by Rigel, LK
The next moment, he was dressed in a black tux.
It was night, but Jermyn Street was bright with shop lights made hazy by the light fog that gave the air a chill. “We’ll never find a taxi,” Beverly said.
A black cab pulled over in front of them. Dandelion opened the door for her and winked. “You can pay.” He put on his tether. “I hear you’re loaded with the ready.”
“You sound like a swell out of Trollope,” she said.
“Those were the days,” he said.
“It seems like only yesterday.”
The driver had a Van Morrison eight-track playing at full blast, halfway through Moondance when they got in. She hummed along with the tune and admired the London architecture on the way to the V&A. She was happy.
Another Van Morrison song came on, I Want To Roo You. This time Dandelion joined in. “I want to roo you,” he sang with the Irish singer. “Woo you tonight.”
“Nice voice.”
“Disco sucks.” He quoted the t-shirt from Piccadilly Circus. “But Van Morrison can stay.”
He kissed her lightly, teasing her lips with his tongue. With a sudden anguished groan, he held her closer and kissed her hard. Heat charged through her body. The world wouldn’t stop spinning.
He closed his eyes and kissed her palm. His thick lashes were the same dark chestnut as his hair, and the silver hair picks reflected lights from the street. He really was like a prince in an old fairy tale, banished from his homeland and tricked out of his inheritance by an evil enemy.
She ached to have him inside her again, but she wanted so much more. She wanted to know he felt the same desire for her. She wanted him to rage against the idea of her marriage to Dumnos.
“Lord Dumnos doesn’t love me.”
“Dumnos.” He pulled away and tilted his head like a perplexed dog.
“He’s doesn’t love me. And I don’t love him. He’s almost fifty.”
“A child in fae years,” Dandelion said. “But you will accept him.” The moment had passed. His passion faded.
“All he asks of me is an heir. After that, I wouldn’t have to…” How did her life become so twisted?
“You wouldn’t have to take him into your bed.”
“That’s about it.” Sun and moon. It sounded worse aloud than clanging around in her head. And Dandelion showed no reaction. Her arrangement with the earl meant nothing to him. He’s a fairy, she reminded herself. They feel passion and desire. Don’t confuse those things with love.
At the entrance to the V&A, the guard stopped them. “No flash photography allowed.” He looked pointedly at the Nikon dangling from Dandelion’s neck. “Just a friendly reminder, sir.”
“Of course.” Dandelion turned to Beverly. “May I?” He dropped the camera in her bag with easy familiarity, an attitude that they were together. But were not together, and we never can be.
The museum had drawn a crowd. People spilled out of the fairy exhibit into other areas, and gift shop was packed. Dandelion took Beverly’s hand. Like magic the way cleared, opening a path to the hall they wanted. Beverly gave her name, and they were let in straightaway.
They moved through the Celebration of Faeries, depictions and theories of the otherworldly creatures. Dandelion lingered fondly over the Cottingley display but scoffed at everything else.
Dumnos, proclaimed a sign outside an exclusive exhibition room, a land of mist and rain. Inside, a docent stood at the center in mid lecture. Dandelion’s green eyes flashed.
“That’s it.”
The docent stood beside a low pedestal, a three-foot square covered with a glass dome. The cup was inside the dome, a goblet of hand-blown glass about fourteen inches tall with blue, green, and red enamel inlay and scattered green and red beads.
It made Beverly think of the borealis.
“Bausiney’s Abundance is most likely thirteenth century Syrian,” the docent said, “brought here during the Crusades when London was still called Sarumos. It’s remarkable so old a piece of such delicate material has made it to the twentieth century in perfect condition.”
“It’s not perfect,” Dandelion said under his breath. He crossed his arms over his chest. His face was a blank, but she felt the emotion churning inside him. “Something’s wrong,” he said to himself. He was in his own world. It seemed he’d forgotten she was standing there.
The guard who’d let them through was on the other side of the room, moving through the visitors. Dandelion couldn’t do anything now, with so many people watching the cup.
