Maeve looked close to panic, her eyes going wide and white as her fingers grasped the balcony railing. “Find her, now!” she shouted.
Emily found herself in the odd position of hoping her sister didn’t come rushing to her rescue this time.
Thirteen
The Theater District
Wednesday, 7:15 p.m.
“That diner is a few blocks this way,” Michael said, then realized he was talking to himself. Sophie had vanished. He had a flash of panic at the thought of another woman disappearing on him. A tour bus had just disgorged a swarm of theatergoers, and black-clad musicians were flocking to the theaters with instrument cases strapped to their backs. In all that confusion, it was impossible to spot one small woman. Or so he told himself.
His heart racing furiously, he shouted her name as he sidestepped a cello. He forced his way through the crowd, leading with his left shoulder and guarding the injured side. Finally, he caught a glimpse of blue ahead. Fortunately, she’d worn a bright color. He’d never have seen her if she’d worn black. He nearly caught up to her just as a guy reached for her purse.
Michael’s warning died in his throat when he saw her suddenly whip out a leg and spin to catch the guy. The would-be pickpocket looked utterly stunned. He was a weird one, with hair dyed a metallic silver color. The guy was tall, so Sophie had to be standing on her toes—on one foot, since she had one leg wrapped firmly around her assailant—and yet she seemed a lot steadier than her captive did. Michael had caught a few pickpockets and purse snatchers in his time, and even with a uniform, badge, and gun, he’d never made anyone look as scared as this kid was. He’d have given his good arm to hear what she was saying, but he suspected the kid would never grab another purse, ever again.
Michael felt like he ought to come to the rescue—of the purse snatcher, not Sophie. “Hey!” he called out, and her victim looked up to see him. Michael pulled out his shield and waved it, and the kid wormed his way out of Sophie’s grasp and took off.
Sophie spun to face Michael, and if she’d looked at that kid the way she looked at him now, not only would he never grab another purse, he’d probably enroll in seminary or join the Peace Corps. Then she tore off after the purse snatcher.
“Sophie!” Michael shouted, but his voice was swallowed by the din of the city. He knew better than to even try running after her, since normal walking was about as much as he could handle. She wove her way expertly through the throngs on the sidewalk, and the crowds seemed to clear a path for her.
Michael figured he could stand there, waiting for her to return from her fit of vigilantism, or he could go on to the diner. She’d probably know to meet him there, and if not, he was sure she could find her way back to Emily’s apartment. He headed toward the diner.
There, a ponytailed young waitress greeted him just inside the door. He flashed his shield and asked, “Have you heard about the disappearance of Emily Drake?”
The waitress pointed to the flier taped to the window. “Of course. Everyone’s talking about it. I just saw her last night, and now …” She shuddered as her voice trailed off.
“If you were here last night, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“No problem. I’m not too busy right now.” She frowned as she looked at him. “Are you okay? Maybe we should sit down to talk.”
He wasn’t feeling very steady, to be honest. There was a reason he was supposed to be taking it easy. “Good idea,” he said. She gestured him toward a nearby booth, where he took the seat facing the door.
Once he’d caught his breath and fought off a wave of dizziness, he said, “I understand that Emily and her friends were here after the show last night.”
“Yeah, they hung around until about two.”
He patted his breast pocket for his notebook, then remembered that Sophie had it. “Was anyone else here?”
“There were a few other theater people, a couple of cops, and a guy I hadn’t seen before.”
Michael perked up. “Do you know the names of the cops?” Witnesses within the department would help.
She shrugged. “Sorry, no.”
“What about the other guy, did he interact with Emily and her friends?”
“Yeah, he asked her to autograph his Playbill. He’d been in the audience.” She frowned, then said, “Come to think of it, he left around the time they did.”
The bells on the door jingled, and he looked up to see Sophie entering the diner. She was a little flushed and a curl had escaped the knot of hair at the back of her neck, but she didn’t seem to be at all winded. He returned his attention to the waitress. “Could you describe him?”
“He had light blond hair—really light. I thought it was white at first, but he was too young for that. It looked almost silver sometimes, depending on the light. Twenties, maybe, but it’s hard to say. Tall, thin.”
“We may have you work with a police sketch artist. I’m just asking some preliminary questions. Another detective will be in touch with you.”
“Okay.” She gave him a concerned frown. “Would you like a glass of water? You really don’t look so good.”
Probably not as bad as he felt. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks,” he said.
As soon as the waitress got up, Sophie slid into the seat across from him. “So, here’s where you went,” she said, like he’d been the one to run off.
“Did you catch him?”
“No,” she said with a deep sigh.
“What were you thinking?”
“Wouldn’t you say he fit the description of the person in the diner who left with Emily and her friends?”
“You think he’s the same guy?”
“Maybe. And you let him get away.”
“I was trying to save you from assault charges.”
She swatted that excuse away with a flick of her wrist. “It’d never stick. He laid hands on me first, so it was self-defense.”
“That was some move you pulled. What was that, ballet as a martial art?”
