Disenchanted

by A. R. Miller

  His laughter pulls my attention back, his face its normal beauty. The room lightens and I feel the warmth of summer. No matter how warm and comforting it appears, I can’t contain the shiver riding along my spine.

  “Forgive me, I did not mean to alarm you.”

  Scrubbing my palms against my jeans, I clear my throat.

  “This ørlög has what to do with me?”

  “Your guardians should have better prepared you for what is to come in your future.”

  What can The Sisters tell me about my future? Sure, they have visions, but always told me they are never that simple, or clear, just flashes really. He’s making it sound like they know all. As a kid, I thought they did when they caught me doing something I wasn’t supposed to, but found out later most parents have that ability. One mother told us it was called, been there, done that. Not that I ever wanted to picture any adult—especially my grandmother and great aunts—doing some of the things we did.

  “I can see you do not believe me.”

  “Sorry, but I think they prepared me pretty damn well for the future, considering my parents just dumped me on them. They fed and clothed me, sent me to school and taught me right from wrong. They are good women, who devoted themselves to protecting and supporting me.” I’m on my feet, invading his personal space, just a fraction away from sticking my finger in his face.

  Perfect features turn to ice and stone. Summer sky eyes cloud over becoming winter grey. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

  My skin feels two sizes too small, hot and itchy. Like a tight, wool sweater. How dare he get all pissy with me after insulting my family? “What?”

  He doesn’t acknowledge my question, simply turns and leaves the room. On cue, the elevator door opens, revealing a sad smile on the pretty face of its keeper. Having been dismissed like a disobedient child, the last thing I want is pity from an ornament.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  With a little smooth talking—something I’m rarely known for—I convince the driver to leave me just outside of town. We both agree that the limo showing up at the salon again would just fuel the imagination of the paparazzi and gawkers, blowing my cover.

  I trade my slipping out disguise for an old baseball cap and hooded sweatshirt, pushing the scarf and coat into my duffle bag before slinging it across my back. I wonder if this is how Lorelei felt in the hay days of old Hollywood, switching one disguise for another, always hiding from the press and her fans. Tucking my hair under the cap, I flip the hood over the top. Yeah, I know it’s June, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

  The warmth won’t bother me, I’ve always run a little colder than what’s considered normal. With any luck, no one will give me a second glance; just assume I’m one of those so–called rebellious teens. The pink—not a color I would choose for myself, but it was a gift from my grandmother—jacket and lavender ball cap could tip them off, but I’m hoping they just figure I’m a poser.

  Bag slung across my back, hands shoved in my pockets, I make the trek back into town, imitating the defiant walk seen in every mall in America.

  The plan is to slip into Midnite Expresso, wait until full dark, then circle the block and climb the fire escape to my apartment. That is, if the morons aren’t completely surrounding the building by now. I highly doubt ol’ Sheriff Frank will chase them off my property. Once inside an angry mob will be the least of my worries. I’ll have to put up with a pissy water sprite and therian. Then there’s the vamp, who makes a mob with pitchforks look like a basket of kittens. Wow, makes you want to jump in the car and skip town instead.

  With a covert look, over–the–glasses, under–the–hat brim, I see the vultures still milling around outside my building.

  The steps to Midnite Expresso stop me in my tracks, but not my forward motion. I end up on my knees, sprawled across the two steps, the brim of my hat resting precariously against the door. One false move could mean disaster for my little charade. I push the glasses back up onto my nose, then slide fingers under the hood and hat making sure my distinctive silvery hair stays undercover.

  I take another peek at my fan club, wiping my hands along the thighs of my jeans. My disguise seems to be working; they haven’t even given me a second glance. I turn just in time to get out of the way of a man, cell phone attached to his ear, barreling through the door. Another reporter if the bits of conversation I catch is any indicator. Keeping my head down, I slip around him and into the shop.

