Faery Tales: Six Novellas of Magic and Adventure (Faery Worlds Book 3)

by Phaedra Weldon

  Anyway, I took Pappa’s last name—his human one—when he adopted me shortly after their deaths. He was the head of the Council at the time, third in line to the throne, after Nox’s father and mine. Obviously, he’s a politician not a musician, but he knew my mom and dad well, just as he was close to Nox’s parents, who died with them in the plane crash.

  Sifting through the pile, I come up with a photo of Nox and me. We look about eleven in this one, maybe twelve. He towers over me, though we were the same age. His black hair shines in the bright sunlight as he grins and makes bunny ears over my head for the camera.

  I was so mad at him after the photo was taken, and I turned around to discover his split fingers in the air behind me. I remember wanting that photo to be perfect, having just come to the realization of how much I liked him like that. I wanted a memento to keep with me, to look at in between our family get-togethers.

  We lived on different sides of L.A., so we didn’t attend the same school, and sometimes it would be weeks in between visits. I remember toward the end… before the crash… thinking I’d just die of longing before the next time I saw him. It had probably been only a couple of weeks. But now—now I’ve gone for more than five years without seeing him. And I’m still alive. At least on the outside.

  Tears well up inside my eyelids and prick at my nose. I drop the photo back into the box, fishing out another one of our two families together. It’s still hard to believe all of them are gone—wiped out in one terrible moment on a sunny Southern California day.

  Studying my own tiny, smiling face in the photo makes me unspeakably sad—that little tow-headed girl, so carefree—has no idea her life is about to change forever. Because of all the people in that happy photo, she will be the only one to survive.

  I scoop up the rest of the photos from my bedspread and reach for the tissue box on my bedside table. At the sound of a throat clearing, I startle and twist toward the doorway.

  “I’ve come to say goodnight.” Pappa steps into the room and comes to my bedside. “I thought maybe you were up here reading, but now I see… are you all right? You’re crying.”

  I swipe at my eyes and blow my nose, shaking my head in a stupid denial. “No. I’m fine. I was just—I don’t want to forget what they looked like, you know?”

  “You miss them,” he says, sitting down beside me on the coverlet. “That’s natural. I’m sure no one feels it’s time to lose the ones they love, but it’s even harder for us, I think. It’s unnatural.”

  Accidents and violence are the only things that can end Elven lives. Human illnesses like cancer and heart disease and even flu don’t affect us. We age, but only to a certain point. At full maturity, Elves stop aging and stay the same in appearance and health and fitness for eternity. Pappa himself is more than two-hundred fifty years old, though he looks no older than thirty.

  “Can you tell me a story about them?”

  “Your parents?” Pappa shifts, looking uncomfortable, like he hates discussing death even more than I do, but he manages a small smile. “Well, I can tell you about the night you were born. Of course, you know your father was our leader and your mother our queen, so your birth was quite a big deal. A ballroom full of our people gathered at your parents’ home once the word went out that the blessed event was imminent.”

  He pauses, but seeing my smile and nodded encouragement, he goes on. “Even the human media got wind of it, since your parents were famous musicians, and there were cars lined up around the block outside the gates of the estate. Your mother was attended by our physicians up in her quarters, and the house was quite large.

  “But shortly before midnight, even over the music and noise of the crowd, we all heard your voice as you came into the world. You were so loud, it was as if you were in the ballroom with us. One by one, people started laughing. Someone next to me turned and said, ‘That’s some set of lungs. Another singer, for sure.’” Now Pappa laughs.

  I give him a smile, like I know I’m supposed to, but I can’t share his amusement. The story leaves me even more melancholy than before. I’m not a singer like my parents, much to Pappa’s disappointment.

  Was I a disappointment to them as well? I have vague memories of my mother praising my drawings and paintings and of my father hanging my artwork in his office, but I suppose all parents do that sort of thing.

