by Mari Mancusi
At first, I’m not sure, but something about her hopeful smile compels me to nod in agreement. I follow her to a booth at the very back of the pub, away from all of the other diners, and settle down onto a hard wooden bench.
I turn to the woman and am surprised to see that suddenly her whole manner has changed. Her once-smiling eyes are now piercing and her mouth is set into a firm, scolding line. “Now, how about you tell me,” she says in a steely voice that’s suddenly not even the slightest bit crackly, “why a mischievous Sidhe like yourself would try to trick a simple bartender?”
I stare at her, wide-eyed. “Wh-what?” I ask, shocked beyond belief. How does she know I’m Sidhe? Is she a fairy herself? I suddenly realize I’m shaking with fear.
“I can assure you, Collin is a very sweet boy. And he does his duty well. I’ll not have you try to trick him into breaking the rules, just to test his will.”
“But ... I wasn’t ... I’m not ... I wouldn’t trick him,” I stammer. “I really am trying to find Tír na nÓg. I’ve never been there before and I’m desperate to reach it as soon as possible.”
The woman looks at me incredulously. “But how can you say that?” she demands. “I’ve seen you there myself. On the throne, on your coronation day.”
My mouth drops open. Of course! “You mean, you saw ... oh my God.” I swallow hard, my whole body buzzing with excitement. “You saw Sunny!”
“Yes, Sunny,” the woman agrees. “But you are Sunny! You think I wouldn’t recognize you, just because you colored your hair? Give me a little credit here!”
“No, no—you don’t understand! I’m her sister. Her twin sister. And I’ve been trying desperately to find her. Please,” I say, entreating the woman with my best pleading gaze. “Can you help me? Can you help my friends and me find Tír na nÓg?”
“Well, of course I can!” The woman smiles a big toothless grin. “I wouldn’t be a very good fairy godmother if I couldn’t, now would I?”
23
“Eairy godmother?” I repeat in disbelief. “You’re a freaking fairy godmother?”
“Of course,” she says, looking a bit offended. “Don’t you recognize one when you see them? We’re the only Sidhe who look like old ladies, after all.”
I shrug. “I’ve never seen a real Sidhe of any sort. I mean, besides my own family, I guess, and we just look plain old human. What do normal Sidhe look like?”
“Young, beautiful, thin, tall, blond, perfect figures.” She sighs miserably. “You know, your typical Disney princess type plus wings. It really is completely unfair.”
“Wow. So how come Sunny and I aren’t like that?”
“Probably because you didn’t grow up in fairyland. After all, they don’t call it Tír na nÓg for nothing, you know.”
“Oh yeah. That’s right.” I remember reading that in my studies somewhere. Tír na nÓg means “place of eternal youth and beauty” or something like that.
“Once you step foot in Tír na nÓg, you’ll never grow old,” she says in a sing-songy voice. “Well, unless you’re destined to become a fairy godmother, that is.” She scowls. “Thank you very much, Walt Disney.”
“Wait, what?”
She shakes her head in disgust. “Once upon a time, we fairy godmothers were just as young and beautiful as the other Sidhe,” she informs me. “But then Disney comes along and creates movies like Cinderella. Now everyone expects their fairy godmother to be a plump old lady with no fashion sense. It’s ridiculous.” She sighs. “Our union tried to lobby the powers-that-be for a while. We even launched a full-on PR campaign to prove to people that fairy godmothers can come in all shapes and sizes. But no one bought it.”
“No?”
“Let’s be realistic here. You descend down into someone’s bedroom window as a fat old lady with a magic wand offering to make that person’s wish come true, you’re a welcomed guest. You show up as a young, hot debutante in slinky silk Armani and they’re on the phone with the coppers before you can say bippity boppity boo.”
“Yeah, I guess I can see that.”
“So eventually we had to have Glinda, the Good Witch, take us down the Yellow Brick Road to see the Wizard and have him age us up so we’d better appeal to the masses.”
“The Wizard?” I repeat. This story is getting crazier and crazier. “But I thought he was a fake.”
