Glimmerglass f-1

by Jenna Black

  “Thanks,” I said, my tendency toward politeness rearing its ugly head. I took a couple of steps toward the bed. I probably should have fished my toiletries out of my luggage and at least brushed my teeth before collapsing, but the lure of sleep was overpowering.

  “Sleep well, dear,” Grace said; then the door closed behind her and she was gone.

  I had just reached out and put a hand on the bed to pull back the fluffy down comforter when I heard a distinctive click. I blinked. Surely I hadn’t heard what I thought I’d just heard.

  Alarm overriding my fatigue for the moment, I went to the door. I could hear Grace’s footsteps retreating down the wooden stairs. I put my hand on the doorknob, hoping against hope I was wrong. But when I tried to turn the knob, it stayed stubbornly in place.

  My dear Aunt Grace had just locked me in.

  Chapter Three

  Of course, I had to try pounding on the door and yelling, but I can’t say I was really surprised when that didn’t work. The only other way out of the room was the window. I had to climb up on a chair to look out, and what I saw was discouraging. I was on the third floor, so climbing out the window didn’t seem like the best idea in the world—even if I could have gotten it open, which I couldn’t. There was no lock that I could see, and it didn’t look like it was painted shut, but repeated banging and prying got me nothing but a couple of broken nails.

  Why, oh why, had I decided to leave home? I’d been dealing with my mom for my whole life; what would another couple of years have mattered? Hell, it wouldn’t even have been a full two years—just this summer, my senior year at school (I’d skipped a grade in middle school, so I was generally younger than everyone else in my class) and then the summer that followed. After that, I’d be away at college, and I had every intention of going to school as far away from home—wherever that happened to be at the time—as possible.

  My eyes were gritty and my head ached, but I couldn’t imagine lying down and taking a nice little nap under the circumstances.

  I found myself fidgeting with the cameo once again. Was my father really in jail? If so, what for? Mom had told me some terrible stories about him, but I was convinced at least half of them were lies.

  But what if they weren’t? What if he was in jail because he belonged there?

  I shook the thought off. Aunt Grace had intercepted me at the border, bullied me, and then locked me up. I sat down on the edge of the bed and considered my options. Too bad I didn’t seem to have any at the moment. About fifteen minutes later, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching. And voices.

  One of them was Aunt Grace, and the other was a man—I hoped against hope that the man was my father. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, and when they got close enough for the words to be distinct, they shut up.

  The hair on the back of my neck prickled for no reason I could name, and I backed away from the door. I heard the soft mumble of Grace’s voice, and the door unlocked and opened itself.

  I’d said Aunt Grace was tall and imposing. She had to be at least five-nine, five-ten. But the man who stood behind her in the doorway was enormous. Well over six feet tall—probably more like seven—he’d have to bend over to fit through the door, and he was wide enough that I wondered how he’d made it up the narrow staircase. He looked like what you’d get if you crossed an NBA star with a non-green version of the Incredible Hulk.

  Grace entered the room, and, thankfully, her giant friend stayed behind. Blocking the doorway, I suppose, in case I made a run for it. I crossed running for it off my list of options.

  I had to fight down a shiver even as I tried to sound brave. “Where do you get off locking me in my room?” I demanded. At least, I tried to demand. I’m afraid “whimpered” might be a better description. Then I got a better look at her—and at the big bruise that bloomed on one side of her face. I gasped.

  “What happened?” I asked, momentarily forgetting that she was the enemy.

  She looked grim. “My brother was … unwise to bring you here.”

  “Huh?”

  “You are in danger. Our family is one of great power and consequence. Now that Seamus has claimed you as his daughter and brought you here, there are factions who might see you as a tool to be used to control him. Someone must have seen me bring you here. I was attacked while I was unlocking the front door. I was lucky I’d called Lachlan and asked him to meet me. He chased them off before they could do too much damage. But this proves I was right: you aren’t safe here.”

  “Tell you what,” I said. “Why don’t you let me go back to London? I can get a hotel room there and wait until my dad’s out of … er, until he’s available. That way I won’t be putting you through any trouble, and—”

  She shook her head. “The men who attacked me were human. I don’t know who they were working for, but they could easily pursue you to London. No, we have to take you to a more secure location, at least until Seamus is free.”

