Chapter Twelve
Drop-in
By the next afternoon, I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t get back to the library. I want to check my email and see if Professor Gould responded, to find out whether he’ll help push my application through. And more importantly, I want to search for every bit of information the web has to offer on Nox Knight.
Unfortunately, my whole day is hijacked by a call-back from the lip gloss people. Modeling’s still not my favorite thing, but I did my best. I’ve decided to try harder on all my go-sees. If I’m going to defy Pappa and go to art school, I’ll have to pay for my own tuition and living expenses somehow. And if smiling and pouting at a camera with extra glossy lips is what it takes, then so be it.
Carter was right—there’s no reason I can’t do both. If I want to gain my independence and start making my own decisions, then I’ll have to become financially independent somehow.
When I finally finish, I fall into the back seat of the car, which is waiting for me just outside the shoot location when I emerge—poor driver probably had to sit here all day to make sure I didn’t escape again.
“Excuse me,” I say to him, leaning forward. “Could we stop by Mr. Frey’s office? I need to sign some contracts.”
Alfred texted to say he’d messenger the contracts over, but it occurred to me during the shoot today that some face time with him wouldn’t be a bad thing for my plan. I can show him how enthusiastic I am about working, tell him how “great” things are going so far… and maybe even get some information about Nox Knight while I’m there.
Brenna did say he was a client of Alfred’s. It wouldn’t be too weird to ask my agent about a fellow client, would it? Only one way to find out. None of the girls know where The Hidden’s lead singer lives in Los Angeles—I asked—and I have only a few days left here before returning to Georgia. And only a few months left until I’m a married woman—gag.
If my childhood friend really is alive and well and in the same city, I’ll never forgive myself for not taking advantage of this opportunity to find him while I’m this close. Imagining a tearful, happy reunion with him fuels me as I climb out of the car and head into the gleaming office building.
But as I approach Alfred’s office, my steps slow and my bravery falters. Mr. Frey probably doesn’t take kindly to unexpected drop-ins. No doubt his schedule is crazy busy. He might not even be in.
Gathering my courage, I force myself to take the last few steps to his receptionist’s desk. “Um, hi. I’m Vancia Hart. Remember me from the other day? I was wondering if Mr. Frey would have a few minutes to see me.”
“You have no appointment?” Her tone is icy, a thin brow lifting in disdain. After barely glancing at the daily calendar in front of her, she frowns up at me. “I see no appointment for Vancia Hart here.” Her name plate reads Rowena—a witch name—figures.
“No. I need to ask him a question about the contracts I’m supposed to sign. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
No response. This vicious guard dog isn’t going to let me get close to Alfred today. She’s already beginning the Head Shake of Denial when her desk phone buzzes. Lifting it to her ear, she says nothing, just listens. She nods.
“Yes sir.” Then she drops the receiver back into its cradle. “You can go in.” She tilts her head toward the massive double wooden doors leading to Alfred’s office.
Okaaayy… that’s weird. “Thank you.”
I push the doors open, and Alfred stands and walks around to the front of his desk.
“Vancia. This is a surprise. What can I do for you?”
His friendly demeanor catches me off guard and nearly makes me forget what I wanted to say. “Oh, I wanted to thank you in person for the help in booking the jobs. It’s going great so far, and I think I’m really going to like the work.”
His expression falls, almost as if he’s disappointed at my enthusiasm. The exact opposite of what I was expecting.
“I see,” he says, then smirks. “I’d thought for a moment perhaps you were going to tell me you’d changed your mind and that modeling wasn’t for you. I suppose I should have known you’d never go against your father’s bidding…”
His tone of voice leaves something hanging in the air between us. An invitation to contradict him? I don’t know—it’s weird.
“Um… not this time, I guess.” Lame and non-committal, but I’m not sure what he’s expecting from me. The whole vibe of this meeting is unsettling, from the way he greeted me as if he was actually glad to see me, to his cryptic comment about potentially disobeying Pappa.
