To Catch a Queen

by Shanna Swendson

  Grinning to herself, she ran up the front steps. She had to release his hand to unlock first the front door, then her apartment door. Once they were inside, she threw herself at him, kissing him for all she was worth. He kissed back for a moment before pulling himself together and stepping out of her grasp. “I do not think that would be a good idea now, Emily.”

  She grabbed his hand and reveled in the coolness of his touch. “You thought it was a great idea the last time.”

  “The circumstances have changed.”

  Still gripping his hand, she tugged him toward the daybed. He was tall, but as insubstantial as his kind tended to be, so she was able to drag him with her. “Come on, I know you’re different, but your people aren’t good at resisting temptation.” With one final yank, she pulled him onto the daybed with her.

  For a moment, she thought he’d melt against her, but he resisted. His voice husky, he said, “Your sister would kill me.”

  “What business is it of hers?”

  “She is my sovereign. You swore an oath to her, as well.”

  “I thought that was just for show.”

  “If it worked, then it wasn’t just for show.”

  Annoyingly, tears welled up in her eyes. “I need this, please,” she whispered.

  He shifted so that he held her against his shoulder, like he might hold a child who’d awakened from a nightmare, and he stroked her hair gently. “It would be ungentlemanly of me because I believe you are el stinko.”

  In spite of herself, she burst out laughing. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one in a very long time.”

  “It’s wrong?”

  “It’s a bit archaic.” With a sigh, she settled against him. “But yeah, I think maybe I am el stinko. Blotto. Wasted. Drunk off my ass. Three sheets to the wind.”

  “What do sheets and wind have to do with inebriation?”

  “I have no idea. I’m too drunk for etymology. I should know better to drink like that without eating.” She’d feel better in the Realm, she knew it, and if it hadn’t been for his solid grip on her, she’d have gotten up and gone. His stroking gradually lulled her into relaxation. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was better than she’d had in weeks.

  She wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but when she woke he was gone and daylight was streaming through her window. Cold, she reached for a blanket and paused with it halfway over her body, suddenly conscious of the soft, fuzzy texture. She pulled it up to rub against her cheek.

  Soon, she noticed other things—the taste in her mouth, the scent of Eamon on her pillow, the sound of traffic outside. The sense of being muffled was gone almost entirely. She leapt out of bed and into the bathroom, where she squirted toothpaste into her mouth, only to spit it out a second later when the mint was more than she could take.

  “I don’t know what you did, Eamon,” she muttered to herself, “but baby, I owe you one.”

  Eight

  Maybelle, Louisiana

  Thursday, 7:00 p.m.

  “Look up, Madison!” Sophie shouted as a group of girls in black leotards and pink tights did grand jetés diagonally across the studio. “Watch your arms, Cameron! Flapping them won’t get you any higher.” When the last group had reached the corner, she clapped her hands and said. “Good job. Now, everyone to center for révérence.” She led the class through an abbreviated set of flowing stretches, ending in a deep curtsy. Rising from the curtsy, she clapped again and said, “Great class. Thanks, everyone.”

  The teen girls in the class applauded halfheartedly as they exchanged puzzled glances. This was Sophie’s last class of the day, and she never ended on time. She’d changed into street shoes, wrapped a jersey skirt around her waist, and put on a sweater while the girls were still pulling on cover-ups and changing shoes. Since the studio was still open, she didn’t have to wait for them to leave, so she hurried out to her car. The market wouldn’t start until midnight in New York, but that was only four hours away, and she had a fairly elaborate plan to explain the fact that she was likely to be out all night.

  As soon as she got home, she ran upstairs and took a shower. Afterward, she put on heavy tights and dance trunks. Instead of a bra and slip, she wore a filmy dance dress with a snug camisole lining. She never knew what currency she might have to pay for information or favors, so she needed to be prepared to dance. Over her dancewear, she put on a knit wrap dress that fit snugly through the body before swirling into a full, calf-length skirt.

  Into her copious tote bag she threw an old pair of pointe shoes, a small iron skillet, and the cookies she’d made earlier that day. While she finished doing her hair and makeup, she used the electric teakettle she kept in her room to brew tea for filling her thermos. She had sandwiches and apples in her room’s dorm-sized refrigerator. With any luck, her mother would have no idea that she was prepared to survive a couple of days and even keep another person alive.

  Then it was time to test her cover story. “I’m getting together with a friend,” she said as she passed the living room on her way out. “I’ll probably stay over in the city instead of coming home late, so don’t worry about me.” That was all true, and was it her fault if her mother thought the city in question was Shreveport rather than New York?

  “I’m assuming this friend is female,” her mother said icily.

  As a matter of fact, the friend from the New York class she’d made plans with was a woman, but something in Sophie snapped, and before she even thought about what she was saying, she said, “Is that any of your business?”