“That’s what we wanted Dorothy to believe ...” the fairy godmother replies with an exaggerated wink.
I lean back in my seat, not knowing where to start.
“Anyway, if you can get past the old crone thing, it’s really not that bad a gig,” she continues. “We get to travel a ton, helping our godchildren with things like designer clothes, tickets to the hottest balls, elegant transportation ...”
“Oh, like a carriage made out of a pumpkin!” I exclaim.
She gives me an amused look. “Yeah, if we were in the Middle Ages!” she says sarcastically. “Today, it’s more like a Mercedes made of melons, thank you very much.”
Of course it is.
“So then can you help me?” I ask hopefully. “Can I be your Cinderella? I have to get to Tír na nÓg and find my sister.”
She glances at her watch. A Rolex, in case you were wondering. “I have a flight to catch in an hour,” she muses. “Some servant girl in Slovenia is hoping to hook up with the prime minister at the royal meet-and-greet tonight.” She taps a finger to her chin. “I guess I could give you directions at least. And how about a Lamborghini made of lemons?” She pauses, then adds, “Just make sure you have it back by midnight or there could be some ... complications of a decidedly sticky sort.”
I make a face. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’ll just take the directions, if you don’t mind.”
She grabs a napkin and a MAC lipstick out of her Chanel purse and draws a small little map. “Most people think Tír na nÓg is an island,” she says. “But actually it’s here on the main-land. Just a different ‘here.’ ”
“Right. And there’s some secret way to part the curtains of the world?”
She looks up. “Your parents didn’t teach you anything, did they?”
I shake my head.
“It’s okay. After all, if it weren’t for absentee parents, I’d be out of a job.” She waves her hands and mutters something under her breath and a moment later a small piece of parchment paper flutters to the table. I pick it up eagerly.
“Are these directions?” I squint at the paper.
“No, no. I don’t have time to conjure up a full-on poem on the fly. It’s just the URL for the fairyland cheat codes. Print out the magic words and then head here.” She presses a finger to the map. “The rest will be obvious, you being Sidhe and all.” She looks up and smiles at me. “You sure you don’t want the lemon Lamborghini? Or maybe a frankfurter Ferrari?”
I’m tempted, but I shake my head. “That’s okay,” I say. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Good luck,” she says. “Tell your sister I said hello.” She rises from her seat.
“Wait. You’ve met Sunny?” I ask. “In Tír na nÓg?”
“Met her?” The fairy godmother laughs. “I conjured up her wedding gown.”
And with that, she pulls a wand out of her purse and waves it twice, disappearing into a cloud of glitter. I look around the pub, but no one seems to have noticed anything except me.
I sink into the booth. Fairy godmother. Who would have thought? And what was that she said about Sunny ... ?
Oh my God. She said wedding gown! That means ...
I grab the napkin map and run for the door. We need to get to Tír na nÓg now! Before it’s too late!
24
I run back to the hotel, but realize once I get there that I neglected to take my key. I pound on the hotel room door where Jareth and I are staying, but there’s no answer. Vampires, probably not so surprisingly, sleep like the dead during the day and it’s nearly impossible to wake them up. I thought perhaps Jareth would be an exception, se
eing as he no longer has that pesky sun allergy, but I guess not so much.
Frustrated, I pound again. Louder this time. From the next room over, another door opens and Corbin peeks his head out.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, just trying to wake the undead,” I say, giving up and walking down the hall toward him. “How are you doing?”
He shrugs, but widens the door so I can step inside his room. Part of me thinks this could be a bad idea—being alone with him and all—but at this point I’m stuffed full of Blood Synthetic and not in a snacking mood. I figure if I start feeling the urge to splurge, I’ll check out quick.
So I enter the room and sit down on an old-fashioned cushioned armchair by the window. He sits down on the double bed, which, I note, has not been slept in. “I can’t tell you how weird this all is,” he confesses. “Hanging out with a coven of vampires and all. I never would have thought in a million years.”
“Yeah, but you’ve got to admit, the Blood Coven’s pretty cool, right?” I ask. “I mean, they’re all civilized and law-abiding and stuff.”