  Still, I never doubted their love for me. I belonged to them. I was part of a real family. And I had a true friend in Nox. The stupid engine failure took away everything and everyone I ever cared about. It seems impossible an event with such a devastating impact could be caused by something so stupid and random.

  “I want to know about the accident,” I say, almost before I realize I intend to ask about it. There’s always been a shroud of mystery surrounding the crash. Probably everyone decided it would be less painful for me not to know the details.

  If my parents had been the only ones to die that day, I have no doubt Nox’s parents, Gavin and Sylvie, would have taken me in. They would have raised me as their own child, as a sibling to Nox.

  But as I’d lost all of them, and Pappa was the highest ranking Council member and next in line to the throne, he was the one to raise me. And the one to give me the news.

  He shared only the bare minimum at the time—terrible accident. All dead. Loved you very much, you’ll always have their memories. Now you’re leaving this place and moving to Atlanta with me.

  “What do you want to know?” His tone is wary.

  But he shouldn’t be. I’m not that fragile pre-teen anymore. I’m nearly eighteen now. And if I’m old enough to marry, surely I’m old enough to know the details of the event that took my family from me. He doesn’t have to be so close-mouthed about it anymore.

  “Just… how it happened. How you learned of it. If they… if they survived for any amount of time afterward or—”

  “It was instantaneous,” he interrupts. “They didn’t suffer. We think there was probably some sort of explosion in the air, shortly after takeoff. Perhaps a bird got into one of the engines and caused a fire.”

  “I thought it was engine failure.”

  “Yes, well, it might have been—it wasn’t determined conclusively—as far as I know. I was grieving, too, you see. I had little patience for the details at the time, and since then, I’ve been so focused on you and my job.” He pats my hand, and his fingers feel cold. “It’s best to just leave it in the past.”

  “Why wasn’t I with them?” Something I’ve always wondered about, sometimes even wished for. Wouldn’t it have been better to die and go to Alfheim with my family than stay here and live without them? Certainly it would have been easier. “You said Nox was with them. Why not me?”

  “I’m not sure. Who can say? Actually, I thought you were with them until later on, when the parents of the girl you were spending the weekend with contacted my office, wondering what was to be done with you.”

  “Oh.” That’s a new detail. I always imagined Pappa immediately seeking me out when it happened, rushing to comfort the tragic orphaned girl. But the way he said it just now sounded more like I was a loose thread he’d found sticking out of an expensive scarf after getting it home from the store and cutting off the tags.

  “Of course then I rushed over and picked you up,” he adds hastily. “And you know the rest.”

  He begins to stand, but still hungry for details, I press further. “It must have been hard for you to become an instant parent to a hormonal tween girl, not to mention one going through post-traumatic stress.”

  He relaxes again. “I’ve always said it was my honor to bring you into my home. You know I never married and can’t have children of my own, so…”

  “Why not?” Another thing I’ve never dared to ask but always wondered about. I know not all Elven couples can have children. Those who do are usually able to have only one—on rare occasions, two. But if he never married and never… well, how would he know he couldn’t…

  Rising from the b
ed and once again wearing the detached expression that’s his usual demeanor, he answers, “That’s a personal matter. All you need to know is that you are my daughter. And my daughter needs to get some sleep. She’s got an early flight—and an exciting week ahead.”

  “Yes Pappa,” I say, reading his conversation’s over tone and sliding off the bed myself toward the bathroom adjoining my room. “See you in the morning.”

  I turn on the water, and as it warms, I allow myself a tiny bit of anticipation for the week ahead. In less than twenty-four hours I’ll be back in the city of my birth, the place I lived with my family and childhood friends. Maybe I’ll run into some people who knew them, people who can tell me more stories about them.

  My spirit lifts like the steam beginning to fill the room. I might even be able to find out more about their accident and gain a greater sense of closure about it all.

  As I step into the shower, another exciting possibility hits me. One of the art schools Mrs. White recommended is in Los Angeles. I tip my head back into the hot stream and smile.

