by Shona Husk
He looked at the beautiful woman in the mirror. She would have gone home to give birth. How long had the woman remained in the mortal world before growing bored and returning to Annwyn for good? Had she left behind a heartbroken husband? And what of her child? The mirror didn’t have those answers.
Beyond the old images the shadows moved. Caspian opened his eyes. The fairy Court was before him as if he was looking through a window, not through the veil and into another world. The clothes glittered in silver and gold, a glittering rainbow of velvets, brocades, and silks cut in styles no human had ever worn. One man drew all attention as he danced to music Caspian could almost hear. Changing partners and spinning them around. Elegant and graceful in a way no human could be. For a heartbeat he wanted to join the dance instead of just watching. Heads turned as if he’d spoken the thought aloud. Eyes as pale as ice and twice as cold stared.
Eyes exactly like his. His father.
Caspian yanked his hand away, his skin stinging like he’d been holding snow. He flipped the blanket over the glass, his heart racing to get away. It was too late. They’d all seen him. His father had seen him. Caspian stepped back, but the temptation lingered to glance again at the beauty no living human should see. If a human danced, or drank, or ate the food, they’d be trapped in Annwyn forever or until the King decided to release them.
And he was human enough that the rule applied to him.
He swallowed and took another step back. Then another. Each pace was a victory of willpower over seduction. The more distance he put between himself and the enchanted glass, the more its power waned. When he closed the connecting door between the garage and house, the lure was almost gone. At least the mirror was only enchanted, not fairy-made. Fairy-made objects were a whole other bundle of trouble. The memory of the Grey from the garage sale rose in his mind.
He leaned against the door and closed his eyes. Images of the party in Annwyn flickered past and longing rose in his blood. Only it wasn’t the fairies who turned and looked at him; it was Lydia, beckoning him to dance at Callaway House.
Reality was blurring. He needed to ground himself in ordinary tasks. He opened his eyes, but his house was quiet. There were fairies here, but he never saw them. Brownies had taken up residence after his breakup with Natalie and they kept the house clean. As in immaculate and far cleaner than any human could manage. In exchange, he left out tea and cookies as was the proper thing to do.
The tiny porcelain tea set—an eighteenth-century Minton children’s set—that sat on the corner of the kitchen counter was empty, so he topped it up with a little milk in the jug and a little sugar in the bowl, some tea leaves and water to the teapot, and a wafer on each of the plates. He had no desire to be sharing his house with an angry Brownie who felt disrespected. When dealing with fairies, he’d learned if they couldn’t be avoided they should be respected… in the same way people respected any dangerous wildlife: keep a good distance where possible, don’t make eye contact, and run.
In addition to cleaning, the Brownies kept the Greys away. Because the power of the Court ran in his blood, fairies flocked to him like moths to a light. A fairy banished from Court became a Grey; cut off without access to the magic, they began to lose energy. Some chose stature and lost their looks, becoming skeletal ghouls of nightmares. Some chose to remain beautiful and became the tiny imps or pixies of children’s tales that would shrink to magnificent nothing over time. Others chose power and became ugly, small, and spiteful boggarts. He’d seen them all and everything in between. Brownies, however, either chose not to live at Court, or they had been exiled to the mortal world, which was a social death instead of actual death. Since he never saw them, he’d never had the chance to ask, and they probably wouldn’t tell him anyway.
Caspian made himself a cup of coffee and waited. As much as he avoided fairies, Dylis was an exception. She’d been charged with his care at his birth and would kill to protect him. After thirty-five years of her company, he was used to having her flit in and out and he’d learned to ignore her in public. He expected she’d breeze in any second.
Halfway through the coffee, Dylis appeared. He sensed her a heartbeat before he saw her, a blur of sliver and purple as she jumped onto the counter and helped herself to one of the cookies he’d left out for the Brownies. “Nice mirror,” she said between bites.