Of course, that’s exactly what I’m planning to do and the only reason I’m here pretending to be eager for a modeling career. I need the money to pay for art school. I’m certainly not going to share that tidbit with Alfred, though. He’s probably just spying for Pappa in the wake of my “sneaking off” episode.
Taking a seat in one of the two guest chairs that face his desk, he waves his hand at the other, indicating I should sit as well.
In a soft voice, he says, “I knew your parents—did you know that?”
I drop into the chair opposite him, suddenly breathless. “No. I didn’t. Were you their agent?”
“Yes, actually, but we had much more than a professional relationship. We were good friends. I loved both your parents—their deaths destroyed me… as I’m sure, they did you.”
I nod in agreement, unable to speak around the huge lump that’s formed in my throat.
Alfred’s gaze turns to the wide window overlooking Century City. “I remember when you were born. Your father couldn’t have been happier if he’d won a Grammy and an Oscar in the same year.” Now his gaze is back on me, anchoring me in my chair with its intensity. “They loved you very much, Vancia. Your parents were good people. I miss them.”
My response is a whisper. “Thank you. So do I.”
“If there’s ever a time you’d like to… discuss them…” He stands abruptly and walks around to the other side of his desk. “Well, I suppose you’d better be on your way. I have an appointment in two minutes. Here are your contracts.” He shoves some documents at me. “You may sign them and leave them with Rowena or take them with you and look them over first. You know how to reach me.”
Thoroughly baffled by our exchange and its sudden end, I take the papers and walk toward the door, turning his words over in my mind as I cross the expanse of carpet. Just as I reach the door, I have a fresh burst of daring. It’s now or never.
I spin back to face Alfred. “You represent Nox Knight and The Hidden, right?”
He looks up from his desktop. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“No reason, really. When I was out with Ava and the girls last night, I saw their poster in the club. Nox looked familiar to me.”
Alfred’s eyes narrow, making them gleam even from across the room. “Yes, he reminds me of someone, too—another old friend of mine—very musical as well. Unfortunately, he’s no longer with us. I’ve lost too many friends.” After a pause, he adds, “One would think Nox comes from a very long line of musical glamour, but when I asked about his family, I didn’t recognize the names he gave me. Not that I would, I suppose. He hails from Mississippi—has recently graduated high school there.”
“Mississippi? Really? That’s… interesting.”
Everyone in the Fae world knows Mississippi is the territory of the Light Elves, and the seat of their political and royal power, Altum. But Nox Knight couldn’t be a Light Elf—they don’t mix with humans, much less perform in front of them.
“It is, isn’t it?” Alfred says.
“So then, I guess he doesn’t live in Los Angeles.” I can’t keep the disappointment out of my voice entirely.
“Oh, no. He does have a home here—in Malibu right on the beach, in fact. Have you seen Malibu?” Alfred lifts a brow in an expression that seems significant somehow. “The area just west of Zuma along Broad Beach Road is so lovely. I’m especially fond of the Spanish tiled roofs so
me of the homes have there. You should make a point of visiting the area before you leave town. You might find it… an enlightening sight.”
Is he telling me where Nox’s house is?
It seems that way. Either that or he’s suddenly feeling chatty and dispensing tourism advice. But why would he tell me where to find Nox? Unless… unless he wants me to see him and help determine his identity, to confirm or dispel his own suspicions.
Even if that’s what’s going on, and a bigger “if”—if Nox Knight and Nox Jerrik are one and the same—I’m not sure I’d share my discovery with Alfred Frey. My whole life I’ve heard of him as a friend of Pappa’s, and this change of demeanor is a little too much for me to swallow.
And if Nox is alive—and didn’t die in that plane crash with his parents—I’m not sure Pappa is a friend of his.