  I’ll take this trip and do what Pappa wants me to do. But while there, I might just do a little of what I want as well.

  Chapter Seven

  Roommate

  “I feel like we’re in a movie,” I tell Ava as our car passes the iconic Hollywood sign sprawled across a distant hill. “It seems like so long ago that I lived here, it’s hard to remember that was my life and not just something I dreamed.”

  Rolling down the window, I let in the warm, but somehow still crisp, air. So different from Georgia in every way. It feels right.

  “Welcome back, California Girl,” she says, her plump lips stretching over a wide, toothy grin.

  Following Ava’s instructions, our driver turns up the radio volume. Maroon Five’s high happy melody fits the vibe of the day perfectly. Now that I’m here, I’m even more hopeful about the trip. Being away from Pappa’s ever watchful presence has me feeling giddy and free, like a kid let loose at Six Flags for the day with a pocketful of money and no parental supervision.

  Ava has turned out to be a great travel companion. Only two years older than me, she’s far more experienced and navigated the huge Hartsfield International Airport with ease. Same story at LAX. She knows her way around the city as well, having worked and lived here since she was seventeen. The flight passed quickly as she filled me in on her modeling career and life in L.A.

  I turn away from the sun-drenched scenery to glance at her. “I can’t believe you have your own house.”

  “Well, I have roommates—I’d be too lonely living in that huge place alone.”

  The driver takes a left and we begin our ascent into the Hollywood Hills, finally coming to a stop in the drive of an expansive multi-level home that follows the contour of the jagged cliff it’s built upon.

  “Wow—this is amazing.” I open the car door and head for the trunk to get my bag, but the driver has already beat me there.

  “I’ll take care of these,” he says, nodding toward Ava, who’s already at the home’s modern wood and glass front door and waiting for me with a big anticipatory smile.

  “Wait till you see the view.”

  She leads me inside where I wander through the open floor plan with my mouth gaping. Our houses in Atlanta and D.C. are actually bigger, but this place is way cooler. It’s decorated in a sort of retro-seventies style with modern touches. All the furnishings are white, and it seems the entire place is illuminated with light from the floor-to-ceiling window wall, the California sunshine dancing around the room like a Beach Boys song.

  I cross over to the window, taking in the view of the valley stretched out below us. “Okay, now I really feel like I’m in a movie.” My childhood home in L.A. was large but homey, with a swing set in the back yard, and a treehouse, and colorful letter magnets on the refrigerator door. This place is unreal.

  “We can visit a set while we’re here—if you’re interested. My roommate Serena is filming this week. She totally wouldn’t mind if you want to go watch,” Ava says.

  “Really? I’d love to. You think we’ll have time? My dad made it sound like I’ll be booked every minute with the whole agent and photographer thing.”

  Ava gives me a knowing eyebrow lift. “Your dad isn’t here. You are pretty tightly scheduled, but there’s always time for fun. You just have to know how to work things.” She skips off to the kitchen and throws open the door of a huge sub-zero refrigerator. “Want anything? I’m famished.”

  “Sure. Whatever you have is fine.” Unlike what I’ve read about human models and their starvation diets, Elven girls eat often and eat well. We have much faster metabolisms than humans, and we’re tall. Our bodies are naturally thin and athletic—no wonder so many fashion shows and magazines are dominated by our race.

  Sometimes I’ve wondered why the designers and photographers don’t get tired of working with the same body type day after day, year after year. Maybe they think it’s a good thing, since they basically see models as little more than human clothes hangers or blank canvases for their art.

  Speaking of art, I’m dying to get on a computer here and look up the location of the art school in Santa Monica. Pappa uses a parental “spy” software program to monitor my laptop, tablet, and phone, so I’m reluctant to type in the potentially damning words using any of them.

  But he doesn’t have the same sort of access to Ava’s computers, does he? I can’t stop a grin from stretching my cheeks. I could get used to this freedom thing.

