “You don't want to know, Stella."

  "What was it?"

  Star shrugged helplessly. “He wished his wife could have lived long enough to help him enjoy the money he just won."

  Stella's breath escaped her in a pained rush. “I met him three days ago. He came here to Vegas with a pack on his back, three hundred dollars in his wallet and a .45 magnum. He was going to gamble the last of the money away and then end it all. I didn't know why.” She wrapped her arms around herself as if chilled. “He must have loved her very much."

  "What makes you say that? You don't know how long ago she died or if she's the reason he was so depressed."

  Stella's smile was humorless. “I know. I know he loved her. He hasn't played grab-ass even with provocation and I'm a past master at the art of provocation. I thought it was about the money so I helped him win big just to see what he would do."

  "And?"

  "And over the past three days, he's won a half mil. Moderate bets, never playing it wild and never disappointed when he lost. Nervous about the game but never for the reasons I thought.” Stella shook her head. “I didn't understand."

  Star studied her sister. She had never seen a softer side to the brash and capricious Stella. This was a revelation. But her own problems loomed.

  "Have you ever met Centauri?” Star asked reluctantly. She didn't want to know. She didn't want to care, but the question spilled out of her against her will.

  Stella shrugged again, her pale shoulders gleaming in the soft light. “No, but I've heard enough to know that he's not a man women run from."

  "Why?"

  "Because any warm blooded female would be a fool not to stand still and take anything he'll give her.” Stella's eyes warmed with a teasing light. “Did you stand still, little sister, or did you run?"

  "What do you know about a man named Sol?” Star struggled to keep her expression bland but she had the feeling that Stella knew it all anyway. She hadn't just stood still. She'd flung herself at him. The shame of it ate at her.

  "Sol? Crown Prince of the Tuatha de’ and a playboy extraordinaire. Rumor has it that Centauri spends most of his time pulling his brother's cookies out of the fire. The fair haired Princey boy likes women
and he doesn't care who they belong to."

  Star felt the blood drain from her face. “Brother? Sol is Centauri's brother?"

  "Yep. Twins. Centauri is the younger by minutes. Why?"

  Her anger cracked and Star felt the first prickle of grief rising to clog her throat and cloud her eyes. His brother. He had done what he had done for his brother, not for power or for caprice. Why had he turned around then? Had he been taking her back? None of it made sense and she didn't have the time to try to puzzle it out now.

  "Stella, I need to get back to New York. Can you loan me enough money for a plane ticket?"

  Stella frowned. “Why not just use the ring? That's how you got here isn't it?"

  "I don't know how I got here and I can't tune the rings,” Star tried to explain. “Besides, any use of magic and I might as well issue engraved invitations to barbeque my hide. I don't want anything else, Stella. I just want to go home."

  Stella was shaking her head and Star felt her heart sink.

  "You are not about to just waltz in here and ask a bunch of questions and then take off without coughing up a few answers. It's not happening, Astrid. Give. What has you being here have to do with Centauri and the Tuatha de'?"

  The elevator doors behind her remained stolidly shut. Not that she really had the energy left to do much in the way of running away. Star rubbed at her face, wishing she had answers instead of a bunch of details that she couldn't make heads or tails of.

  She hunched her shoulders. “Nothing. Just me being stupid again."

  "If Luna has her manicured claws in it, it isn't nothing.” Stella eyed her thoughtfully. “Why don't I order some room service and you can share the tale anyway?"

  "I've already eaten, thank you."

  Stella's eyes glinted with cynically edged humor. “Don't trust me, little sister? That's smart of you. But, in this case, I have nothing to gain by trapping you here.” The amusement faded leaving cold calculation in its wake. “Think of it this way, Astrid—Luna has played a beautiful game of divide and conquer with us from the day we were born. She wouldn't have gone to that kind of trouble if we weren't a threat to her."