by Holley Trent
She groaned. “The guys in the crew say that all the time. Maybe one day I’ll learn to just roll with the punches.”
She rooted Ethan’s watch out of her purse and did some mental math. She had about twenty-five minutes to get back, and thought even that much time wasn’t nearly enough.
“I hate to cut and run,” she said, “but I need to get through that portal. It had a one-hour expiration and I’ve got about a fifteen- or twenty-minute walk ahead unless I can muster up enough energy to jog.” She didn’t think that was going to happen.
She looked down at Mrs. Gotch, whose soft smile had turned completely upside-down.
When she was smiling, Dasha could be confident Mrs. Gotch was going to recover. Not so much when she had that pain-stricken expression tugging at her hollowed-out features.
“Don’t remember her like that,” Mr. Gotch said. “She’ll be back to herself in no time.”
“What’s wrong? I know asking is rude of me, but—”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Doubt she’d mind. She suffers from her family’s curse. The magic was meant to kill them, but some sympathetic god cast a counter spell, and this is what remains. Happens every thirty years or so. The very first time I saw her, she was like that. Her father tried to hide her from me, but I knew she was mine and I didn’t care that she was ill.”
“That’s sweet.”
“He’s sweet,” Mrs. Gotch whispered.
Mr. Gotch shifted his weight and looked away almost as if talk about such things made him uncomfortable.
Awww.
“How long have you been in bed?” she asked Mrs. Gotch.
“A month.”
“And how much longer?”
“A month, perhaps.”
“You must be bored out of your mind. No cable television here, huh?” Dasha squeezed Mrs. Gotch’s hands. “I’ll come see you. I’ll bring you all the news and some pictures of Ethan, if you want. I imagine he hasn’t changed much since the last time you saw him. What’s time to a fairy, right?”
Mrs. Gotch smiled again. “Bring them. And the news.”
Brow furrowed, Dasha worried at her lower lip for a minute she couldn’t spare, but couldn’t shake one niggling question. She had to ask, and not just for Ethan, but for her own peace of mind.
“Is there any reason I can’t carry you out of here? Maybe not today. You’d probably need time to pack up, and—”
“We can’t leave, dear,” Mr. Gotch interjected.
“Today or ever? Heath has swiped people from the realm and relocated them to the outside.”
Mr. Gotch grunted. “Remember, Rhiannon’s magic keeps a tally of every fairy entering the realm. It also counts who leaves. If I didn’t think Rhiannon would immediately show up here demanding satisfaction, I’d tell you to take Moira and run as fast as you could. But she’ll come, and she’ll see who’s gone, and she’ll know exactly who to take her anger out on. I’ll not cause any trouble for my son on the other side. She has spies everywhere.”
“But—”
He put up his hands. “I appreciate you caring, but we’ll be fine a little longer. I’m convinced Prince Heath will figure something out.”
“I feel bad about just…leaving you here like this.”
“You came to deliver the note, and you can deliver something for us in turn. That’s all we can ask.”
“I’ll take something for you, for sure. Do I need to wait while you write a note, or…”
He shook his head and stepped through the bedroom door. “Not necessary. Meet me on the path in a minute, dear.”
Dasha gave Moira’s hand one more squeeze and said, “Should I lie to Ethan and tell him you look great and that he shouldn’t worry?”
“He’s going to…worry, anyway. Kind of you…to care.”
“Sometimes I care too much about things. A flaw I probably inherited from my mother.”
“And care too much about people, too?”
Dasha grimaced. “Sometimes, even when I shouldn’t.”
“Not a bad problem. I promise. Come…see me?”
“Of course. As soon as Simone can open a portal. Or maybe Katie will stop by and open one.”
“Tell Katie…hello for me.”
“I will.”
Dasha tied the scarf around Moira’s hair fortuneteller-style as that was what she seemed to want. She was probably cold. “Bad color for you. Hell, bad color for anyone. I’ll bring you something else.”