He nods. “I had a long talk with Magnus on the plane ride over here,” he says. “He’s a pretty smart guy. He told me all about the consortium’s current politics and how the Blood Coven has been working to develop peaceable solutions when it comes to vampire/human relations.”
My shoulders relax a bit; I’m glad Magnus was able to talk some sense into him. “Yeah, most vampires I’ve met are pretty upstanding citizens. And the ones that aren’t? Well, I stake those.” I give him a grin.
“So you really are a slayer then?” Corbin marvels. “For some reason I just assumed that was a front so you could hide out at Riverdale. Like Lilli—er, Rachel—was.”
“Yup. I’m the real deal. And I’ve had two major vampire slays to my name, not to mention a whole crazy werewolf cheerleader thing I won’t get into.”
“So you’re a fairy, a vampire, and a vampire slayer ...” He ticks off my roles on his fingers. “All rolled into one. That’s a lot to keep track of.”
“You’re telling me.”
He grows silent for a moment, then adds, “And now you’ve been reunited with your true love.” He stares down at his hands and I notice his fingernails are bitten to the quick. “I guess congratulations are in order.”
I sigh. “About that, Corbin. I never meant—”
He waves me off. “It’s okay. I get it. You don’t have to explain again. You needed blood. Mine was available. You seduced me and I let you take it.”
“It’s really not that simple ...” I say, feeling that guilt all over again.
He looks up, questioningly.
“It’s not like you were just some random person I drank from. You’re the only person I’ve drunk from. My first.” I pause, then add, “And as they say, you never forget your first.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better or something?”
I gnaw at my lower lip. “Look, Corbin, I like you. You’re a great guy. You’re passionate, strong, interesting to talk to ...”
“Let me guess, it’s not me, it’s you,” he interrupts. “And you’d love to stay friends.”
I let out a frustrated breath. “I’ve got a boyfriend.”
“So you say.”
“And I love him. As blood mates, we share a very deep bond. Not something easily broken up.”
“Right. You’ve made that very clear.”
“But that doesn’t mean ...”
“We can’t be friends?” He snorts. “Yes, it does, Rayne. It definitely does.”
My eyes well up with tears at the anger I can hear in his voice. “Why not?” I demand. “Why does it have to be all or nothing?”
Corbin rakes a hand through his hair. “Because I don’t feel very friendly toward you,” he admits. “I love you, but I also hate you. I’m torn between kissing you ...” He pauses, then looks up with bloodshot eyes. “And killing you.”
I swallow hard. “Maybe I should go.” I start to rise from my seat.
“You should,” Corbin says slowly. “But you won’t.”
Quick as lightning, he leaps from the bed and grabs something from under the mattress. I gasp.
It’s a stake.
“Corbin, what are you—” I back up and hit the glass window. Crap. Nowhere to go and Corbin’s blocking the door.
“If I can’t have you,” he snarls, “then I’m going to make sure no one can.”
“Corbin, listen,” I plead, trying desperately to keep my voice calm while my mind races for an escape plan. “You’re just feeling the aftereffects of my vampire scent. You actually hate me, remember? You think I’m a pathetic home-schooled slayer vamp. Don’t throw everything away on a feeling that’s not even real.”
His face turns purple with rage. “Vampire scent?” he repeats. Uh-oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone there, now that I think about it. “I should have known! All this anguish I feel inside ... all this agony and pain ... it’s been your evil pheromones this whole time, hasn’t it?”
I nod weakly. This is so not good.
“I should have never trusted you,” he growls, brandishing his stake as he takes a step closer. “You’re just like the rest of them. A sick, twisted, disgusting bloodsucking beast. And just like the rest of them, you don’t deserve to live.”
He flies at me so fast I barely have time to react. I manage to duck a split second before his stake makes contact with my heart. Instead, he crashes into the window, the impact shattering the glass and cutting his hand. Blood drips from the wound and I can feel my fangs elongate in eagerness.