“A dancer is one of the best-conditioned athletes you’ll find,” she said primly. “To dance at a high level, you need strength, flexibility, speed, and endurance.” She gave him a smug smile. “I can get air that would have made Michael Jordan green with envy. I merely applied a little speed and strength to our friend back there. I don’t think he was expecting it.”
His brain finally caught up to the conversation. “Hey, wait a second, you didn’t hear the description of that guy until just now. The friends didn’t even mention him. How did you know to chase him?”
“I caught him following me.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I didn’t get a chance before you started waving your badge around.”
The waitress came back with a glass of water, then she saw Sophie. “You’ve got to be Emily’s sister. I’ve heard so much about you.” Michael noticed that the waitress took a tiny step backward, and he had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. Apparently, Sophie’s reputation preceded her.
Sophie didn’t seem to notice the waitress’s response—or didn’t react to it. She smiled and said, “Thank you so much for your help.”
While he drank the water and tried to rally his last reserves of strength so he could get home, Sophie dutifully wrote down the waitress’s contact information and the description of the mysterious diner patron. As they left the diner, he said, “I wonder why Emily’s friends didn’t mention that guy.”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice vague, like she was thinking about something else.
“They both seemed to be lying or hiding something, and they must have planned their stories because they had all the same details. I guess they didn’t get to the waitress, though.”
“Are we done here, or is there something else you want to look into?” she asked, handing him his notebook.
“What? Oh, yeah, I guess we’re done. I’ve got enough to give Tank a good start.”
Once they were in a cab and on t
heir way home, Michael said, “Why would her friends lie to us?”
“You don’t think they did away with her, do you?” she asked, her eyebrows arching skeptically. “They’re the ones organizing the search.”
“Yeah, but sometimes you get people who cause problems just to get attention.”
“Your job must make you very cynical.” She went silent, staring out the window. He leaned back against the seat and tried to make himself relax. His chest throbbed mercilessly. It appeared he wasn’t yet ready to go off the painkillers.
He glanced at Sophie and saw that she’d fallen asleep with her head leaning against the window and one foot tucked up under her skirt. As they neared his street, he wondered what he should do. A gallant gentleman would carry her up the stairs, letting her sleep, but he wasn’t sure he could get himself up the stairs. She resolved the dilemma by waking just before the cab stopped, and she paid the driver before Michael could grope for his wallet.
When he protested, she put a hand on his arm and said, “You’re doing this for Emily, so investigative expenses are on me.” He made it up the front steps without keeling over, so he decided to try to make it up to his apartment under his own steam. He said goodnight to Sophie and waited for her to enter Emily’s apartment before he dragged himself slowly up the stairs.
He was too tired to have a panic attack as he opened the door, and the apartment felt even emptier than normal with Beau gone. The dog was lazy, but he was undemanding company. The first thing he did when he got inside was take one of his pain pills. While he waited for it to kick in, he checked messages and found one from Tanaka.
“Hey, Rev, I did a quick search, and there are three other women, besides Jen and Emily, who fit those parameters. One disappeared not long before Jen, and the others were pretty evenly spaced out since then. I’ll look into those other missing women and see if any other parallels pop up. Take it easy, and say hi to the ballerina for me.”
Michael dialed Tanaka’s office number, knowing he’d get voice mail, and left the information they’d gathered. He left out the friends’ stories because he wanted to hear what Tank got out of them without any preconceptions. “I know I’m a civilian here,” he concluded, “but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to track down those friends for you.”
He was already feeling a little blurry around the edges, so he hurried—as well as he could with one good arm—to get out of his suit and into sweatpants and a T-shirt. He’d just climbed into bed when he heard the downstairs door close. On a hunch, he went to the window and pulled aside the curtains to look out. He was just in time to see what he thought was the swirl of a blue skirt turning the corner at the end of the block.
He shook his head. It was probably his imagination. It could have been anyone, and even if it was Sophie, there was nothing sinister about her going out. She was probably just giving Beau one last walk for the night.
But he still had the terrible fear that another redheaded woman was about to vanish.
Fourteen
The Realm—The Lobby
Immediately Afterward
After Maeve’s rivals departed, the party intensified, as if in a frantic attempt to prove that there was nothing to worry about. Champagne flowed and music blared while the fairies danced, ate, and drank. Maeve came down the stairs and lounged on a sofa with a few of her courtiers. She acted as though she was already queen, but her gaze strayed anxiously toward the doors.
Emily figured that Sophie must have found or learned something that Maeve needed to take the throne, but what? It didn’t matter, Emily told herself firmly, since it wasn’t going to happen. She had no intention of sticking around and playing bait. Even if she couldn’t get home, she could get away from Maeve, stir up a little chaos, and maybe run into Sophie. If Sophie was in the Realm, she’d be easy enough to find. Emily would just have to listen for the screams.