  Intoxicating scents wrap themselves around me and I feel the beginnings of a smile. This is a safe, familiar place. Nothing bad can happen here, right? Wrong. The place is full of cameras, laptops and people chattering away on cell phones. Reporters. Caffeine. Duh, should have known better.

  A momentary glance when I came in is the only attention I’ve warranted. Hands thrust in my pockets, head dipped low, I make my way over to the counter. Standing in line, I contemplate hiding in the bathroom.

  “Next,” shouts Candy, her temperament tonight nowhere near as sweet as her name suggests. “What can I get for you?” She eyes me warily, somewhere between disdain and distrust.

  “White chocolate mocha,” I say, feeling the need for something indulgent.

  “Whip cream on that?” She checks off the order on the side of the cup before handing it to the pixie hovering over her shoulder.

  “Yeah.” I slide a five across the counter as she rings it up.

  Reaching for the money, she stops, staring at my hand. Damn, is it possible the simple act of resting a very pale hand against a very dark counter could blow my cover?

  Candy looks up, eyes narrowed, then nervously glances over my shoulder before whispering, “Keely?”

  “Yeah,” I say tipping my glasses forward, letting her see my eyes.

  “What the hell are you thinking?”

  “Obviously about getting my caffeine and sugar rush on.” I give her a weak smile to match the weak joke.

  Her attention darts to the press-room behind me. “You need to get out of here.”

  “Actually, I was hoping to hang here until full dark, so I could sneak around the block and into my building.”

  She shakes her head. “If you haven’t noticed they’ve turned this place into press central.”

  I nod. “’Spose it’s because there’s a direct sight line to my place. That, and you’ve got coffee.” I grin and grab the drink, the pale greyish tinge of my complexion accented by the pure white of the cup.

  “Leave it to you to worry about your next caffeine fix when the rest of the populace is conducting a witch hunt and you’re the target.”

  “You don’t think...” I can’t even finish the question, my throat tightening up.

  She shakes her head, wiping the counter. “No, now do yourself a favor and move away from the counter, you’re drawing attention.”

  I set the cup on the counter. If Candy was able to tell it was me by the color of my hands someone else might also, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to waste a white chocolate mocha! I’ll just improvise. Pulling the sleeve over my hand before picking it up I sneak a peek around the room, the horde is busy with their mobile devices. A sad little smile twists at Candy’s lips, but her eyes say get out.

  I weave my way out of the shop, avoiding most of the bodies, until I’m at the door. I end up face to chest with a reporter. Judging by his girth, more accustomed to sitting behind a desk than being on the scene. A sloppily done tie, too short and too wide, lies awkwardly across the expanse of his already stained shirt now dotted with the same hot, sticky goodness decorating my sleeve. The throbbing in my chest warns me to keep my head down as I try to slide past him, mumbling sorry in answer to his outrage. The guy grabs my arm, sloshing more coffee across my already soaked hand.

  “Hey, let the kid go,” shouts Candy. “We put up with you guys setting up shop here, but I’ll be damned if we’ll allow you to harass our customers.”

  The guy growls and gives my arm another tweak.

&
nbsp; “I said let him go.”

  I nearly blow it when she calls me him—pink jacket and all—but manage to keep my mouth shut. He releases his grip with a little push and I skitter out the door.

  The relief of making it outside is short lived, more jackasses with notepads, cameras and recording devices line the sidewalks, interspersed with people ranging from the curious to fanatics carrying signs. Some with very disturbing depictions of what they would like to do to me.

  Feeling a twinge of guilt for the other businesses along Main Street, I take a slug of my drink wishing it held something stronger than coffee. That twinge is short lived as I think of the profits rolling in for the Midnite Expresso from all the coffee–swilling morons wanting a chunk of me. Basement Brews didn’t seem to be hurting either, judging from the line leading to the door. At least something good has come of my little mess, hopefully the other businesses not within walking distance benefit too. Maybe Lorelei will have them wrapped around the building waiting to get in tonight.