“I like it,” Moira said.
“Then we share similar bad taste.” Dasha left a few more tubes of lip balm on the nightstand along with a mystery novel she’d picked up in the airport and a couple of bars of decent-enough chocolate.
Moira was already slowly reaching for the chocolate when Dasha backed out of the door.
Out on the path, Mr. Gotch strode over with a sword in a leather scabbard. He cleared his throat and handed the weapon over.
He might have been holding the sword as if it were light as a feather, but it was heavy as hell and she nearly dropped the damned thing on her foot before she managed to grab the end with her other hand.
“Sheesh!”
“Uh.” He grimaced. “Ethan left that here the last time he was home.”
“You want me to give it to him?” She leaned the sword onto her shoulder and cringed. Sucker’s going to slow me down, but at least I’ll burn some calories.
“Could you, please? I wouldn’t ask, but this is a matter of some importance.”
“You guys are serious about your blades, huh?”
He nodded slowly, his lips set in a thin, grim line. “That we are. Best you get moving, aye?”
“I’m moving. Moving right along. Keep an eye on the portal and keep the critters on your side.”
He laughed and followed her to the opening. “I’ll do the best I can. Those things tend to have minds of their own.”
She spared her hand from the sword quickly to wave goodbye, took a deep breath, and then started the long power-walk back to the human realm.
“Dear Lord, I see now why people buy Segways.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dasha appeared on the tunnel path, and Ethan used every last ounce of self-restraint he had not to pounce on her.
“I see you enjoy cutting your retreats close,” he said and pushed the rolling chair back from the storage room.
She kept looking behind her with her brow furrowed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh. Nothing. Just paranoia. I thought I heard something chittering. I wondered if maybe a squirrel had followed me in. Where’s Simone?”
“Right here,” the princess called from the front desk.
“Wanna close this? Because squirrels.”
Princess Simone snorted and walked to the room. Pressing her hands to the wall beside the opening, she canted her head toward the familiar leather sheath propped onto Dasha’s shoulder. “What’s that?”
Ethan knew what it was. What he didn’t know was why his father had given the sword to her.
“Ethan’s sword.” Dasha let out a ragged exhalation and turned the shoulder toward him. “Take this thing. It’s heavy. I think I pulled a couple of muscles in that last quarter-mile.”
He grabbed the handle and, stepping back from the room to have a little space, unsheathed the broadsword a few inches. The intricate etching—filigrees and flowers—was as Ethan remembered. He’d practically memorized those patterns as a boy when there’d been little to do on snowy afternoons but draw and trace. The patterns on his father’s sword had always captivated him, but of course they should have. There was magic in those etchings.
Dasha raked her fingers through her compacted curls and shifted her purse to her other shoulder. “Your father said you left it there the last time you were at home.”
“Did he?”
“Mm-hmm.” She looked to Princess Simone. “Did Kori show up?”
“Yup. Siobhan took her and her friend to get dinner.”
Dasha put a hand over her belly. “Ugh. I want dinner.”
“I’ll take you,” Ethan said.
Dasha pushed up an eyebrow.
“I mean…I could eat. A sandwich doesn’t get a guy my size very far.”
“That one bite I had doesn’t get an adventuring person my size very far, either. Halfway back through the tunnel, my stomach started growling so loud I thought the sound waves would collapse the thing. Oh.” She leaned forward to catch Princess Simone in her gaze. “Ethan’s mother said to tell your mother hello.”
“How was my mother?” Ethan asked.
“Uh…” Dasha cringed and walked around to the front of the counter.
“No need to be delicate. You can tell me. I’ve seen her ill before, and I’ve been through the same myself. The curse is mine, as well.”
Her eyes went comically round, and he couldn’t help but to laugh.
“You have a curse, too, Ethan?” Princess Simone asked.