“However,” the docent continued, “the story of how the cup came to be in the possession of the Bausiney family augurs quite a different, more fanciful origin. You will understand why the V&A are so pleased Lord Dumnos agreed to lend it out for this exhibit.
“As the story has it, one hundred years ago tonight, the future earl heard noises coming from the roof of Faeview, the family estate in Dumnos County. You can see a picture of Faeview here.”
The docent walked over to a blown-up aerial photograph of Bausiney’s End hung on the wall. She pointed at the northwest corner of the roof.
“Lord Tintagos surprised a party of faeries dancing and drinking under the full moon.”
The guard moved past Beverly and caught the docent’s eye. He pointed and mouthed it’s her.
“The fairies scattered away.” The docent smiled brightly and gestured at Beverly to come up. Everyone looked at Beverly, and she felt her face go red. Not going to happen. She turned to Dandelion for support, but he was gone. He’d moved off to the corner.
“Lord Tintagos discovered this cup left behind.” The docent gave up on Beverly and went on. “When the fairy tried to retrieve it, Lord Tintagos threw crumbs of salted holy cake into the air, through which fairies cannot pass.”
“Hmph.” Dandelion’s scoff carried through the room.
“As you see, we’ve lined the display dome with sea salt and crumbs to represent the Lord Tintagos’s holy cake. We need fear no fae tonight!”
The visitors laughed. The docent beamed, flush with her lecture’s success. “As Lord Tintagos admired the beautiful object in the moonlight, the fairy cried out a warning:
‘If this cup should fall or crack,
Bausiney’s End will meet its lack.’
“Bausiney is the Dumnos family name. As you can see, the cup is perfect, and Bausiney’s Abundance is assured.”
Beverly applauded with the rest of the crowd and looked to see what Dandelion thought of the story. As their eyes met, the lights overhead flickered and the room went dark.
“Oh, dear,” the docent said in the dark. “Not to worry. We’ll soon have it—”
The lights came on again, but Dandelion was gone.
“No!” The docent staggered against the guard, pointing at the dome on the pedestal.
Bausiney’s Abundance was not there.
Madness at Hyde Park
THIS TIME DANDELION WASN’T drugged. He wouldn’t be stopped by salt and holy cakes. He doused the lights in the display room, and while the humans stepped on toes and complained and politely apologized he grabbed the cup from the pedestal. Before anyone thought to light a match, he transported out of the dark to the museum roof.
He ripped off his tether and stuffed it into his small pouch, extended his wings and soared into the night sky.
Modern London was a carpet of blazing jewels below. It felt good to get away from the electricity. He hated electricity almost as much as he hated cold iron. The creepy sense of energy trying to escape the wires always made him feel trapped in his skin.
But from this distance he could appreciate electrification. The wires powered a dazzling light display, and the river at night became a beautiful dark snake winding along the southeast. Beverly would love this view.
Beverly. He hadn’t expected his reaction to seeing her again. The involuntary grin. The butterflies dancing over his stomach. The absolute pleasure in kissing her, followed hard by the need to have her entirely. Une
xpected.
And unwanted.
Thoughts of the human were a distraction he couldn’t indulge. If things had been different, if she hadn’t fallen through the portal back to her own time—to this time—they might have spent her short life together pleasantly at Mudcastle.
If Idris wasn’t a bad ruler, Dandelion might stay solitary and keep Beverly with him even now.
But Idris was destroying the Dumnos fae and taking Cissa with him. Living at Mudcastle Dandelion had avoided seeing the fae’s transformation, but he wasn’t completely ignorant of the changes.
Goldy’s gossip was increasingly alarming. Another human danced to death. A fire set to the roof of a human cottage built over a fairy path. A goblin’s refusal to make a teapot because he was too depressed to think of a design.
Max had always been disgusted with Idris, but his resentment had taken on a nervous quality. Dandelion would call it fear if he didn’t know Max was utterly fearless.
Cissa never said anything. She was all happy-talk and chit-chat. But she was losing her spark, the thing that made her Cissa. There was no joy and thievery in her these days. It would break Dandelion’s heart if that were possible.