  Pushing my luck, I weave my way through the crowd, ears perked at any mention of my name. Speculation over my involvement is the topic of choice, most not caring one way, or the other just there for the story. An overwhelming portion convinced—without a doubt—of my guilt and a teensy group is defending me to the point of raised fists.

  Truthfully, I’m a bit surprised with all the Ens and other magic users in the mass of people, none have used their Talents to sniff me out. Relieved, but still surprised. Maybe there’s too strong of a signature from my building for them to pinpoint my location.

  Kira/Tiffany is with a group of kids, chanting something about me being ‘wrongly accused’ in a less than polite vernacular. It feels good to have someone on your side, but I still have the urge to tell her to scat before she and her friends get hurt.

  The crowd parts enough that I see a familiar car parked in its usual spot. Whoa, it’s after seven and Lorelei didn’t cancel. She isn’t going to like that I’m late. It’s okay if you have to wait on her, but she hates having to wait for you. The door swings open proving the point as she steps out. There’s a moment—the quiet before the storm—of silence before a tornado of questions and cameras strikes.

  She’s talking, but I can’t make out what she says, until she smiles and silence once again descends. That smile always leaves me a little uneasy. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I don’t swing that way. When she begins speaking again everyone, myself included, takes a step toward her. I try and shake it off, forcing my feet to stay planted. Her voice weaves itself through the people, gathering them closer to her. Just like her cousins, the sirens, her voice holds the amazing power of suggestion. No wonder they flock from miles around to hear her sing at Moonlight Lake.

  From what I can see the people seem to be in a state of rapture, probably similar to what sailors felt when the Rhein maidens detoured them from the gold. Most of them wear silly grins. Many of the men—scratch that—many of the men and a few women have longing, or lust in their eyes.

  Even with wet hair and no makeup, she inspires desire with just a word. Holding her arms out wide, something comparable to Royd’s power glides over the crowd. A wondrous feeling of being loved and wanted, as if she’s embracing each of us individually. I bite the inside of my cheek trying to shield myself. Yes, pain seems to help, on the flip side, it sometimes intensifies the feeling. Slowly the crowd slides to either side of me and Nyssa steps out beside Lorelei.

  “Hurry up and get in here, Keely. She can’t hold them forever.”

  I look around stupidly, like there’s another Keely standing out here.

  “Kick it in gear, woman,” says Rey, from behind them. “Don’t make the vamp come out and get you.” He chuckles and then yelps.

  Picturing Dara throwing something at him from the safety of the shadows, I sprint across the street and up the stairs. Once I’m through the door, Nyssa close on my heels, I turn and watch Lorelei let her arms down. There’s a lot of head scratching going on, a few angry faces and even more disappointed ones.

  “Remember to drop by Moonlight tonight around eleven, boys,” says Lorelei, that breathy little girl voice somehow carrying above the rumbles of the crowd. She blows them a kiss before backing into the salon and turning to me.

  “You’re late.” With a flip of her hair, she stalks off to my station. “No need to thank me with words, just do your magic,” she says, sitting down in my chair.

  Well, this is easier than I thought. Stripping off the stained jacket, hat and glasses, I follow. The prickle along my back and shoulders causes me to turn and face a group of three very pissed off co–workers. Maybe I spoke too soon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Nyssa is the first to break silence, rushing over to hug me then slap my shoulder. “What were you thinking, running off like that?”

  “Ow!” I rub my shoulder, for such a tiny thing she sure packs a wallop.

  “Hey, don’t damage her before she fixes my hair.”

  “I just wanted some answers.” I step behind the chair, comb in hand.

  “Did you get any?” asks Rey, lounging across his chair, a dangling foot tapping to heavy drum beat of the music.

  “Interesting choice of music for business hours. Not really.”

  Rey laughs. “We let Dara pick, and the only client in the place is the one who saved your ass, if you haven’t noticed.”