  Her mother’s mouth hung open in shock. Sophie had never gone through a rebellious teenage phase, so that might have been the first time she’d ever sassed her mother. Finally, her mother said, “While you’re under my roof—”

  Sophie cut her off. “But it’s not your roof. Technically, it’s still Nana’s. When she passes, it’ll be mine. I’m not living here as your dependent. I’m living here to help you. If you decide you don’t care for the way I’m living my life, you’re welcome to tell me not to come back under ‘your roof,’ but then you’ll get to deal with everything I’ve been taking care of for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m running late for dinner.”

  She made her exit while she was still riding the adrenaline high and before she found herself backtracking and apologizing. It was a sign of just how shocked her mother was that she didn’t manage to react before Sophie made it to her car. Sophie forced herself not to look in the rearview mirror as she drove away, lest she have second thoughts. She was shaking with disbelief about what she’d just done, but it was high time, she told herself. Her belated teen phase did have some good points. Now, if only she could get over that foolish crush.

  She went through her usual routine of parking her car, hiding it, and opening a gateway. Once inside the Realm, she immediately opened another gateway that took her into Central Park, and finally breathed a little easier with a sense of freedom. After pulling a belted wool jacket out of her bag and putting it on, she headed to the restaurant where she was to meet her colleague. Her mind, though, was already on that night’s market.

  Nine

  The Theater District

  11:15 p.m.

  Emily changed quickly as soon as she came offstage. As far as she could tell, she hadn’t lost her mojo when the spell on her had broken. The house was still full and she still had to do multiple curtain calls. She could hear Sophie’s voice in her head, telling her that magic had nothing to do with it, it was all her and she had just needed the chance to shine and be noticed. Maybe her mental Sophie was right. And if the crowd outside the stage door was a little smaller, it was because it was a Thursday night.

  She signed a few autographs and smiled for photos as she made her way to the street and hailed a cab, making a mental note to put a car service in her next contract, assuming that it didn’t all go up in a puff of magical smoke. If the cabbie thought there was anything odd about her asking him to take Central Park West on the way to her apartment, he didn
’t say anything.

  She kept her eyes peeled for unusual activity around the park. Since Halloween was a huge fairy holiday, she was pretty sure there’d be a market soon, and that would be a great place to investigate this phony queen. Sophie might not be ready to delegate, but that didn’t mean others couldn’t volunteer to help. The real queen couldn’t very well scope anything out about the impostor, and any information she could glean would only help her sister.

  The area around the park didn’t look too different. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but there weren’t any hordes of strange people streaming into the park. She was about to direct the driver to take her home when the cab stopped for a light and a man with a dog on a leash crossed the street. It was Michael and Beau, and Michael wasn’t dressed like he was just taking the dog out for a late-night pit stop, but rather like he was going on a casual date, and he carried a messenger bag over his shoulder.

  She threw a few bills at the driver and said, “I’ll just get out here, thanks. Keep the change.”

  She had to run to keep Michael in sight. He moved like a man on a mission. As they went deeper into the park, the level of activity increased, and she could see the faint trace of aura that told her these people were fae—that sense hadn’t disappeared when the bonds had broken.

  Michael stopped on the bridge overlooking Bethesda Terrace, and she hung back, reluctant to let him see her. Was he meeting Sophie, or was he on some mission of his own? Then not too far away, she noticed Athena and Amelia. “The gang’s all here,” she muttered to herself. This night could get really interesting.

  Ten

  Central Park

  11:55 p.m.

  Michael stood at the balustrade overlooking Bethesda Terrace and checked his watch one more time. His pulse quickened with anticipation. The first time he’d seen one of these markets, he’d had no idea what was happening. He’d tried to rationalize an entire festival materializing out of thin air in Central Park. Now that he knew the truth, he braced himself for the shock.

  One more check of his watch showed that he still had a couple more minutes. Others were starting to gather in the area. He was sure most of them were some kind of fairy folk, but now he knew there were more humans in on the secret. A stirring in the waters of the lake on the other side of the terrace startled him, then he realized that there were people in the water—using the term “people” loosely, of course.

  Beau, who’d been slumped against the railing, came to attention and stood, so Michael checked his watch again. It was almost time. He held his breath, and while he waited, the terrace suddenly transformed.

  This market was bigger than the ones he’d seen before, like the difference between the regular greenmarkets and the Christmas markets held around the city. The terrace was packed with brightly colored booths. The only empty space other than the narrow aisles between rows of booths was a dance floor near the edge of the lake, beside which a small band played.

  The market was already crowded with folk who’d come from the Realm, and the more earthly fae who’d been gathering flooded down stairs and paths into the market. Beau started walking, joining the flow of the crowd, and Michael came along behind the dog.

  When he reached the first of the market stalls, he put his hand in his coat pocket and felt for the little angel figurine. It was a pewter version of the fountain in the middle of the market. Detective Tanaka had given it to him when Michael started his training to be a detective, continuing the joke begun during Michael’s patrol days when someone had realized that St. Michael the archangel was the patron saint of policemen. Michael tolerated the good-natured teasing and had a box full of angel figures, magnets, and postcards that had landed on his desk or in his locker over the years. This one was the most meaningful because it had been a sign that the senior detective had accepted him. He hadn’t realized just how important it was to him until he contemplated giving it away.

