by Shona Husk
Caspian had grown into a fine man. For a heartbeat Felan was filled with regret for not seeing him grow up. “You made a good deal, one any fairy would be proud of. Now you must keep it.”
“Keep it?”
“Your word is like law, binding.” He reached into his waistcoat and pulled out the mirror on a chain. “This will help you.”
In the mirror a woman ran her finger under her eye and removed a smudge of makeup. Felan smiled. “There’s someone in it today.” He held it still for Caspian.
Caspian frowned, a flicker of something in his eyes. Then he took the Counter-Window without a word and slid the chain over his head. “You want me to return it to you. But then what will stop the Grey from killing me?”
“I wouldn’t let harm come to you. I have done my utmost to protect you always.” Everything he’d done over the last three mortal decades had been to protect Caspian. It was why he’d been such a poor father.
Caspian wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Why did you let me be born in the mortal world where you knew I wouldn’t fit in?” He spoke softly as if unsure he should even be asking.
Felan had expected the question. He’d imagined having it from a much younger Caspian, but he’d never been able to construct a meeting that wouldn’t arouse suspicion.
“It was both an easy choice and one I have doubted every day over the years. Particularly now. I met your mother by chance. I was checking a doorway that had been tampered with by a Grey and she was walking through the cemetery. She was so beautiful I had to stop and talk to her. Over the next few weeks one thing led to another and I began thinking I’d found someone to sit by my side when she conceived. Even then Annwyn was in trouble.”
Felan grimaced. The old hurt was like a wound that didn’t heal. But compared to the newer one it was but a scrape. Now he had no one and needed someone to help save Annwyn. “Then I saw her with the human she’d married. His hand was on her stomach and there was something in her eye that wasn’t there when she was with me. With me it was lust and desire, but with him it was love. If I’d brought her here I’d be on the throne looking like my father in five hundred years’ time with a cold queen full of hate by my side.”
“You knew she was married?”
“She knew I was fairy.” Felan shrugged. “In hindsight maybe you should have been born here. I would have taken the throne, my father would have stepped down, and all of the current nastiness could’ve been avoided. I guess I was too selfish.” He wanted too much, he wanted everything.
Caspian shook his head, still frowning. “You must have loved her enough to realize she would be happier with my father. The man who raised me,” he corrected.
“I know you view him as your father, but I wanted you to know your birthright. You are my only child.”
Felan looked at Caspian. He wasn’t ready to send him home to die. Whether in ten years or fifty it didn’t matter. This was why he didn’t want a gaggle of changeling children. It was too painful, knowing he’d outlive them all. “Stay a while. Enjoy the pleasures of Court.”
“I will get trapped.”
“I will care for your soul; you can have it back later and go back to being mortal.” He just wanted to spend some time with his son, show him how beautiful Court could be, and maybe Caspian wouldn’t want to leave.
“And how many years will have passed while I drink and dine?”
“You are refusing an invitation?” Felan narrowed his eyes. No one refused. No one thought to disobey him. Did Caspian think he could just because he was the only child?
Caspian gave a small bow as if sensing the shift in the air. “No, I wouldn’t decline such an honor. But I have my deal to keep and I’m sure you’d like the issue with the Grey finished.”
“You promised your lover three mortal days?”
“Yes.”
“Then you shall remain for three days and remember that half your blood is fairy and that should you chose to surrender your soul this could be your home.” He laid his hand on Caspian’s chest and a ring formed around Felan’s middle finger—silver with a curious pale green stone split with a red line up the center. “You will get your soul back when you bring me the Window.” Taking Caspian’s soul would also stop Shea from getting it should Caspian fail to find the Window within the month.
Caspian looked at the ring; he placed his own hand on his chest as if trying to feel the difference.
“You won’t miss it. I promise.”
“I will in the mortal world. Without it I will be fairy.”
“And technically banished. Like any fairy caught making deals with the banished.”
“But you said the hearing was a formality.”
“It was. I didn’t need the hearing to punish you.”
“Then all that fatherly crap…”
Felan caught Caspian’s chin and forced him to look him in the eye. “Not crap, Caspian ap Felan.” The name seemed to echo as Felan ensured Caspian saw the truth, felt it burn in his body. “I haven’t lied to you. You are my son, my only child, and a source of great pain and regret. I love you like any father loves a son. But I have a bigger role. Annwyn cannot fall. Its safety is also your responsibility.” He released Caspian. “Do you understand?”
Caspian blinked; there were unshed tears in his eyes. For a moment Felan regretted exposing Caspian to what he felt, the fear, the heartache, the responsibility, everything.
“I understand. You will keep your word?”
“My word is law. Three mortal days and you go back to your lover. Your soul in exchange for the Window.”
“You don’t need my soul.”
“No, but I want to hold you close for a little longer.” Felan caressed the stone on the ring. “Besides, three days here without drinking and dancing would be torture, and I’m not cruel.”
“You took my soul for my own good?”
“Yes. Now enjoy the party.” Felan opened the door. “You may go where you wish except the Queen’s chambers.”