“If you like that kind of thing.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t you even want to peek at the party? I do. It’s been ages since I was at Court.” She fixed her glacier blue gaze on him, like a sullen doll. A slash of silver passed for a skirt and was topped with a purple frock coat. Dylis enjoyed a flair for the dramatic. But this doll was armed; wherever she went, a short silver sword hung at her side. Dylis was more deadly than she looked.
“You went last weekend.”
“That was business.”
“Reporting back.”
Dylis laid her hand on her heart. “Never. I was getting the latest gossip.” She shook her head. “You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s been a major falling out and things are very unbalanced.”
“I don’t care for Court politics.” The games, the scheming, and the cutthroat—literally—behavior made human politicians look like kids playing dress-up.
“You will if it bleeds through the veil.”
Caspian put down his coffee. “What do you mean?”
“The river isn’t flat.” She lowered her voice further so he had to strain to hear. “It has ripples.”
The last time the river of damned souls had rippled, millions had died of the Spanish flu. If it broke its banks, death would spill into the mortal world and plague would just be the beginning.
“Does it have to do with the mirror they want?”
Dylis shook her head. “That’s a separate but related issue.”
Of course it was, because fairies never did anything the easy way. There had to be layers of intrigue and dealings and games.
“But there are whispers a Grey is after the Window.” She was frowning at her cookie. Was she actually concerned?
The memory of the tall Grey chilled his blood. A banished fairy, an enchanted mirror, and ripples on the river. He didn’t believe in coincidences, not when the Court was involved.
“And by talking about them you’re feeding them.” He would not be dragged into Court intrigue.
“It can’t be allowed to fall into the Grey’s hands. With it he could get back into Annwyn and cause all kinds of strife.” She looked up at him. “Your father is concerned.”
His father. His fairy father. The man he’d never met and whose sole contribution to his life was to assign Dylis to his protection.
“I said I’ll keep an eye out.” And even though his gut was telling him to run, he knew he would check any mirror that came across his path. The idea of a Grey sneaking into Annwyn and causing trouble didn’t sit well. That there were already ripples was a concern. What was going on?
“You swear?”
Caspian shook his head. He wasn’t going to be drawn into making a deal and agreeing to help.
“You’re no fun.” She kicked the teacup.
Caspian smiled and straightened it up, knowing she wouldn’t really do anything to anger the Brownies. He knew she liked to socialize with them. He’d heard the music late at night when they’d thought he was asleep.
“You need to come to Court. It’s so much more fun than,” she waved her hand around, “this place.”
“And when I fall into step and get caught in the dance? Or if I sip the wine? Taste the food? What then?” He knew. He’d be stuck until the King or his father chose to release him, but the cost would be his soul.
“Fine.” She crossed her arms and turned her back as if she was angry.
Maybe she was. Maybe she’d been asked to convince him to visit Court. Or maybe she was just trying to get her own way. Sometimes she was worse than his ex-wife. Dylis had hated Natalie. She’d never trusted her. He should’ve listened and saved hims
elf the heartache.
Dylis’s back straightened. If she’d been a cat her fur would’ve been standing on end; as it was he could sense the shift in her energy. Caspian followed her line of sight out the kitchen window.
His heart forgot to beat. In his yard was the Grey he’d seen earlier. He tried to act like he was casually looking out of the window, but the Grey raised his hand in greeting.
“He’s seen us,” Dylis whispered.
“Oh yeah, and he knows we’ve seen him.”
“Where did you get that mirror?” She spoke without taking her gaze off the tall fairy.
“Garage sale.”
“The one time you go without me and you come back with a Grey on your tail.” Her teeth remained clenched together.
The Grey vanished as if he’d never been there, and Dylis moved as if freed from a spell.
“I need to see the mirror.”