Chapter Thirteen
Malibu
I ask the driver to take me to Malibu to “see the sights” before driving me back to Ava’s house. It’s nearly sunset, and as Alfred said, the area’s beautiful. And just as he said, there’s a string of lovely—and huge—beach homes along Broad Beach road near Zuma. The neighborhood’s certainly fit for a rock star.
“Could you stop here please? I’d like to walk for a while,” I tell the driver. Asking him to wait, I get out and stroll down the street until I find a point of beach access. I don’t want him to see me knocking on doors on the street side.
After pushing through a particularly sticky access gate covered in private property signs, I walk along the high tide line, checking out the back sides of the exclusive mansions. The beach itself is lovely, and nearly deserted. The Pacific water feels cold on my toes, contrasting with the warm breeze, but I’m not here for a beach day—I’m here to stalk a celebrity. And I have no idea what I’m doing.
This is idiotic. How am I supposed to tell which house is his?
And then I spot the red Spanish tile roof. The style of the home is different from the modernistic wood and glass structures surrounding it. Is this what Alfred was getting at when he mentioned the style of home he “admires?”
Heart pounding and half-expecting a beefy bodyguard to challenge me, I approach the house and climb its back stairs. The chime of the doorbell sounds like an electric guitar chord. That has to be a good sign, right?
I think no one’s going to answer when, finally, a small woman in a crisp blue uniform opens the door and asks in heavily accented English, “I help you?”
I put on my most innocent smile. “Yes. I’m a friend of Nox’s. I was out for a walk and thought I’d stop in to say hi. Is he home?”
“No. No Mr. Nox here,” she says as she starts to push the door closed, her eyes wide with alarm.
My hand stops her from succeeding. Though she claims he doesn’t live here, the fact that she called him “Mr. Nox” lets me know I have the right house.
“Oh, well, when will he be back?” I ask in a cheery voice, refusing to be dissuaded. Again, I could just Sway her, but I’d rather not.
“No,” she repeats, sounding a bit more frantic this time. I’m thinking maybe his staff is forbidden to answer the door and this lady broke the rules. She’s obviously panicking now and trying harder to shut the door on me.
Well, I tried. Besides, she’ll feel better about her “mistake” if she doesn’t even remember it, right?
Focusing my eyes on hers, I will her to answer me. “What’s your name?”
“Marta,” she answers in a dazed way.
“Marta, please tell me where Mr. Nox is. Is he home?”
“No. Mr. Nox leave for Mississippi this morning. He comes back three months.”
Shoot. Three months is far too late for me. I’ll be back home in Atlanta by then and preparing for my wedding. I can’t believe I’ve gotten so close, yet I’m still so far from finding out if this guitar-playing, panty-influencing Nox is in reality my beloved childhood friend.
“Thank you, Marta. You can return to your work. And you will not remember meeting me or having this conversation.”
“Okay,” she answers woodenly, which makes me feel bad all over again. I’d hate to see the human brain on glamour. A CAT scan would probably resemble a person on some sort of mind-bending drugs.
Walking back down the beach toward where I left the car, I try to figure out what comes next. After graduation next month I’m sure Pappa will expect me to fly back out here and get down to work on my modeling career. And then in June, it’s off to Altum and my “destiny” as a royal bride. Unless I stand up to Pappa before then and tell him I won’t go through with it—that I’m enrolling in art school instead.
Just imagining that conversation makes me shiver in the hot California sun. I have no doubt Pappa’s reaction to such a declaration would be… not good. He’d probably lock me up until June and drag me to Altum in handcuffs, if necessary.
I can’t risk that. I really want to graduate. I want to see my classmates, to see Carter again. And I can’t make any progress toward changing my future if I’m a hostage in my own home.
No, I’ve got to keep my secret plans a secret. I’ll have to pretend to go along with Pappa’s design for my life and for my impending wedding. But I know now for sure—I can’t really go through with it.
Even if my new husband—ugh—was to move out to California with me, even if he allowed me to attend art school in addition to modeling, I have a whole new reason now for not wanting an arranged marriage.
