A Fairy Tale

by Shanna Swendson

  “It is helpful to my work if I have easy access to the world above.”

  “What is your work?”

  “I once was a scribe, but there has been little call for that lately. Now I am more of an archivist.”

  She glanced around at the library shelves. “It looks like you scavenge anything with words in it.”

  “That is the most recent part of my collection. It is only lately that the printed word has become so common among humans that it is so readily disposed of.”

  She was pretty sure she saw a Life magazine from the forties on a nearby shelf, which she wouldn’t have considered “recent.” Then again, if he was immortal, that might have felt like last week to him. “Why would you want old magazines?” she asked.

  “I study humans.”

  If he was a student of humanity, he’d failed the test that night in the diner. Then again, she’d trusted him even if she’d thought he was strange, so he hadn’t done too badly. “Why?”

  He paused, frowning as he sat in the chair on the other side of the fireplace. His old-professor clothes were perfect for this setting, she noted. “Humans are so real,” he said after a while. “Your lives are short, and that means everything you do matters so much more. We have almost forever and do nothing with it.”

  “How very philosophical of you.” His appreciative smile indicated that he still wasn’t getting her sarcasm. But while they were bonding, she thought she might as well try probing him for information. “I don’t suppose you know why Maeve wanted me.”

  He looked surprised by the question, but he still answered. “She sought you because you are a changeling.” His tone had an implied “duh!” to it.

  “What?”

  “A fairy left in exchange for the human who is taken.”

  She shook her head. “I know what a changeling is. But me being one? That’s impossible!”

  “How would you know?” he asked calmly, tilting his head to the side as though he didn’t understand her dismay.

  “I’d know! How could I not know I was a fairy copy of a human girl?”

  “If you were created to replace Emily Drake, the magic would make you think that’s who you were. You’d never know.”

  Emily was glad her stomach was empty because she might have thrown up otherwise. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

  Eamon leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Have you ever felt like you were different, like you were out of place?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle.

  “Well, yeah, sometimes,” she admitted. “But if feeling like I was too big for my hometown is proof of being a changeling, then fairies must have been systematically swapping out most children born in small towns for decades. Don’t fairies ever feel like oddballs?”

  He gave a rueful smile. “Not often, and feeling odd makes one even odder.”

  She must have hit a hot button she could exploit. Resisting the urge to grin in triumph, she said, “Does that mean you’re probably a changeling, yourself, that maybe you’re a human who was kidnapped by fairies long ago?”

  “Of course not. I have magical powers that a human would lack.”

  “Oh, right. That would be a dead giveaway. But if you aren’t a changeling, then maybe neither am I.”

  “But you are. You are Maeve’s daughter. Her enemies took you and left you with humans, and she has been trying to get you back ever since.”

  Emily felt queasy again for a second, then she shook her head. “Maybe that’s what she told you, but why hasn’t she said anything to me? When she tried to take me before, I’d have been overjoyed if that beautiful woman I met in the woods had told me I was her daughter. I’d have gone with her in a heartbeat, and not even my sister could have dragged me away. But she didn’t say anything then, and she hasn’t said anything now.”

  He studied her, making her feel like an insect under a magnifying glass. “It would not be easy to tell a long-lost daughter her true heritage,” he said after a long silence. “Even Maeve might fear that you would react just as you have and reject her.”

  “You know what would have kept me from reacting this way? Actually talking to me instead of kidnapping me and playing games. But even assuming I am a changeling, what happened to the real Emily?”

  “She would have been returned as soon as you entered the Realm. No one will know the difference.”

  “She won’t remember living in fairyland all this time? She’d be the right age, have all my memories, be just like me, only fully human?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t think so. She wouldn’t get past Sophie. Sophie would know.” As soon as she said that, hope warmed her. “Sophie would know!” she repeated, more vehemently. It made her feel better to think that, but was it anything more than blind faith in a seemingly omnipotent older sister?

