But Star continued to stare at the tightly woven shadows under the trees where Centauri had been.
"Damn you!” She shouted into the darkness. “Damn you, Centauri! This doesn't make us even. I deserve my pound of flesh and, by Danu, I'm going to have it before I'll call us even. Do you hear me, you arrogant prick? Do you?"
There was no answer. Damien tugged on her arm and Star gave in reluctantly. “Damn you,” she whispered one last time as Damien tucked her under his arm and led her away.
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Chapter Twenty-Two
Star listened to Damien fiddling with his brushes in the studio below. The place echoed with the shadows of the canvases that had been crated and moved just three short days ago. Damien was fidgeting like a parent on the first day of school. They were his babies and, as strange as it might sound, he missed them. He was more worried that they make it to the gallery in one piece than about the fact that some of the toughest art critics in New York would be stopping by the showing tonight.
Tonight was the first step toward achieving his dreams.
Paint knives clattered on the workbench as he neatened them. The echoes rippled over her, catching on the aching remnants of her heart. Star fidgeted in front of the mirror, trying to adjust her dress into something remotely modest. She was going to kill Stella when she saw her again. This wasn't the dress they had agreed on. She tugged on the hem again. There wasn't enough material in it to call it a dress.
"The car should be here soon,” Damien called from below. “Are you ready yet?"
Star tossed the loose fall her hair over her shoulder and made a face at her reflection. The black pearl choker made her feel elegant at least. And the shoes, well, she was in love with the shoes. They were delicate, strappy things that didn't tie but wound round her leg to the knee. Maybe she could pretend that people were admiring her shoes instead of calculating the depth of her cleavage.
"I'm coming,” she called back. She wouldn't put it past him to come up here to fetch her. He had been so anxious that he had insisted that she dress at his place so that the car the gallery was sending for them only had to make one stop.
Damien looked good. His dark hair was just a little long, brushing the collar of his suit jacket. The charcoal gray jacket looked good with the black jeans and boots he was wearing. The black dress shirt made the perfect backdrop for the wild black and red swirls on his tie. He already gotten paint on his pants, she noted. Right on the back pocket. Now, that was one way to get a woman to look at his butt, Star chuckled to herself.
The click of her heels on the stairs brought his head up and he froze. Star hesitated. His gaze swept her from head to toe and back again, taking in the fall of the shimmering sliver fabric. He absently rubbed his chin with the back of his hand as his eyes took another trip over her.
"Do I look all right?” She asked finally, unable stand the suspense any longer. “It's not too much is it? Or not enough, as the case may be."
Damien shook his head. “I just need to find my big stick.” Star frowned, confused. “The one I need to beat the men off of you with,” he clarified. He wasn't smiling.
"Stella picked it.” She crossed her arms across her chest defensively. “I would never have picked something that comes with self adhesive tabs to make sure I don't turn into a flasher."
Damien opened his mouth and closed it again. Shaking his head, he hid a grin behind a hand. “Remind me to thank her.” A horn sounded outside and he turned as if jerked on marionette strings. “The car is here. Oh God, the car is here."
Star made it down the rest of the stairs before he could start hyperventilating. “Come on, gorgeous. Let's get you to the gallery. Just remember, if you puke on my dress, I will never forgive you."
She got him into the car and kept up her lighthearted chatter to keep him distracted. The gallery was lit up as they pulled up in front. Damien got out first and helped her out of the car. Star was grateful for his gallantry since the high heels made it difficult to manage the extraction on her own.
It was still a half an hour before the event actually started and Damien was dragged off to give a final nod to everything. He suggested she look around but had to add that she wasn't allowed to get into trouble. Star snorted softly at that but waved at his departing back.
She wandered. The pictures were hung on partitions arranged in a seemingly haphazard manner. She had seen most of them already but it seemed new again to seem them displayed so beautifully rather than leaned against workbenches and scattered around the studio. Caterers drifted through, getting the feel of the layout as the first people began arriving. Star continued her slow inspection of Damien's work. A woman caught her standing on one leg, head tilted sideways, trying to figure out if the bush in the painting was really doing what she thought it was doing to that rock it was draped over. She flushed with embarrassment and went in search of Damien.
A man in a gray suit was studying a panoramic vista of broken stone and shattered, burn scarred trees. His hands were tucked in his pockets and, by the narrow slant of his eyes, she guessed he wasn't very impressed. A critic, probably, since the buyers she had overheard had raved over the paintings. She had never tried schmoozing before but the man looked like he needed a good schmooze before he would see the forest for the trees—literally. She took a deep breath, steadied her nerves and joined him.
He glanced at her but she kept her eyes on the painting as if absorbed by the images. It was one she knew, luckily. Damien had been particularly proud of this one. He had spent hours pointing out the details to her.
"Surreal,” she breathed.
"What was that?"
Star gave him a shy smile. “Sorry. Just admiring the painting."
He gave the picture in question another jaundiced look. “This one?"
"Oh, yeah.” She laughed a little and turned back to the painting. “I love the dragon."
"Dragon?” He was curious now.
"See? Right there in the cliff face.” She traced the air in front of it. “And here is the knight, that's his lance and that tumble of boulders and flowers is his horse."