“What about my shop?”
“You have a new assistant, Bramwel. His specialty is statues.”
Caspian opened his mouth, then shut it again.
Felan waited, sure his son had something to say.
“This isn’t over, Felan ap Gwyn.” The words vibrated in the room.
Felan smiled. Caspian was a quick learner, a sharp thinker, and good-looking. So fairy despite his mortality. His heart swelled with pride. He’d done the right thing letting him be raised in the mortal world. He had to believe that. And he had to make the most of what little time he had with him.
“No, it’s not.” He touched the ring that held his son’s soul. It was warm and fragile and reminded him of holding the delicate newborn over thirty years ago. “Just watch where you throw my name around. It could attract the wrong kind of attention.”
Caspian went to walk out of the antechamber, then paused. “How will I know when three days are up?”
“I will escort you to a gate.”
“And see me safely through?”
Felan placed his hand over his heart. “My word as Prince, and as a father. I won’t let harm come to you while you are here, and I’ll do my best in your world.”
This time Caspian nodded. “Accepted.”
A little shimmer of power ran through the air. If Caspian had been born here, he’d have been a powerful fairy.
* * *
Caspian followed a shadow servant through the castle. He wanted to avoid the actual Court where the parties happened. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his father, he just didn’t trust fairies. He ran his hand over his chest again, but he didn’t feel any different. Certainly not dead. Without a soul he should be dead. A human would be dead. The only thing keeping him alive was the fairy blood in his veins. Maybe he felt lighter somehow. Like he’d had a couple of drinks and was feeling taller and less mortal.
He was less mortal. He was immortal. He stopped to consider that and what it meant. If he stayed here, he would n
ever die. It was an odd sensation to realize he could live forever. But that would mean a life surrounded by fairies, not humans, and a life without ever seeing Lydia again. Beneath his feet the grass was soft, and the trees rustled in the breeze. This place was like a gentle dream—one that would keep him from truly living if he fell under its spell.
“Take me to a private room,” he ordered the shadow. He almost apologized at the harsh tone of his voice then saw no point. His step faltered as he realized what he’d thought. He’d dismissed the shadow as nothing, not even worth kindness. Was the loss of his soul having an effect already?
The shadow didn’t seem to notice and led him up a winding staircase made of branches and carpeted with leaves. Music and the scent of food drifted up, but he refused to be tempted.
In the small room he closed the door and sat down to think.
Somehow he’d become a pawn… maybe more valuable than that, a knight, or bishop, in a fairy game of chess. The trouble was he couldn’t determine the players, which boards they played on, or how many games they were each playing.
He pulled out the smooth shard of mirror. The surface was dark no matter which way he turned it. When Felan had shown it to him Caspian had been sure he’d seen Lydia. Impossible; he’d looked at everything in that house, been through boxes and the attic, stables and the run-down cabins. The Window wasn’t there. If darkness was all it was going to show him, it wasn’t going to be much help. He touched the surface but got nothing. He was as blind as any man. Maybe it would be more use in the mortal world. He kept the shard in his hand and waited, waited for another glimpse of Lydia. Waited for the three days to pass.
He wouldn’t join the Court and he wouldn’t be lured into lingering. He had to remember the reason why he had to get home and it had nothing to do with fairies and the damn Window or even his soul. His heart was much more important. He’d forgotten that after the divorce. He wouldn’t forget again. He wouldn’t forget Lydia.
Chapter 17
Lydia checked her cell phone again, in case she hadn’t heard it ring while it had been in her handbag. There were a couple of missed calls from the media about tomorrow’s memorial service, and a few texts from her friends. They wanted to see the latest chick flick—something about a wedding and the wrong guy—but she wasn’t in the mood for anything funny.
Caspian hadn’t tried to get in contact. Then again, he’d left with no shoes and no wallet. Could he even get in contact from Annwyn? Was he even still alive? She bit her lip and shoved the phone back in her bag.
Her apartment creaked around her as if trying to get her attention, but it was better being here than at the empty Callaway House. There it was much easier to miss Caspian no matter where she sat as he’d been in every room. He’d never been to her place… which hopefully meant the fairies wouldn’t know of it either. She was afraid for Caspian and for herself after seeing the Hunter.
Something went bump and she froze. It had sounded like the Callaway ghost, which she knew now was a Grey. She held her breath and listened. Silence. Whatever it was sounded like it had come from the spare room.
Oh God. The box of Gran’s personal things. What had she brought home with her? She wanted to run, but she forced herself to take calm, measured steps. There was only one thing of value in there. The compact that Gran had been given by the singer.
In the spare room she opened up the box into which she’d packed Gran’s personal things. She carefully pulled out some personal items and the few photos that had been in the bedroom. A half-read novel with a receipt for wine used as the bookmark. She smiled even as her vision blurred with tears, but she kept digging through the box. She knew it was in here. Her fingers touched tissue paper and she pulled it out and unwrapped the mirror.