“I don’t know many fairies who don’t have some sort of curse or who haven’t just gotten rid of one. Mine is a family curse that knocks me on my ass for a couple of months every thirty years. Fortunately, me, my mother, and sister and I were never laid low at the same time. Father wouldn’t have been able to cope.”
“When are you going to… Um…” Dasha cringed again and made a waffling gesture. “You know.”
“When’s will my turn come around again?”
She nodded.
“I’m about five years out.”
“Who…you know. Took care you last time?”
“Prince Heath, Thom, and Princess Siobhan. I think toward the end, they wanted to suffocate me with my pillow.” Apparently, Ethan was a special kind of asshole when he was sick, so fortunately for the crew, he wasn’t sick often.
“I can’t imagine you…being like that.”
“Like what?” Princess Simone asked.
“Um…” Dasha drummed her fingertips atop the counter and sputtered her lips. “If I didn’t know any better, I would have guessed terminal cancer. That’s how ill she looked.”
“Gods, Ethan!” The princess said. “You couldn’t warn us about that?”
“I should have. I’m sorry. For whatever reason, I always assume you know fairy shit you would have no reason to know. I take my upbringing in the realm for granted and expect people to behave as I would.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Forgive me?”
Princess Simone squinted at him and gave him a poke to the shoulder before returning to the closet to close the portal.
He was off the hook, at least for the moment.
He turned to Dasha again. “You’ll let me buy you dinner?”
She was always so good at refusing him in ways that made him feel like he was just any other random asshole scrambling for her attention, and he expected that. So, when she grunted softly and said, “Okay,” he nearly dropped the sword onto his bare foot.
“Pardon?” he asked.
“What’d you have in mind?”
“I think the drive-up is still open.” The princess cleared her throat. “You know, in case you want to bring me back a peach milkshake and some fries or something. Otherwise, no worries. I’ll just…see what’s in the fridge. No biggie.”
Dasha snapped her fingers and pointed at her. “They’re the ones who have those chili burgers, right? With all the onions and the melted cheese?”
“Yep. One of Heath’s least favorite menu items. Not because they’re not delicious, but because I think they are.” The princess smiled serenely.
“That onion pile would kill the sex drive of even the most persistent incubus, but I dig it. Okay.” Dasha nodded at Ethan. “Let’s go.”
“You want the onion pile?” So she does want to repel me.
“Well, no, not really. Too late in the day. The onion would give me heartburn. I’ll ask them to go easy on them.”
Grunting, he pulled open the office door. “I’ll go drop this sword off in my room and put on some shoes. I’ll meet you in the lot.”
“’Kay.” She leaned on the counter and immediately took up an animated discussion about giant stalker wolves, and Ethan sighed.
Damn it, Father.
The unfortunate thing was that Ethan had learned most of his habits from the man. He should have never expected his father to actually comport himself with dignity or anything resembling it.
Sully was in the suite spreading mustard onto slices of white bread when Ethan let himself in. Sully furrowed his brow and tipped his chin toward the sword. “What the fuck is that?”
“My father’s sword.” Ethan shouldered his room door open and set the blade and scabbard inside his footlocker. Then he looked around for socks. He was pretty sure he’d done laundry recently, but his empty dresser drawers lent evidence to otherwise.
From the doorway, Sully asked, “Why do you have it?”
“Good question. Father sent it back with Dasha instead of a note.”
“Surprising he’d send that of all things. He’s rather attached to that sword, isn’t he?”
“No kidding. It was made for him.” As Ethan’s sword was for him, but Ethan’s sword was nothing like his father’s. Ethan’s sword was just the run-of-the-mill utilitarian thing that balanced okay and fit his grip. His father’s sword had been a custom creation that had taken months of work by three different craftsmen, Thom’s father being one of them. He had a way of lacing magic into metal. The only reason Ethan knew about the sword’s power was because his father made a habit of telling him every time Ethan so much as glanced at the damned thing. The blade sliced like a hot knife through butter, and just a nick from it could lay someone out for three days due to the imbued magic.