  “Who is Sophie?” he asked.

  “You haven’t heard of Sophie? Wow, you are out of the loop. She’s my sister, and she knows a lot about fairies. She got me away from Maeve before. I’m sure she’d recognize a changeling.” Blind faith or not, once she had that one argument, others flooded her brain. “Besides, if I’m Maeve’s daughter, why did they keep getting the wrong girl? I met those other girls who look kind of like me. Shouldn’t your people have been able to recognize one of their own instead of grabbing the wrong humans?”

  He stared at her for a long moment, looking like he was giving serious thought to what she said. Then, abruptly, he stood, crossed the space between them, and placed his hands on either side of her face. His cold touch took her breath away, and being that close to his unearthly eyes added to the breathlessness. “Your aura has been masked,” he said with a confused frown. “This must be why they sought in vain for you for so long.”

  “What does that mean in human English?”

  “We do not see as you humans do.” He gestured at his own body, which shifted to look entirely human, the way he had in the diner. “Looking at the physical form is pointless.” He changed back to his fairy glamour. “We recognize each other through our auras, no matter what glamour we wear. Humans have weaker auras, but they are still distinctive enough that we can recognize individuals. We are so accustomed to looking at the aura instead of the physical form that with your aura masked, you are practically invisible to our kind.”

  “Oh,” she breathed. That explained why Maeve’s people hadn’t spotted her in the ballroom. “But does this have anything to do with whether or not I’m a changeling?”

  “It means I can’t tell what you are. Someone hid you from us.”

  “Someone?”

  “The magic is not fae.”

  Sophie, maybe? Emily wondered. Sophie had sworn to keep her out of the fairies’ hands, but magic? She had a way of getting what she wanted, but it wasn’t magic. It was just a formidable intelligence and keen insight combined with an iron will and the occasional spooky moment. If not Sophie, who else? “How did you find me?”

  “It was purely an accident. I usually do not go far beyond the park when I venture out of the Realm—it is draining to be away from the trees and among all that iron. But I was restless and walked too far, and then I saw the signs and decided to see the show because I had read the book. It must have been fated.”

  There was a light rap on the door in a musical rhythm. Eamon gestured for Emily to stay back as he went to open it. She ignored his gesture and followed him, but kept herself hidden behind a bookcase. He conducted a brief, murmured conversation, bent to take something, and shut the door.

  She emerged from her hiding place as he turned, frowning curiously at the plastic shopping bag he held. “What’s that?” she asked.

  “It was brought here for you.”

  “For me? Who’s it from?” Then she noticed the pink ribbon tied around it. Not caring how rude she was being, she grabbed the bag out of his hands. Her fingers trembled as she tugged the ribbon free and opened the bag to find a bottle of water, some energy bars, and a packet of roasted peanuts, along with a folded
piece of paper. When she unfolded the paper and saw “Miss Sophie Drake” embossed at the top, she couldn’t hold back a sob of joy.

  “Em, hold on. I’m coming for you,” the note read, written in her sister’s elegant hand, but more sloppily than normal, like it was written in haste. The paper was water-spotted and the ink blotched in places, but it was the most beautiful thing Emily had ever seen. She clutched the note to her chest for a moment, breathing deeply until she got herself under control. Then she looked up to find Eamon leaning over her shoulder, uncomfortably close.

  She handed him the note. “You know what it means? It means Sophie knows I’m gone. I’m not a changeling.”

  He read the note, then handed it back to her, his face troubled. “But then why would Maeve say so?”

  “Seriously?” How could a guy that old be that naive? “She played you.”

  Instead of answering, he paced the aisles of the library, his eyes narrowed in deep concentration. While he paced, Emily tore open an energy bar and devoured it. Normally, she thought those things tasted like sawdust, but it was amazing how good any food tasted when she was starving. She felt much clearer once she had food in her stomach. She never should have even considered the idea that she might be a changeling or Maeve’s long-lost daughter. But that brought her back to square one: What did Maeve want with her?