The fae themselves were evidence of the change. Today in the city he’d seen it. Like Idris, they took pleasure in cruelty with no care for human safety. They passed out food laced with psychotropic drugs, knocked down stop signs at intersections, and raped where once they ravished.
It used to be an accident when a human was danced to death. This morning in Green Park, he’d seen two fairies wait for it, their eyes shining with anticipation.
No. Dandelion couldn’t allow himself the luxury of time with Beverly, no matter how beautiful or fun or fascinating he found her. No matter how happy she made him feel. For too long he’d avoided his duty—to Queen Sifae’s memory, to Cissa, to his people. Now he had the cup. He had to save the Dumnos fae.
He shot higher, up to the edge of the atmosphere, and breathed in the radiating starlight, filling his lungs to bursting. He relaxed his wings and plummeted to earth with a victorious roar.
He landed in a treed area across from the museum near the Albert Memorial and headed deeper into Hyde Park to take the portal to Tintagos Castle. From the castle ruins he’d fly to Igdrasil and take the portal to Mudcastle.
Too bad transporting only worked for short distances, but in twenty minutes he’d be sitting by the fire drinking peppermint tea, plotting with Goldy and Max while Cissa distracted Idris.
Cissa was waiting in the park, her feet dangling from a tree limb beside the portal. He flew up to sit beside her.
“Success?” she said.
He grinned and patted his hidey pouch.
“Well done you.” She threw her arms around him. “Idris will be so pleased.” She had to play nice. She was wearing her tether, and Idris might be monitoring them even now.
“It was good to send the fae here for the troop,” Dandelion said. Cissa and Goldy had given Idris the idea years ago, laying the groundwork for this night to happen. “Where is everyone?”
“Out and about terrorizing humans, I would imagine.” She sounded tired.
“Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”
“I miss Goldy and Glory,” Cissa said. “Goldy can enjoy Lord Dumnos all he wants, but we lost Morning Glory because of a Bausiney. I’ll never forgive them. Not once, not thrice.”
Cissa had never especially cared for humans, but this was the first time she’d ever sounded hateful.
“Glory wanted what she wanted,” Dandelion said, “and she took it. You can’t blame the Bausineys for…” He remembered the tether. It did no good to remind Idris of Lily’s existence. “I’d better go.”
The longer he delayed getting back to Mudcastle, the more dangerous. Idris wasn’t in London, but his factotum Aubrey was. The portal was just on the other side of the tree trunk. He started to jump down when Cissa’s hand clamped over his knee.
“Listen!” she hissed.
The London fog dampened all sound. There was distant traffic noise and the muffled call of a tawny owl. Then he heard it. Aubrey’s sick laughter, joined by other fairies. They were somewhere in the park.
“No!” a human cried. “Don’t, please!”
It was Beverly.
The police had set up a command post in the Bausiney’s Abundance exhibition room. They interviewed the docent and the exhibition guard first and then Beverly. No one mentioned she’d come in with a guest, and she was relieved when the inspector didn’t ask about Dandelion.
“All right, miss,” the DCI said at last. “You can go.”
Beverly shifted her bag to the other shoulder and picked her way through the visitors waiting to be interviewed. She had to get out of the museum. She was sure Dandelion was waiting for her out there somewhere.
Somewhere in London. Ack. She should have told him where she was staying.
The V&A guard met her at the exhibition room door. “We’re locked down, miss. I’ll walk you out.”
Outside the gift shop they passed the docent slumped in a chair, quietly sobbing. She jumped up and grasped Beverly’s arm. “Please assure his lordship we’ll do everything in our power to apprehend these criminals and restore his precious artifact.”
“Of course,” Beverly said. “Don’t distress yourself. I’m sure you will do your best.” She twisted her arm out of the docent’s grip. “Perhaps the fairies came to retrieve it.”
“She’s taking it hard,” the guard said at the front door. “She was the one who convinced his lordship to lend the museum Bausiney’s Abundance.”