I head for the door, but he’s too quick, diving at me and managing to latch on to my ankle. I lose my balance and slam to the ground. As he yanks me back toward him, I claw at the carpet, but can’t seem to get a handhold. So I kick backward with my free foot, my steel-toed Doc Marten boot connecting with his nose. I hear a crack, followed by a scream of pain, and my ankle is now free.
I flip myself over and leap to my feet, grabbing him by the shoulders and smashing him against the wall. His head slams with a thud and he slumps to the ground, unconscious, as blood fountains from his nose, hands, and head. The smell and sight of it all overwhelms my senses, and the next moment I find myself on top of him, fangs buried deep into his neck, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I can feel his feeble thrashes beneath me as he regains consciousness, but he has all the strength of a premature baby. I taste his anger, his pain, his agony—each sip more delicious than the last and I find I can barely form a conscious thought over the ever-flowing ecstasy. His heart thuds beneath me, strong at first, then weakening as I gulp mouthful after mouthful of his spicy, hot blood.
Soon his protests stop and his body grows limp, his pulse slows and the blood gets even more delicious, if that’s possible. I’m drinking his essence now, I dimly realize, his very soul and life are draining into me. And it’s so, so good.
No! I can’t do this. I can’t hurt him any more than I already have. If I do, I’ll be proving to him what he believed all along. That vampires are evil. And I’m not evil. I just ...
I just need help!
It takes every ounce of my strength, but I force myself to pull away. I look down at him, horrified, praying I wasn’t too late. That I didn’t take a life. Corbin’s life, of all people. To hurt him—after he saved me from Slayer Inc. back at Night School ...
I really would be a monster.
My eyes catch a slight rise and fall from his chest. He’s alive, but maybe barely. And maybe not for long. I summon up everything inside me in a psychic scream, begging Jareth to wake up and help me as I try to press a towel to the wound to stop the flow of blood.
He bursts into the room a moment later, his eyes wide and horrified when he sees what I’ve done. “Please,” I beg. “Please help him. I didn’t mean to ...”
“Move aside,” he instructs and I comply, whimpering in a mixture of horror and fear as I crawl into the corner of
the room, pulling my knees to my chest and hugging them tightly. Blood—Corbin’s blood—drips onto my skirt, staining it crimson, and I want to throw up.
Jareth was right all along: I need help. And if I get out of this mess—if Corbin lives—I swear I will suck up my pride and ask for it. I will accept any help I can get. Counseling, blood rehab, whatever it takes. I admit it—I can’t do it alone. The monster inside is too strong.
I watch as Jareth checks Corbin’s pulse, then puts his ear to his mouth to feel for any breath. Please, please be okay! I bite my lower lip, forgetting my fangs are still out, and my own blood fills my mouth, mixing with my victim’s.
“Oh, Rayne,” Jareth says hoarsely, rising from Corbin’s limp body and turning to look at me. “What have you done?”
“Jareth, please save him,” I beg. “I didn’t mean to ...”
But Jareth isn’t listening to my reply. His attention is back on Corbin, his movements frantic as he tries to perform CPR. My stomach swims with nausea. “Listen to me, Corbin,” I vaguely hear Jareth saying, over my own troubled thoughts. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. I need you to make a decision for me.”
Horror slams into my gut as I realize exactly what Jareth is going to ask him. “No!” I cry, stumbling blindly to my feet. “He doesn’t want that! Anything but that!” After all, Corbin hates vampires. They killed his parents. He’d rather die than become one of us monsters.
Which, it appears, thanks to me, is his only other option.
“Rayne, leave the room. Now!” Jareth growls at me, baring his fangs. I shrink back in horror, my beautiful boyfriend morphing into a menacing beast. Is that what I looked like to Corbin? No wonder he tried to kill me.
I back out of the room, closing the door behind me. I collapse onto the hall floor, not sure where to go or what to do. Inside, I can hear noises. Jareth murmuring to Corbin in a voice too low to understand. Corbin, evidently having regained consciousness, murmuring back. I try to swallow, but the lump in my throat is too big. What will he decide? And is he really capable of making this important decision in his current state?