Feigning enjoyment, she ambled through the crowd toward the lobby’s front doors. No one seemed to be paying any attention to her, and she concentrated on being invisible. If what Eamon said about her aura was true, maybe they wouldn’t notice her in all the party excitement. Just before she reached the door, a large man in a skinny tie moved to block it, making direct eye contact with her as he did so, as if to send the message that she wasn’t going anywhere. Damn. Not that she’d expected to be able to just walk out, but it would have made things so much easier. She changed course, as though she’d been heading that way all along and had never even considered going through that doorway.
Now what? If she couldn’t get away, then she needed information. If she could figure out what Maeve was up to, she’d have a better chance of stopping her, and the info would definitely help Sophie. Spotting the guy who’d reminded her of Clark Gable from Niall and Orla’s Nick-and-Nora ballroom gave her an idea.
Approaching him boldly, she grabbed his arm to turn him to face her and purred, “How about another dance, handsome?”
Without a word, he took her into his arms, and they began moving as one. Most of the other dancers were doing early sixties-style dances, but a few couples danced more closely together, so she and her partner didn’t look too out of place. “So, we meet again,” he whispered in her ear. “You left so abruptly before.”
“I think you know why.”
He raised one slightly slanted eyebrow. “You were the one Maeve sought.”
“I’m very much in demand.”
He dipped her, then pulled her back upright. “And I have to think that you have something to do with Maeve’s scheme.”
“Mmmhmmm,” Emily murmured with what she hoped was an enigmatic smile.
“Which makes me think that my lord and lady might find you equally useful.”
“How so?” Emily tried batting her eyelashes, but she was afraid she just looked like she had something in her eye.
He spun her around expertly. “You could help them win the throne. They would make it worth your while.”
It didn’t seem as though pretending that she already knew would trick him into opening up, so she decided to take the opposite approach. “I don’t know anything about this. Maeve just kidnapped me. She didn’t give me a briefing. You have to tell me what you want before I can decide whether or not to help you.”
He missed his footing for a split second, but recovered within the space of the next beat. “You don’t know about the lost throne?”
“Enlighten me.”
They went all the way around the dance floor before he spoke again, and Emily noticed that they were on the opposite side of the champagne fountain from Maeve. “There are those who believe that the last queen of the Realm left instructions on how to claim the throne, when the time came. If Maeve found the palace, then all she needs is the instructions, which must somehow involve you.”
Or my sister, Emily thought, but this still made no sense. Sophie was a know-it-all, but being the secret keeper of the instructions for claiming the fairy throne seemed beyond even her scope. She’d just opened her mouth to ask another question when “Clark” tugged her hand to spin her in front of him, then caught her with the other hand, keeping her spinning until their joined hands stopped her momentum, their arms fully outstretched. He did a little kick step, and she instinctively mirrored him. Oh, boy, she thought, he’s doing a Fred and Ginger. She could barely think straight enough to come up with another question while keeping up with him, but she couldn’t resist going along with the dance. She’d always dreamed of doing a Fred and Ginger routine, but she’d never met the right partner or run into the right situation. They didn’t do much of this kind of dancing on Broadway anymore.
She felt like she was floating on air as he swirled her around and they moved in perfect unison. And then Emma and Leigh showed up to spoil it—probably sent by Maeve, who must have noticed her consorting with the outsider. The girls were all a-twitter as they pulled her away from “Clark.” “Isn’t this just the best party?” Emma asked.
“I’m glad to see you dancing and e
njoying yourself,” Leigh added.
“Let’s find you a new partner!” Emma said.
“I think I’ll sit the next one out,” Emily protested, trying to wrest her arms from their grasp as she looked behind their shoulders for her erstwhile partner.
“Don’t be silly!” Leigh said. “There’s no reason for you not to have fun.”
“I was having fun,” Emily said through clenched teeth.
Emma dropped her voice and said, “Fun with the wrong person. You’ll do better if you stop fighting Maeve.” She nodded toward one of the servants. Emily noticed that the human servant was tall and had red hair.
“Another one,” she said with a groan.
“She fought,” Emma said. “Now she’s a slave. We didn’t. We get to dance and play, all the time.”
“You’re happy like that?”
“Of course! We don’t have to work. We get pretty clothes. We get food. The men are very handsome.” She giggled and blushed. “I don’t remember much about before, but I’m sure I had to go to work.”
Emily thought it sounded like the life of a spoiled poodle with a mercurial owner. It was a life of luxury, sure, but who wanted to spend a lifetime doing tricks for someone who was just as likely to kick you as kiss you? Then again, it sounded better than servitude. She smiled politely when Emma dragged over a fairy man for her to dance with. He was attractive in a somewhat feminine way—not Emily’s type, but if dancing with him would keep her from being made a slave, she’d make the sacrifice. And maybe she could get him to talk.
Fifteen
Central Park West
Wednesday, 8:15 p.m.
Sophie and Beau were hardly the only ones out in the waning daylight, which made Sophie wonder if she’d find what she was looking for. Back home, they practically rolled up the sidewalks at six in the evening, so twilight was prime time for spotting fairies. Here, where there were more people out later, the rules might be different. In the city that never slept, when did the fairies come out to play?
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