Not really. Apparently the docent didn’t know about Goldenrod.
It was an ironic scene. The police, the guard, the docent, the witnesses—all caught up in the disaster of a stolen artifact. This was a museum, yet none gave a thought for the cup’s original, rightful owners.
There was a small square across from the museum. Dandelion might be in there among the trees, away from the motorcars and buses. Or maybe he’d wait for her at St. James’s Church. Or Piccadilly Circus and the Anteros statue at the fountain.
While Beverly contemplated where to start her search, the guard waved down a cab. “Where to, miss?”
She might as well change her clothes. A cocktail dress and spiked heels weren’t quite the thing just now. “The Dorchester.”
Good answer. The guard and the cab driver nodded approvingly. People treated you differently when you wore fabulous clothes and stayed at posh hotels. When they believed you were about to become a countess. She’d always believed those things didn’t matter to her, but she couldn’t deny the respect felt lovely.
On Park Lane traffic slowed to a stop, and through the cab window she saw someone walking in Hyde Park. She couldn’t quite see the person, but he was tall and graceful. Fairylike. “Stop,” she said. Dandelion must be in the park.
“I just have to go around,” the driver said. They’d reached the Dorchester, but they were separated from the hotel by a median.
“I’ve changed my mind.” She opened the door. “I’ll get out here.” She dug some money out of her bag and handed the fare through the passenger window. Blast. A twenty-pound note. She didn’t want to wait for change. “Keep the extra.”
The traffic started moving again, and the taxi pulled into the Park Lane flow. The evening mist settled over her, and chill bumps rose on her skin beneath the sheer bolero.
What was she thinking? Dandelion might not even be in London. She was as pathetic as the docent. Attached to something—someone—who didn’t belong to her. He’d used her. He needed to get into the exhibit, close to the cup, and she was his easy access. He had what he came for. There was no reason to stay.
Across the median, the Dorchester was suddenly cozy and inviting. It was later than she’d realized, and it was cold, and at this hour on this night in particular the park was no place for a single woman. Suddenly all she wanted was a cognac and to crawl into her suite’s warm bed. She’d go h
ome in the morning.
Lord Dumnos had likely heard the news about the cup by now. He must be horrified.
Great gods. She felt stupid and guilty. Two hours ago, it had seemed she was helping to right an injustice that had lasted a century. Now she just felt like a fool.
“Groovy,” said a voice behind her. “I believe we’ve found our queen of the night.”
She whirled around. Aubrey leered at her from the park. He still wore the highwayman costume, though he’d lost the hat. His lilac eyes flared.
Fen and Violet hung on his shoulders as if they needed the support. Their eyes sparkled but were jittery. Their attention darted from object to object until they fixed on Beverly.
She shuddered. The park’s wrought iron fence stood between her and the fairies, but it was no protection. They all wore tethers.
“Is there a problem, my queen?” Aubrey called out. She couldn’t tell if he was taunting or mocking her. “Did your prince abandon you?”
“Sod fairies,” she said. Sod them all, with their intrigues and self-centeredness. She was going back to the hotel. The crossing was too far away, so she darted into Park Lane and headed for the median. A horn blasted and tires screeched. From the right, a black cab was almost upon her.
“Damn.” It was going to hit her. She closed her eyes and braced for it.
The temperature dropped, and everything felt still. The traffic sounds were far distant.
“Did Prince Dandelion succeed?” Aubrey again. “Did he take his precious cup and abandon you?”
She opened her eyes. She was inside the park. Dozens of fairies surrounded her in a circle. Aubrey faced her in the center. “You can thank me for saving your life just now. How about a kiss?”
Fen and Violet grabbed her arms and held her in place. Both swayed a little on their feet, unstable. High on something.
“Why do you care?” Beverly ignored the kiss comment. “Do you want the cup? Do you think you’ll be king of the fairies?”
Aubrey got a wild look in his eye and cackled a creepy laugh. He strutted around the circle and sang, parodying the Cowardly Lion’s song from the Wizard of Oz.