  My head felt all fuzzy, like my brain had decided it couldn’t take any more and was going on strike. Aunt Grace looked genuinely worried, and that bruise on her cheek was ugly. Still, just because someone attacked her didn’t mean they were after me. I mean seriously, I’m a half-blood American teenager. How could any of this possibly be about me?

  “Lachlan will take you to a safe house,” Grace said, gesturing at the giant. “I might make a tempting target for attack, but he does not.”

  I looked at Lachlan, who still loomed in the door. I imagined bad guys would take one look at him and run the other way. His huge arms were crossed on the lintel, showing off his incredible height. He flashed me a smile that seemed to have a hint of warmth, but he was still one seriously scary dude. I kinda wanted to run the other way myself, but somehow, I didn’t think Grace would let me get away with it.

  “All right,” I said, trying to act like I had a choice. “I’ll go with Lachlan to the safe house.”

  “A wise decision,” Grace said, doing a crappy job of hiding her sarcasm.

  She crossed to a chest of drawers I hadn’t yet bothered to examine, then rooted through them until she pulled out a long black cloak with a cowl-like hood. Very sinister-looking. She held it out to me.

  “Put this on,” she ordered, “and put the hood up.”

  The cloak was obviously hers, and was way too long for me. She frowned when she saw it dragging on the floor.

  “Can’t be helped,” I heard her mutter under her breath. “Off you go, then,” she said out loud. “You should be safe for tonight, and hopefully Seamus will be able to take over tomorrow.”

  I reached for my bags, but Grace shook her head. “I’ll have them sent over,” she said.

  Shrouded in the cloak, trying not to trip over its hem, I made my way toward the door, where Lachlan awaited me. He didn’t say anything, just nodded sharply and started down the steps. He had to stoop to get down them, and he walked kind of sideways to keep his shoulders from brushing the walls.

  When we got to the ground floor, he led me out a back door. I felt ridiculous walking around in a black hooded cloak—like some kind of shrunken Grim Reaper—but at least it was warm. I tripped along beside Lachlan, trying not to step on the hem of the too-long cloak. The hood practically blinded me.

  It was summer, but here in Avalon, a cold, gray mist floated through the streets. Even under the heavy wool cloak, I shivered in the chill.

  “Don’t worry,” said a profoundly deep voice that apparently belonged to Lachlan. “We’ll soon have you warm and cozy.” His accent sounded like Grace’s, only with a pleasant, soft burr at the end. Under other circumstances, I might even have said he sounded nice. I wondered if he was Fae. He didn’t look it; or at least he didn’t look like my preconceived notion of what a Fae would look like. Obviously, I didn’t know much.

  The “warm, cozy” place Lachlan took me to turned out to be a basement under what smelled like a bakery—I tried to catch a glimpse of my surroundings, but Lachlan herded me inside before I cou
ld. The basement was divided into two rooms, one of which looked suspiciously like a guard house, and one of which looked suspiciously like a cell, with a door that looked about six inches thick and featured a heavy wooden bar.

  I balked. “Oh, no,” I said, backing up. “I am not going in there.”

  Lachlan closed the door behind him. I shoved the hood down so I could glare up at him. He wasn’t intimidated—shocking, but true.

  “It’s for your own protection,” he said with a shrug that looked almost sheepish.

  “You have got to be kidding me!”

  “I’m afraid your aunt considers you a flight risk. You would not be safe unprotected in Avalon, so she’s decided to make certain you stay put.”

  I shook my head stubbornly, calculating my chances of getting around Lachlan and out the door. They were not good.

  He sighed. “Please, Dana. I’ve no wish to be a bully, but you must go in.” He shifted from foot to foot, looking remarkably uncomfortable. “This is not how I would have chosen to handle the situation, but Grace is your blood relation, and I am not. I have to respect her decision.”

  I snorted. “That makes one of us.”

  Lachlan looked … distraught. To my surprise, I found myself feeling sorry for him. Guess it sucked being caught in the middle.