  Eying her backpack, I glance over at Ava, who’s setting out pita chips and hummus as well as some fruit. “Mind if I use your laptop to look up some L.A. touristy stuff? I know it’s cheesy, but I do want to see some things as long as I’m here.”

  “Go for it. It’s not locked. But Alfred will give you a driver to take you anywhere you want to go, probably, so you don’t need to print out directions or anything.”

  Alfred. Right. My father’s friend and the super-agent behind the stellar careers of the world’s top actors, musicians, models, and athletes. I read an article about his astonishing rise to prominence thirty years ago, seemingly out of nowhere. What the human writer of that article didn’t know is the story behind the story—that almost all of Alfred Frey’s clients are Elven and that glamour plays a huge part in their celebrity.

  I’ll be meeting him first thing Monday morning, to launch my own career, I guess. The whole idea still seems very foreign to me. I can much more easily imagine myself behind the camera than in front of it. I love capturing beauty, expressing it with a paintbrush. I can’t picture myself as the subject of someone else’s art.

  And I’m not sure how this whole modeling career thing is supposed to work if Pappa is so determined to marry me off in a political bargain a few months from now—to a reclusive Light Elf.

  Ava plops onto the white leather couch beside me, where I’ve opened her laptop and clicked onto a search engine. She’s holding a bowl of the biggest strawberries I’ve ever seen in my life. As if she’s read my mind, she says, “So I heard you’re getting married. That’s cool.”

  I glance over at her to see if she’s being sarcastic, but there’s no indication of it on her face. She seems sincere.

  “Yeah, I guess so. Who told you?”

  “My mom. She says it’s all important and whatnot ‘for the people.’”

  Her dead-on imitation of her mother’s hoity-toity regal tone cracks me up. “Right. That’s what my dad says. What about you?”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m old.” She grimaces. At nineteen, she should’ve been married for a year now already. “But my mom wants me to wait a little longer until I get my career more established and get a good fan pod going. I guess the humans aren’t as interested if you’re already ‘off the market’ or whatever.”

  I hesitate before speaking again. I don’t know Ava well. We’ve seen each other many times over the years, but we’ve never spent much time talking. I don’t know how much I can trust h
er, how much she buys into her mom’s ideas and the mission of the Council. But she seems to be an awful lot like me—very much integrated into the human world, and someone who enjoys her freedom.

  “I’ve been wondering about that—for myself. You know, like, how I’m supposed to marry this guy and have a modeling career? He lives in Altum. Rural Mississippi isn’t exactly a fashion mecca. Is he going to move out here so I can work after we’re married, or what? And he’s a Light Elf, which is weird.”

  She shrugs and pops a berry into her mouth, speaking between chews. “Who knows what the parentals are thinking? I try to steer clear of all their schemes for world domination and just live my life. Maybe he will, though. Maybe he’s going to cross over to the Dark side and have some kind of performing career and a fan pod as well.” She grins at her joke. “Is he a musician or anything? What do you know about him?”

  “Nothing,” I say on a heavy sigh. “Pappa won’t tell me anything and says it’s not for me to know about right now—that he’s an ‘excellent match’ and I shouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Wow. You are a good girl, aren’t you? Mama’s always saying, ‘Why can’t you be more like Vancia Hart? She always does what she’s told.’” Ava laughs. “You’re making me look bad, girl.”

  Heat fills my cheeks, though her jibe is good-natured. It’s just that I’m embarrassed by how true it is. I do always do as I’m told. And her teasing reminds me of Carter’s comment in the art room yesterday after school, about how it’s my life and that maybe I should start making some of my own decisions.

  Ava rises from the couch. “Well, I’m going to lay out by the pool. Come on out when you’re done. You can bring your food with you if you want to. There’s saol water and stuff in the fridge, too.”

  “Great, thanks.” I turn my attention back to my computer search with renewed interest. Finding the website for the art school, I do write down the address, in spite of what Ava said. I won’t be asking for a ride from any driver assigned by Alfred Frey—might as well call Pappa and tell him what I’m up to.