  But what would be a worthwhile trade for it? Not food or drink, which eliminated about half the stalls. He’d brought human food with him, either to sustain himself or use as payment while in the Realm. Fairy food was unlikely to do him any good.

  On second thought, he realized he shouldn’t be looking at the stalls, but rather at the vendors. His trade would only have value if he got something they valued, and they wouldn’t be selling anything personally meaningful to them. He walked slowly through the market, glancing at the fairies and other beings staffing their booths. None of them appeared to be wearing anything that looked like it might have great sentimental value. Then again, would anyone guess that his most treasured item of clothing was his first NYPD sweatshirt, now faded and tattered?

  On his second pass through the market, he noticed a woman selling small sculptures that looked so lifelike that he halfway suspected they weren’t sculptures at all, but rather enchanted beings frozen into position. In this place, that wasn’t entirely out of the question. Her booth was nearly empty of shoppers, and he thought that was causing her some distress. Her eyes darted back and forth as she watched people approach and pass by, and all the while, she absently stroked the shawl around her shoulders. It might have been woven from spider silk, it was so filmy, but the colors were more intense than anything in nature, and they seemed to shift. Even if he didn’t need to use it to buy Jen’s freedom, it would make an excellent welcome-home gift, he thought.

  Her eyes lit up when he approached her booth, and he felt bad for not being a real customer—that was, until she said, “Get your own brownie here, sir. You can release him when you need his services, then put him under enchantment and out of the way again when he’s done his work.”

  “That’s not really something I want right now,” he said, suppressing a shudder. “But I was admiring your shawl.”

  She glanced down at it and ran a hand along it. “Yes, my first brownie made this for me.”

  “What do you want for it?”

  “It’s not for sale,” she said, wrapping it tighter around herself. “Does this look like a clothing booth?”

  With a surprisingly strong pang of remorse, he took the figurine out of his pocket and held it out to her in the palm of his hand. “Would you perhaps be interested in this?”

  “Ooooh,” she breathed, her eyes growing wide as she leaned down to look at it. “How did you ever enchant one of those?”

  He started to correct her mistaken impression but thought better of it, instead closing his fist around the figure and pulling it away. “Trade secret,” he said vaguely. “But I might be willing to trade for your shawl.”

  “May I see it again?” she asked eagerly, almost greedily. He opened his fingers just long enough for her to get a glimpse, then closed his hand again. She shut her eyes, and her face showed her internal struggle before she whipped off the shawl and thrust it at him. He handed her the figure and hurried away from the booth before she realized that there was no enchantment on the angel figure—at least, not that he knew of. He couldn’t take that for granted any longer.

  He pulled back on the leash when Beau got too far ahead of him. In this crowd, he didn’t want to trip anyone. A moment later, he saw why Beau was so eager when he glimpsed red-gold curls in the crowd. How had he not noticed Sophie earlier? At least, he thought it was Sophie. He craned his neck to see around and between the people in front of him. She was shorter than most of the fairies here, but as slightly built as she was, she still looked more substantial, more real, and that made her stand out in the crowd. Meanwhile, as bright as her hair was in the regular world, it was dim compared to the unreal hues the fae folk sported.

  He eased up a little on the leash to let Beau follow Sophie. He wanted to see what she was up to at the market. She paused every so often to speak to the people working the booths or to passersby, but mostly she kept moving like she was looking for someone. What surprised him was how little attention she got. She was the queen of these people, and he couldn’t imagine the queen making an appearance in such a public place wit
hout causing a bit of a stir. When he’d been with her in the Realm, everyone seemed to know at first glance exactly what she was.

  Frowning, he put his hand in his pocket to grab his clover keychain and took another good look at her. Nope, there was nothing there. Should there have been? He’d barely seen her in months, and in those rare times he hadn’t bothered to look with his enhanced sight to see if there was something magically different about her.

  She did have a bit more of a glow about her than an ordinary human, but she wasn’t wearing a tiara not visible to the naked eye, or anything like that. If there was something about her that said “queen,” she must have hidden it, the fairy equivalent of a movie star wearing dark glasses and a baseball cap.

  But he knew what she was, and she was just what he needed. He closed the gap between them before loosening Beau’s retractable leash. “Go get her, Beau,” he murmured, and the dog trotted forward to circle around her. When he was certain there was no way she could dodge or escape him, he said, “Hello, Sophie. We need to talk.”

  Eleven

  Bethesda Terrace

  Midnight

  When the marketplace magically appeared on Bethesda Terrace, Emily couldn’t help but squeal and clap her hands in delight. It was so magical, like something out of a dream.

  It also looked real and vivid. The spell that had seemingly trapped her in a gray haze might have been broken, but the world still wasn’t what it once had been to her, and she was beginning to wonder if it ever would be. This place, though, had all the color and life of the Realm, everything she’d missed since her return. She didn’t want to go back there, not forever, but it was good to get a little dose of it.

  All around her were bright colors, intense smells, lively sounds. She imagined that if she were to eat or drink anything, the taste would be amazing, but she knew better than to try. That was why she was in this mess in the first place.