I have to find out the truth about Nox Jerrik before becoming someone else’s wife. Because if he’s still alive… everything changes.
Chapter Fourteen
Home Again
We make one more stop on the way back from Malibu. The driver waits at the curb while I run into the library under the guise of needing a new book to read out by the pool.
I log onto a computer and check my email. There’s a new one from Carter—a few lines saying he’s looking forward to my return, which is nice. And then I see the one I’m hoping for. It’s from Professor Gould.
My finger trembles as I tap the key to open it.
Dear Ms. Hart,
I received your portfolio and application and passed them along to our head of school, Mrs. Moser. I am pleased to inform you that you have been admitted and may be eligible for some scholarship money as well. Please have your parents fill out the attached financial forms and send them to this address—”
The email goes on, ending with a big congratulations and official welcome to the Dowrey school, but I’m basically skimming at this point.
I got in! I’m going to art school!
I want to jump up and dance in the library but somehow manage to restrain myself. And now I’m dying to see Carter, too. Because he’s the only person—aside from Ava—that I can really share my excitement with.
Grabbing the first book I see, I toss it on the counter, take out a new library card first, and then check out the book to support my cover story. I force myself not to skip on the way to the car, but inside I’m celebrating because now I know for sure what my future looks like, and it does not include marriage at eighteen to a stranger.
In a few days I’ll be under Pappa’s roof—and under his thumb—in Atlanta again. But come fall, I’ll be back here and living life on my own terms. I just have to figure out the right time and the best way to inform the leader of the Dark Elves that I’m going to defy him.
* * *
By the time my plane lands in Atlanta, I’ve almost decided to just go ahead and tell Pappa about the art school and the scholarship. Maybe he’ll be proud of me, especially when I tell him that I’ll continue modeling as well. Anyway, it’s my life, and I’m nearly a legal adult. He can’t actually force me into this marriage if I outright refuse, right? We may be Elves, but this is America.
He didn’t pick me up as I thought he might. Instead, he sent his driver to the airport to get me. Once home, I step through the door and call out, “Pappa?” Surely he didn’t go to bed without seeing m
e first?
“Pappa,” I continue to call, walking down the hallway to his home office.
The light is on, shining under the door onto the marble hallway floor. Must be working late. I rap on the door lightly then open it and peek in. He’s sitting at his desk, talking on the phone, but gestures me in with two fingers.
Silently, I cross the floor and flop into the plush chair facing his desk, offering him a tired smile. We’ve never spent an entire week apart since the day I came to live with him, and I’ve actually missed him.
Yes, he’s demanding and less than affectionate, but he’s still the most constant presence in my life, and he’s taken care of all my needs for the past five years. Our relationship might not be like the one I shared with my mom and dad, but he’s the only “parent” I’ve got left.
Hanging up the phone, Pappa asks in a low, calm voice, “How was your trip?”
Something’s wrong.
His tone is off. The question feels like a baited trap, and my heart becomes a hummingbird thrashing against a plate glass window.
All thoughts of coming clean flee my brain. This—this is why I felt the need to hide my activities in the first place. There’s something about Pappa that’s a little frightening, even when he’s smiling as he’s doing now.
I force a carefree tone I don’t feel. “It was great. I think my modeling jobs went well—the clients seemed happy. And I had a good time with Ava. I enjoyed meeting her roommates.”
Pappa’s smile remains, but his eyes harden into the same predatory scrutiny he usually reserves for humans. “Apparently that’s not all you enjoyed.”
My pulse throbs so hard I’m afraid my eyeballs are bulging in and out in time with its rhythm. “What do you mean?”
One heavy, dark brow lifts. “It looks like you enjoyed your freedom as well.”
He tosses some papers onto the desktop between us where they land with a smack. Trying to control my quaking hands, I reach for the pages and pull them into my lap, and all the air leaves my lungs at once.
Faery Tales: Six Novellas of Magic and Adventure (Faery Worlds Book 3) Page 12