  I feel my shoulders droop at the reminder that their livelihood teetered on my finding a way out of this mess.

  “Hey, no worries, darlin’.” He gives me one of those casual smiles that curls the toes of other women. While it doesn’t have quite the same effect on me, considering I know him, it lessens the guilt.

  “Do we dare ask where you went for these answers?”

  Sweat breaks out across my upper lip when I see the nasty look on Dara’s face reflected in my mirror. “I think you already know.”

  “Pay up, water munchkin.” Nyssa sighs and slaps a wad of bills into Rey’s outstretched hand.

  Smoothing the last roller into place, I move Lorelei to the dryer. There’s absolutely no way to avoid Dara now, but I try anyway, slipping into the break room for a soda. I don’t need a seer to tell me she’s following. The clickety–clack of heels and casual slide of loafers announce the other two are trailing after. Maybe they think they can soften the blow, but I’ll put my money on them just wanting to see what happens.

  Getting a soda out of the fridge, I lean against the counter as I open it, waiting for all hel to break loose.

  She enters and calmly takes a seat at the table. Hmm, Dara calm. Bad sign? Clasping her hands in front of her, she stares at me. Like a parent waiting for a disobedient child to explain why they did what they did and what they learned from it. I’ve got news for her, two can play this game. She’s not my mother. Hel, we aren’t even related. I hoist myself up onto the counter and take a deep drink of my soda. Just what the Dr. ordered. My palms are a little moist and not from the condensation on the can.

  Rey clears his throat and moves to the fridge, grabbing three beers. I don’t condone drinking during open hours any more than I do playing heavy metal music, but considering the circumstances, I don’t bother saying anything. Rey passes them out and they all turn, joining in the staring match.

  “Not fair, three against one,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. No luck. I’m met with three sets of eyes, one glaring, one amused and the third almost sympathetic. “Okay guys, what do you want to know?”

  “Let’s start with why,” says Dara. “You knew the danger of leaving the building on your own. You also know that Royd is dangerous.”

  “I’m sorry. I know it means next to nothing at the moment, but I am. I just needed to take matters into my own hands, I saw a way to get some of the answers I needed and took it. I won’t apologize for that, but will for tricking Nys and Rey and causing all of you to worry.”

  “Accepted.” Rey raises his bottle tipping it toward me. Nyssa
nods in agreement, the worry gone from her eyes, replaced with their usual sparkle.

  “Keely, you have no idea the trouble you are in,” says Dara, the bottle dangling from her fingers.

  “Sure I do. I’ve been unofficially accused of butchering Ens. Whoever actually committed the crimes has used my salon to acquire the means to do so, making me an unwitting accomplice. One of the most influential men in Des Moines owns my ass. I don’t know what in hel he is, or what he wants and the people who can tell me more than likely won’t do it in a manner I can decipher. My salon is in the toilet; my employees are destitute because of me, and one may have taken up prostitution. Don’t tell me I have no idea what kind of trouble I’m in. I know full well what kind of trouble. Has anyone heard from Jenny?”

  They say silence is golden and right at this moment, I agree. That little spew sure felt good. Maybe I should let things out more often. The look of shock on their faces is enough to sustain me for a week, but no one answers my question about Jenny.

  “Well? Has she called?”

  They share a look that makes me more than nervous.

  “No one knows and the police are looking for her.”

  An invisible weight crushes down. “Because of what I said?”

  “Actually, when we had not heard from her we began to worry and tried to track her down. When that failed, we filed a missing person’s report. Unfortunately, that put an even greater shadow of suspicion on you. So, no, we do not know where she is and no, you did not know the entire scope of the trouble you are in.” Dara sets her beer down none too gently. A frothy trail erupts, making its way down the bottle and across the table.

  “Oh, crap.”

  “The crap is going to hit the fan, if you don’t get your skinny buns out here and finish doing my hair. I have to get to work.” The forgotten Lorelei stands in the doorway, patting her rollers.