  Or was she the one Maeve wanted? How many times had she mentioned Sophie? Maybe this was more about Sophie than about her, which shouldn’t have surprised her. Everything was eventually about Sophie. She just couldn’t figure out where Sophie might fit into this, or how she fit in if it was really about Sophie. The fairies might not have been able to tell the other human women apart, but Maeve knew Emily wasn’t Sophie.

  Still mulling this over, Emily took a few sips of water and opened the packet of peanuts. She’d just put the first one in her mouth when Eamon returned.

  “I should not have been so easily duped,” he said stiffly. “I owe no allegiance to her, and I should not have done her bidding. I have wronged you.”

  “You could take me back home. That would make it up to me.”

  While he pondered her suggestion, she popped a peanut into her mouth. When he spoke, it wasn’t to offer to take her home. “May I have one?” he asked.

  “You eat human food?”

  “I enjoy it, but I can only eat human food that is offered as a gift. Otherwise, it is poison. Alas, as the old beliefs have faded, few leave gifts of food for the fae anymore.”

  “You ate apple pie in the diner. I saw you.”

  He shook his head sadly. “Mere illusion. I have never tasted apple pie.”

  “Well, that’s just sad.” She shook a couple of peanuts into her hand and held her palm out to him. He carefully picked up one nut and placed it in his mouth. He chewed slowly and carefully, savoring the experience, before taking the second nut. “Was it good for you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and wondering what he’d do with chocolate.

  He nodded. “It was wonderful,” he said breathlessly. Then he seemed to come to a decision. He took her hand. “We must go, now.”

  She wasn’t going to argue with that. She let him lead her to the door, but before they reached it, another door flew open and Maeve’s goons burst into the library. “There she is!” one of them said. “That is the one, right?”

  “Yes, that’s the one,” the other said.

  Eamon didn’t have to tell her to run. She sprinted for the front door. But she couldn’t reach it. No matter how hard she ran, she got no closer. It was like someone had thrown a rope around her waist and was pulling her backward into the goons’ grasp. Her hand slipped from Eamon’s as she was pulled away.

  She expected him to fight for her and wouldn’t at all have minded becoming the center of a tug-of-war, but all he did was stand there. As the goons dragged her out of the library, she shouted sarcastically, “Enjoy the rest of the peanuts!” She wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted that to count as an official offering.

  Eleven

  New York City—Emily’s Apartment

  Wednesday, 5:45 p.m.

  Sophie nearly missed her footing on the stairs in her haste to get away from Michael’s apartment, and she had to unlock Emily’s door by feel because her vision was blurred by tears. She made it down the short entry hall and into the apartment’s main room before her legs gave way and she collapsed, her skirt billowing, then settling around her as she fell. Once she was alone, she let her sobs shake her whole body.

  She’d known Emily was in danger because of her, because she’d been so stupid and selfish and ambitious. She hadn’t known at first that there would be a cost, but she’d realized it soon enough, and learning that hadn’t stopped her until they’d gone after Emily. She’d given up everything then and hoped that sending her sister away would keep her safe. It had never occurred to her that anyone else would be affected, but now she knew. Detective Murray had lost his wife, merely because she bore a passing resemblance to Emily and fairies thought all humans looked more or less alike.

  If they’d told her they’d make her the greatest dancer ever in exchange for her sister, she’d never have agreed to the bargain. But she’d assumed she’d be the one to pay the price, and she was willing. She should have known, though. In all the stories, it was someone else who was taken as payment for a favor—a first-born child, a beloved daughter, a lover, a sister.

  Then again, there was always a loophole, a way to redeem the one who’d been taken or to sidestep the bargain entirely. She just had to find the loophole. Or maybe a more direct payment would suffice. It wasn’t as though she’d be giving up much, and at least she wouldn’t have to deal with the garden club anymore. Her sobs trailed off, and she got herself back under control.