“It’s not the Window, only enchanted. And if it’s his, he can have it.” Losing the money was nothing compared to what the Grey could take. A banished fairy would do anything to get home, and the soul of a changeling would be a sizeable bargaining chip. If the Grey suspected which fairy was his father, it could be an even bigger problem.
If one enchanted mirror brought a Grey to his house, what kind of trouble would the Window bring? Getting caught up in fairy problems never went well for humans, and he didn’t think it would go much better for changelings. Yet he was already involved. Even if it was as simple as examining every mirror, if the Court wanted to they could force him into a deal to find it or pay the penalty. A Grey could do the same.
“It may not be that simple.”
No, it never was with fairies. “You can look at the mirror. I’ve seen enough of the Court for one day.”
Dylis opened her mouth, but he turned away and she didn’t press the point. Instead she flung the garage door open with more magic than necessary. He flinched as the door handle slammed against the wall and left a dent. The Brownies would fix it, but that wasn’t the point.
With the door open and Dylis unwrapping the mirror, Caspian needed to put some distance between him and the glass. He needed to do something human and mundane. So he went upstairs to work. He needed to tally his hours and send an estimate for his work at Callaway House. As he waited for the laptop to wake up, he could almost hear the tune of the music coming from Annwyn. In his mind he could see the dancers. Their beautiful clothes and unearthly faces. It was unnatural and yet he could feel the lure the same as any fairy. The call to go home.
A shiver raced over his skin and produced a shudder. He was home. He was human; this was where he’d been born and this was where he was staying.
Chapter 4
Lydia lay in bed listening to the perky chatter of the breakfast radio hosts. In another minute or so the daily horoscope would come on. While she didn’t believe in their predictions, imagining the outcome was an interesting start to the day.
“Capricorn, break free of routine and embrace change.”
Embrace change. If change looked like Caspian, she’d gladly embrace it. She smiled to herself.
When was the last date she’d been on? She frowned. Four months, five months? It had started off well enough, but then he’d expected her to spend most evenings with him and she couldn’t. She had work and Gran, and she just didn’t have time to squeeze in a relationship.
Now she was about to inherit a crumbling plantation house, had a mortgage on her apartment, and a job that wouldn’t stretch to pay for repairs. Her fingers scrunched the sheets.
Embrace change!
Maybe it was time to sell. She could move to another city. She could travel. She’d stayed because of Gran, but she no longer had that tie. She could do whatever she wanted. She opened her eyes waiting for a sense of freedom or something to jolt her into action. Nothing. She felt as empty as Callaway House. Even when it had just been Gran living there, the old place had lived and breathed. Now it was a shell.
Except Caspian hadn’t seen it that way. He was fascinated even as he tried to remain impartial. He hadn’t asked leading questions about the house and it’s colorful past. He was genuinely interested… and interested in her.
She hadn’t missed his glances. She’d stolen more than a few herself. There was something different about him, but she couldn’t say what. However, she was interested enough to want to find out more. She flipped back the covers and sat up. She had a day at the office to put in before meeting Caspian at Callaway House. The weather forecast came on, another patchy day of undecided spring weather. Dress for summer but add a jacket, and take an umbrella just in case. She reached out to turn off the radio, but the announcer’s next words slammed into her.
“Madam Callaway has died at age eighty-nine. No doubt there are some relieved power brokers this morning knowing the secrets of the mistress hotel are safe with her.”
Lydia drew in a breath and held it. She’d expected something two weeks ago, been braced for a story then, but when the media hadn’t picked it up she’d relaxed. She rubbed her hand over her face as her eyes stung. She wasn’t going to cry. She’d done enough of that before burying Gran in a small private service—one her mother hadn’t bothered to attend. Some daughter Helen was.
Lydia took a deep breath. She was in public relations. This is what she did for a living. First rule, control the situation.