The man stepped back and turned to look at the picture from another angle. She watched his expression change as he finally saw the tale hidden among the tangle of images. The woman's outstretched arms of cloud. The whip and curl of fire and the scorch marks and tangled branches that entwined the knight.
"Dali he's not, but he's good.” She started to step away but he stuck out his hand.
"Chad Brockhurst."
"Star d'Luna,” she returned, taking his hand. His eyes were friendly enough now and stayed mostly above her chin. She had to give him points for that.
"You don't look Italian.” His grin was charmingly boyish and just as obviously practiced. She smiled and tugged her hand free. Points were rapidly being lost.
"That's because I'm not."
"Me either.” He laughed and she kept her smile with effort. A caterer passed close enough for her to snag two glasses of champagne. She handed one to him, hoping the application of alcohol would improve his jokes. Schmoozing was harder than she thought it would be.
"So, what is a beautiful woman like you doing at an art show like this one?” he asked as he sipped his wine. Surprise spread across his face as the quality of the champagne registered. Star hid a smile behind a sip of her own wine.
"I'm Damien's date tonight,” she admitted. It wasn't as if he wouldn't find out later anyway and hiding it would do more damage than she could repair.
"Really?” He took another sip. “Model?"
Star choked. “Me? Hardly. I can't stand cameras."
His eyes made a quick trip over her. “Do you model for him? Artistically, that is."
"Nope. I work in a book store.” She began to drift toward the next cluster of paintings and Chad fell in beside her.
Music pulsed softly punctuated by the murmur of people discussing lives, money and occasionally the art around them. The clink o
f glassware and bursts of laughter created music of its own.
Chad tagged after her like a puppy as she moved from painting to painting. It was odd to see the playful man become the cold professional whenever they encountered another critic. Star was growing desperate. She had to get rid of him but she didn't want to hurt his feelings. She was grateful, then, when they were shanghaied by three artsy types who jabbered about color and form, comparing Damien's work to other surrealists. She managed to slip away as the food came by. Seeing the wide-eyed look of the server, she almost felt guilty but decided that it was a matter of survival of the fastest.
She found Damien in a corner, surrounded by three women who laughed and sipped their champagne. The brunette leaned closer, her hand stroking his shoulder suggestively.
Sliding her arm through his, Star smiled up at him. She didn't miss the flash of relief in his eyes as the brunette backed off. He pressed a kiss to her temple and held onto her like a lifeline.
"It's almost time for the grand unveiling,” he teased her. “Are you sure you want to see this?"
"Is there any reason I shouldn't? I've been bugging you for months to let me peek.” His grin tweaked her suspicions but she knew only too well that he wasn't about to answer any questions.
Star let him lead her away toward the open area where the enormous canvas was still draped. His eyes gleamed neon bright with excitement as the white sheet slithered free. Silence fell. Faint whispers of awe rippled over the crowd. Star could only stare.
A woman lay on her side on a bed of leaves, asleep. Though she was nude, it was tastefully done with an arm concealing her breasts and her leg bent to reveal only the supple curve of her hip.
It was her.
Star covered her mouth with a hand as her brain began to absorb more details. She traced the faces formed by the leaves and petals. Layer draped over layer, drawing her eyes ever deeper. Imps and trolls. Sneering faces that threatened. She could almost feel the sharp edged mockery, the brutalizing derision that assaulted the sleeping woman from every side. Star drifted closer, unaware of the eyes that followed her every move, comparing her cynically with the sleeping beauty above them.
In the tangled weave of leaves and fallen flowers, she saw the Fae Realms as she had never seen them before. Damien's brush revealed a harsh and violent aspect of her birthplace that she had never considered. In the single tear that stained the woman's cheek lay the airy beauty of Lough Lean, a cold and empty husk.
Damien caressed her shoulder with a bare brush of his fingers as she stepped closer to the enormous painting.
There, in the bottom corner she found what she was looking for. In the shadows of a fall of oak leaves, a centaur stood with his back to the viewer. The wide, powerful shoulders were all too familiar as was the solid, dappled black body. His pose, however, was not one of power. The bow he held low at his side, his head tucked and his shoulders slumped. He was lonely.
Damien was waiting expectantly as she turned back to face him.
"That is absolutely amazing."
She watched the tension dissolve from him like water from a window. Around them, conversation broke out, a frenetic babble discussing at length the form and aspect, color and skill that had formed the work of art that towered over them. More than a few glances flicked her way, knowing smirks, but she ignored them. She allowed Damien to pull her closer, to tuck his face into her shoulder as he weathered his relief and she absorbed what she had seen.
"You love him,” he whispered into her hair. “I didn't really believe until I saw you hunting for him."
"I can't love him, Damien. People don't really fall in love in a week. That only happens in...” She snapped her mouth closed before the words could condemn her.
"Fairy tales?” He finished for her. “Sounds about right. You're not just people, Star. You never have been."
"He's lonely, Damien.” She muffled the words in his shirt, still reeling. He was right. She had gone and done the unthinkable. She had fallen in love with Centauri. “I need to talk to him. I need to stop guessing and hear it from him why he did what he did."