  Beau ambled over and dropped his head in her lap. She buried the fingers of her left hand in the wrinkles on the back of his neck and wiped the tears off her face with her right hand. She attempted a brave smile, even though there was no one there to appreciate it. “Those are turning out to be incredibly expensive dance lessons, and what good did they do me? I could have taught ballet to kindergarteners without going through all this.”

  The dog grunted and rolled onto his back, waving a paw to demand a belly rub. She gave him an absentminded scratch before reaching for her purse to find her phone. It had been off for hours, so she dreaded seeing how many calls she’d missed. As she expected, when she turned the phone on, the list of missed calls went on forever. Half the town had tried to reach her. “It’ll serve them right if I never go back and they have to fend for themselves,” she muttered.

  She’d made it through an equally long list of text messages and was about to retrieve her voice mail when the phone rang, her mother’s name appearing on the screen. She sighed, took a couple of deep breaths, and then put on a big smile before accepting the call. “Hello, Mama!” she said, keeping her tone bright.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon,” her mother said, her voice sharp with accusation.

  “Yes, I noticed. I just turned my phone back on. I’ve been tied up. Is there anything the matter? I got a message from Bess saying Nana was doing fine.”

  “Well, I—”

  A knock on the door gave her a reprieve. “Can I call you back, Mama?” she said. “Someone’s at the door.” She disconnected before her mother could say anything, then turned the phone off. She’d pay for it later, but she had enough on her plate at the moment without having to mediate small-town crises from more than a thousand miles away.

  “Sophie? It’s Michael Murray,” a voice said from outside.

  “Just a sec!” she called out, her tone as bright as it had been for her mother. She wondered how bad she looked. Tears wouldn’t be unexpected under the circumstances—he’d probably find it suspicious if she didn’t shed a tear or two—but that didn’t mean she had to look a fright. She nudged Beau off her skirt, got to her feet, splashed her face with cold water in the kitchen alcove, and dried her
face with a paper towel before wiping her nose with it. She imagined she still was a bit blotchy and her eyes were likely red, but she wouldn’t have obvious tear stains or visible snot.

  She took a moment to collect herself before opening the door. The false cheer she’d put on when talking to her mother wouldn’t be necessary with Michael. She settled on a wan weariness so he’d assume she needed to rest and would leave her alone. When she opened the door, she was glad she’d planned her approach because his appearance left her momentarily too stunned to think.

  Michael Murray looked very different from when she’d last seen him less than half an hour ago. He was still drawn and gray, with dark circles under his smoky green eyes, but he’d shaved the several days worth of stubble and combed his dark hair, and instead of the rumpled tracksuit he’d worn earlier, he wore a real suit. His shirt was open at the collar, and he wore the jacket draped around his right shoulder, over the sling. He held a tie in his left hand.

  “Do you need help with that?” she asked, taking the tie from him. She had to stand on her toes to get it around his neck. As she straightened the knot and smoothed his collar, she became conscious of how intimate those little actions were and grew mildly flustered because he was rather handsome and she didn’t often get this close to a man. And he was married, she reminded herself, to a woman who had vanished because of her. She took a big step away from him and asked, “Now, where are you off to, all dressed up like that?”

  “I had an idea.”

  “Oh?”

  “We ought to go to the theater and talk to the cast, see which ones went out with Emily last night. Tank might not get to that tonight, and we could give him a head start.”

  It was a good idea, except that it was unnecessary. What she really needed to do was find a way into the local fairy realm so she could rescue Emily and Mrs. Murray. Twilight was the optimal time for that, when the barriers between worlds were weakest, and she might miss twilight if she went to the theater, which would delay her an entire day. “Are you really up to going out?” she asked, not having to fake concern. He’d cleaned up, but he still looked like death warmed over. “You should be resting.”