She needed to come up with a statement that seemed to give the media information but that told them nothing, certainly nothing salacious. She’d been hoping Gran’s death and sorting out the will would happen quickly and quietly so she could stay well clear of the gossip, but Gran would have wanted to go out in style. Maybe a big party was just the thing after all…
Maybe a very public memorial would be enough for people to sate their curiosity while reminding them that Gran was a much loved person, someone who’d made a difference in many people’s lives. Lydia nodded to herself. Yes. That was how she’d respond to the media. She’d lay down a challenge and see who was brave enough to show their face and mourn Nanette Callaway.
And in the meantime, she’d figure out who tipped off the press.
* * *
Something hit his bedroom window with a thump and a flutter. Caspian opened his eyes, awake and alert even though morning was still thinking about arriving. For a moment all he heard was the pounding of his heart. Then the flutter-bump happened again. He turned to face the window and saw a small bird against the pane. The bird’s wing caught in the streetlight and shone iridescent turquoise. A fairy wren.
Flutter-bump.
The bird was on the inside trying to get out.
Cold filled his gut. If a wren was in his house…
“Shit.” The Brownies.
He threw back the covers and ran down the stairs two at a time. Ice pumped in his veins, fueling a panic he hadn’t felt in a very long time.
He skidded into the kitchen and stopped as if he’d hit a wall. The antique tea set was scattered across the floor. Sugar was everywhere. A broken saucer had sent shards of porcelain over the tiles. His eyes widened at the wanton destruction of an irreplaceable one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old tea set. It might have been worth hundreds of dollars, but to him it was worth more. He’d purchased it especially for the Brownies. He’d taken their arrival as a sign of good fortune and protection.
The skin on his back prickled as if a ghost was running its fingers down his spine. Caspian slowly lifted his gaze from the floor, aware he was being watched. The gaunt man from the yard sale stood in his kitchen, sipping from a tiny teacup. The echo of fairy beauty still clung to the Grey like an extra shadow. The man’s lips turned up in what could only be called a victory smile.
Caspian did a quick threat assessment. The Grey looked pretty enough to have only been recently banished.
But still Caspian was out of his depth.
For several heartbeats neither of them moved. Caspian looked away first. If it hadn’t been five in the morning, he might’ve been
smarter and pretended as if he hadn’t seen the Grey. Although the smashed tea set had already given away that he could see fairies. He really hoped the Brownies were safe.
The Grey set the cup down on the saucer. “I appreciate your hospitality, Caspian ap Felan ap Gwyn ap Nudd.”
The use of his fairy name to the fourth generation was a sign of respect, but coming from this man it was more of a threat. The Grey knew exactly who he was, and no doubt knew exactly how the fairy blood in him had manifested in the mortal world. The Grey had watched him touch the mirror at the garage sale. He knew he shouldn’t have bought it.
His heart hammered, rattling his ribs. Where the hell was Dylis? Caspian inclined his head but didn’t speak. Fairies could twist words to their own advantage better than any human lawyer.
“You have been well schooled. Be assured I’m not after your soul. In my present state I have no use for it.” He flicked his hand dismissively as if he were used to being obeyed.
But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take Caspian’s soul to trade later. Caspian waited. Running would serve no purpose.
The Grey walked around the kitchen counter. His clothes were finely made and highly decorated. Velvet and brocade in muted shades, a memory of their past color. They had yet to show signs of wear from being cut off from the power of the Court. He’d obviously been a lord, and yet he wore no sword of fairy silver. Whatever he’d done had been bad to be cut off and cast out without a weapon.
Caspian’s initial adrenaline-fueled panic gave way to something much colder. A bead of sweat rolled down his bare back. It was one thing to see fairies but another to have one break into his house and confront him.
The Grey’s boots crunched over the pieces of china. Caspian tried not to wince. The Grey was doing it deliberately and enjoying every pace. Each grinding step was another insult to the Brownies. He was acting as if he were still at Court looking down his nose at those who chose to live in the mortal world. But here, fairies, like Dylis, and the Brownies outranked a Grey no matter how recently banished.