And he’d sent Dasha skipping not-so-merrily along with the heavy thing in tow.
Why?
“I swear, I’ve never wished there was cellular service in the fairy realm more than right now,” Ethan said. He found two socks that looked like they’d at least come from the same pack at put them on. “Of all the things to send, he sent that sword.”
“Maybe he was trying to tell you something and that was better than a note, in his opinion.”
“I could guess what he was trying to tell me. I wish he’d sent the note, anyway.”
“What do you think it meant? We should compare notes.”
“A couple of things, honestly.” Ethan shoved his feet into his boots. “There’s an old aphorism about sending one’s sword ahead with a messenger.”
“Right. It means hold a place for me.”
“If Dasha told them what’s going on with Rhiannon, he would have known he and Mother can’t leave, so I’m guessing he’s plotting something.”
“Crafty one, he is.”
“Yep. Always has been.”
Sully crossed his arms and leaned into the doorway. “And could he have possibly saying, hey, I trust this one?”
“I believe so.” Ethan certainly hoped that was the case. His parents—his mother in particular—tended to be very discriminating judges of character. If they’d been overly wary of Dasha, his father would have never let her get close to the house. “Plus, that sword can be used to communicate through in certain conditions. I don’t know what they are.”
“What do you think would happen when my folks meet Zenia?”
That you both need interventions.
He didn’t really think Sully wanted to hear his opinion. It wouldn’t have been a positive one, so he decided to change the subject. “When’s the last time your folks saw you?”
“Fifteen years ago, I think.”
“Back when you were still the clean-cut farm boy.”
“I’m still the same old fool with dirt under his nails.”
“And more metal in his body than was forged into my father’s sword. Let’s not forget the tattoos, if we’re going to list everything out.” Ethan had a few large ones on his chest and arms, but they were easy enough to cover with decent long-sleeved shirts.
Sul
ly shrugged. “Hey, maybe they’ll like the pretty pictures.”
“Yeah, pretty tawdry pictures.” Ethan stood and grabbed his wallet from the dresser. “But, hell, perhaps they’ll think Zenia is perfectly tame in comparison to you. Unnatural hair shading aside.”
“You think I should clean myself up before I see them?”
“Uh…” Ethan squeezed past him and headed for the suite door. “I don’t know if you can squish all that funk back into the bottle it came out of, but…shit, Sully. Maybe there’s some spell to undo the worst of what you’ve done to yourself.”
“What’s the worst of it?”
Ethan made a noncommittal gesture toward Sully’s face and left the suite. He would never suggest that the guy should change himself to make anyone else happy, but Ethan was pretty sure that when Sully’s mother saw him, she was going to cry, and his father was going to be pissed that Sully had made her cry, and there’d be arguing, and arguments between fairies sometimes ended with holes blasted through roofs.
Sully’s parents wouldn’t be able to leave the realm for the while, and that was a good thing. He was certainly going to have to brace himself for the reunion.
In the time Ethan took to put on his boots, Dasha had found herself a cardigan and a scarf to replace the one that she’d been wearing before she’d stepped into the portal.
She waited in front of her rental car. He’d assumed they’d take his bike, but he figured there was nothing wrong with being in a seat that reclined for a change.
She unlocked the doors.
He got in, folding himself onto the passenger seat and then motored the seat all the way back to accommodate his legs.
“What happened to your other scarf?” he asked.
“Oh.” She started the car and got the air conditioner going. “I gave it to your mother. She was cold.”
“That was kind of you.”
“I have a whole suitcase pocket full of them. They’re like socks for me.”
The comparison probably meant something a lot different to her than to him.
She started backing out, then stopped when some alert in car’s console beeped. “You need to put on your seatbelt.”
He opened his mouth to argue that, no, he really didn’t because he was practically indestructible, but if the car was going to beep incessantly, he’d put on the damned seatbelt.