A compact the size of her palm. The silver case was embellished with leaves. She flicked the catch and the compact opened. Inside the mirror was perfect. No chips or signs of rust. She could see why Gran had kept the mirror, but something like this should be used, not hidden away.
Lydia sniffed and wiped a tear from beneath her eye before her mascara smudged. What would Caspian say about the mirror and the man who’d given it to Gran? What would he see when he touched it? More than just the silver case and mirror. He’d see the history, he’d be able to tell her about the singer and Gran. Did she really want to know?
The hair on the back of her neck prickled as if she was being watched. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought the box home, but the idea of fairies rummaging through Gran’s things was too much. She looked again at the mirror. It looked like nothing special, just a decorative compact. But what did a fairy-made mirror look like? She hadn’t asked, hadn’t thought to ask. All the mirrors in her yard had been big—big enough to use as a portal back to Annwyn. This was tiny.
She frowned and rewrapped it. Her grandmother had kept it safe for years, so there was no way she was going to let the Greys get hold of this. It might be nothing. It probably was nothing. It was too small to be anything. When she saw Caspian next she’d show him the mirror. If she saw him again, but she quickly squashed the thought. He’d be back. He’d promised. For a moment she sat on the floor surrounded by Gran’s personal items. She tried to imagine boxing up everything in Callaway House and stuffing it into her small house, but she knew it would never fit. If she had to sell Callaway House she was going to have to get rid of some things.
Like Gran, though, she didn’t know where to start.
That’s when she started laughing. They were more alike than she’d ever realized. If Gran had found a way to keep Callaway House, she could too. Caspian was right—she needed to get quotes for the repairs instead of hoping they’d just go away. Something in her bedroom creaked, as if someone was poking around. She shivered. An evening out with her friends suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea. She could listen to their news, they’d have a drink for Gran, but she knew none of them would show up for the memorial. That was okay—but she also knew that if Caspian had been here he would’ve and he wouldn’t have cared what people said. Gran would’ve really gotten a kick out of Caspian and his ability as well as his screwed up family.
Three days until he came home.
Three days had never seemed so long.
* * *
Lydia swallowed and forced herself to take a breath as she entered the church on day two of Caspian’s time away.
She lifted her chin, ready to face the curious stares of the guests at Gran’s memorial service. She nodded to a few older ladies. Had they once partied or lived at Callaway House, or had they met Gran after its closure? Gran’s doctor was there. An old man himself, he looked slumped and sad, confirming Lydia’s suspicion that there had been more going on.
The priest opened the memorial service. But Lydia tuned out the words. She didn’t want to remember Gran as dead and buried. She wanted to remember her alive. This was just a formality and a chance for others to say good-bye.
And for others to stick their noses in.
Still, Gran would have been happy with the turnout.
Lydia stood near the photos of Gran to deliver the eulogy. She’d chosen pictures that represented Gran’s life. Her wedding photo, one where she was dressed to the nines and sitting in the garden of Callaway House, another of her much older but with a young Lydia on her lap. She wanted to make the point to everyone listening that Gran was more than just the disgraced Callaway name. She was loved, and loved in return.
As she spoke she was aware of a camera flashing and she knew her words were being recorded, but she didn’t care. Maybe the article they wrote would focus less on the past and more on the person. She let her gaze drop to her notes, and paused for a moment before inviting others to come and talk about Nanette Callaway.
She expected no takers. But to her surprise the doctor got up and said a few words about his favorite patient. A sense of humor that he’d miss.
Some of the older women also took a turn. Not one of them mentioned the house. They talked about Gr
an’s kind heart, always willing to help another, her donations to charity and her love of book club—especially the opportunity to debate the story over a glass of wine.
The priest kept the memorial moving along. After a final prayer for Gran’s soul everyone drifted outside. Lydia glanced down the road at the house. Her house.
What the hell was she going to do with a house that size?
Fix it. Or at least find out if it could be fixed.
Gran had given her the house and she was going to keep it. Whatever it took.
A tingle formed between her shoulder blades and traced down her spine as if she was being watched, but when she glanced behind her she saw no one. She hated cemeteries.
As a child she remembered looking out the front window and watching as dusk settled on the church. While most of the time it was just a building, occasionally she’d get a weird feeling like there was something or someone over there. She suppressed a shiver.
A man stepped in front of her and held out a little voice recorder. “Can I get a few words from you about Nanette Callaway?”
Lydia had no doubt he’d already recorded the whole service and was looking for something more. “She will be greatly missed.” Lydia forced a narrow smile. They weren’t the words he was after.
“Is the house now yours?”
Lydia nodded.
“What do you intend to do with it? Sell it? I hear there are plans for a bed and breakfast.”
“The will is on probate. I can’t comment.” Where was he finding this stuff?
The man nodded, but there was a glint in his eye. “Is it true Madam Callaway kept diaries?”
Her breathing stopped like she’d been kicked in the stomach. How did he know about them? “I don’t know, is it?”
He stared at her, and she stared back, daring him to say something else.
Then he clicked off the voice recorder. “The newspaper would be willing to offer you a decent sum for the first look at the diaries.” He handed over a business card.