"Sir?” Star pulled back to see a young man in a caterer's uniform holding a phone. “It's for you, sir. He says it's urgent."
Damien frowned, but took the phone. His eyes flew wide and he glanced down at Star. “I see. I'll get her there. Thanks for letting us know.” He hung up and handed the phone back to the caterer who vanished back into the crowd.
"It's Maria. She's having her baby."
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Chapter Twenty-Three
The hospital was doing brisk business as Star clattered up the front steps and pushed her way through the glass and steel doors. Her heart was beating so hard she barely heard the chatter of the orderlies and the muffled apology of the nurse that cut between her and the counter.
"I'm looking for Maria Sanchez,” she told the woman behind the counter. “She was brought in earlier for an emergency c-section."
The woman tapped a few keys and pursed her lips. “You family, honey?"
"I'm her neighbor.” Star clutched at the edge of the counter. She would rather face down the Unseelie court again than face anything happening to Maria. “I know she put me on the list with her doctor because I'm supposed to watch her son for her while she's here."
"Um-hmm.” The woman tapped a few more keys. “What's your name, honey?"
"Star d'Luna.” What was taking so long? That list had been made up for months. Surely it was right there in that blasted computer.
"She's still in surgery, honey, but you can wait with her brother in the waiting room on three. The doctor will call as soon as there's news. Ok?"
Her brother? Maria didn't have a brother. Juan's brother, Ramon, certainly wouldn't take time out of the life he lived according to the TV Guide to sit at the hospital with his four-year-old nephew. Star didn't argue the point with the woman but followed the pointing finger toward a wall of elevators.
The door chimed and slid open to the third floor. Star stepped out, trying to read the signs that hung at every junction and at spaced intervals down the hall. Finally she found the one she was looking for. An orderly brushed past her, turning to stare. He bumped into a cart of cleaning supplies and tried to catch the rolls of falling tissue before they scattered. He managed to dump them back on the cart and continued on as if nothing had happened, his ears a bright red. Star shook her head.
The waiting room was silent, the television in the corner off. A circular table held magazines, a board game and a couple of jigsaw puzzles. It smelled of dust and worry, the quiet whispering of hours spent in fear for loved ones. Star stepped inside, wondering where Jose was.
She stopped where she was, trying to find the courage to breathe.
Jose lay in Centauri's arms, his dark head cradled against the wide chest. He looked so small and fragile. The Fae Prince held the boy as if he were something precious. Star pressed her hand to her mouth. They were both sound asleep.
Glad for the carpet that silenced the click of her heels, Star moved closer. Jose's hair felt like silk under her hand as she knelt beside the sleeping man and boy. She smiled. They looked so peaceful. Under her hand, she felt the tingle of magic.
"He was worried.” Centauri's voice was husky and deep. “It seemed the best thing for him."
Star tried to remember where exactly in her chest her heart belonged and then gave up. It was permanently lodged between her ears and her throat making it difficult to think or speak. Or breathe. She forced her fingers to move, stroking a caress through Jose's hair one more time.
"He'll worry himself sick over her,” she agreed in a whisper. “She's his world."
"She will be fine.” Centauri eased himself into a more upright position and grimaced. “These chairs may be the death of me, though."
Star chuckled. She couldn't help it. It was a relief to hear him grumble about such a mundane thing. She saw a sling tossed under the chair and glanced back up at Centau
ri. He looked fine. The wounds the troll had inflicted on him had vanished as if they never were. But there were shadows in his eyes that hadn't been there before.
Star stood, wrapping her arms around herself, and turned away. She hated waiting. She hated the silence of not knowing. “Were you the one who called the gallery?"
"Jose showed me how.” She could hear Centauri shifting in his seat but didn't dare peek. “I knew you would want to be here."
"Thank you.” Another thought occurred. “What were you doing at Maria's?"
He sighed. “After what happened the other night in the park, I thought it best. The Fae can protect himself now that he knows what to look for, but the humans can't."
She groaned. “I hadn't thought of that. Luna would go after them, too, just to hurt me."
"You needn't worry. I did think of it. It's what I'm trained to do, Princess.” He paused. “Star, if my being here is making you uncomfortable, I will leave."
She flashed him a dark look. “You don't make me uncomfortable.” Hot and bothered, yes. Giddy, even. Uncomfortable was too tame a word for the things he made her feel. Besides, she had him pinned down and pretty much alone. She wasn't about to give up that advantage.
"Then sit down and stop pacing.” He shifted Jose in his arms and she saw pain flicker across his face.
"What are you doing?” It was out before she could stop it. “You're hurting yourself."
"It's only my ribs, Princess."
His ribs. He wasn't healed. She frowned. Why wasn't he healed? He was of the Earth Realm. They should have been able to heal him up in a day or two. Another thought bubbled up in her brain.
"You went after four Sidhe bodyguards with your ribs banged up? Danu! Why would you do that?"
He looked puzzled. “It was necessary. Princess, sit down, please. You're making my neck ache."
"Necessary, my ear!” Star threw up her hands. “You need to get better before you go rampaging around trying to save the world, superman."
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