  The reality was I didn’t have much of a choice. Even if I somehow got past Lachlan, what was I going to do? Go running out into the streets of Avalon by myself when there was a possibility Aunt Grace was telling the truth and I was in danger?

  With a heavy sigh—and one last longing look at the front door—I stomped across the room to my cell. Lachlan closed the door behind me, and I heard a heavy thunk that could only be the wooden bar sliding into place.

  Chapter Four

  The cell turned out to be not as depressing as I’d thought. If it weren’t for the barred door—and the fact that it was a basement with no windows—I could almost have convinced myself I was in a quaint little BB. The bed was small but looked soft and inviting. The bathroom featured a claw-foot tub, and the gas fireplace added instant warmth. Best of all, my suitcase and backpack lay tucked in one corner. How they got there was anyone’s guess, but I’d put my money on magic of some kind. I couldn’t see Grace carrying my bags for me, even if she could have beat us here.

  Pleasant as the room was, I couldn’t forget the sound of the bar thunking into place. This truly was a cell, and even if the jailor seemed kinda nice, the warden, Aunt Grace, was something else entirely.

  I paced the cell for about half an hour, trying to come up with an escape plan. Of course, I didn’t know where I could go even if I miraculously got out of this room. A search of my suitcase and backpack showed that my passport, my credit card, and all my cash were missing. If I wanted out, I was going to have to recover them. Or find an accomplice.

  My plans—if you could call them that—were interrupted by the sound of the bar sliding up. Seconds later, Lachlan stepped into the room. In one massive hand, he held a tray on which sat a teapot and cups. When he pushed the door closed and lowered his hand, I saw a plate adorned with a selection of scones. My stomach made an embarrassing rumble, which Lachlan was good enough to ignore.

  He set the tray down on a small table with two chairs. Lachlan pulled one of the chairs out for me like a gentleman. I was too hungry to pass up the opportunity, so I scarfed down two of the warm, delicious scones in record time. Lachlan hovered while I ate, and every time I sneaked a glance at him, he was smiling with what looked like pride.

  “Did you make these?” I asked.

  He nodded and jerked his thumb toward the ceiling. “That’s my bakery upstairs.”

  “They’re delicious,” I told him, though I’m sure he’d gotten that message already.

  The food temporarily made me feel better, but my mood sank again when Lachlan picked up the tray to leave. Soon, I would be alone in my cell again.

  Lachlan gave me a sympathetic smile. “Your aunt Grace means well,” he told me. “I know she’s been less than diplomatic—”

  I couldn’t help my snort of laughter. Yeah, that was one way to describe it. Lachlan looked hurt by my laughter. I guess he really liked Aunt Grace, since he did his best to defend her.

  “She has been under a great deal of stress lately,” he explained, “and your arrival has—” He frowned and didn’t finish his sentence.

  “My arrival has what?”

  “Let’s just say you’re one more complication in an already complicated life.”

  “Why?” I asked, throwing up my hands in frustration. “I was just coming here for a visit to meet my father! Why is everyone making such a big deal out of it?” Okay, I’d had the illusion that I was actually coming to live with my father, but after less than a day here, I’d pretty much given up on that idea.

  Lachlan stared at his feet, the corners of his mouth tight with displeasure. “It’s not my place to explain it to you.”

  But I got the feeling he really wanted to. “Please, Lachlan,” I said, trying to sound desperate and pathetic. Okay, not that that was hard to pull off, but I wasn’t trying to hide it. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

  For half a second, I thought he was going to cave. But then the line of his mouth firmed up and he shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s not my place.”

  Please let my father come for me tomorrow, I prayed.

  “You should get some sleep,” Lachlan said, rising and picking up the tray.

  On cue, a massive yawn welled up from my chest. He smiled at me. “I’ll be right on the other side of the door,” he told me. “If you need anything, just holler.”

  I swallowed my next yawn as Lachlan left and barred the door behind him.

  Chapter Five

  Maybe I was just being contrary, but the fact that Lachlan had suggested I go to sleep made me want to stay awake. Not the easiest thing to do when battling jet lag, a full stomach, and a cheery fire. If I didn’t keep myself busy, I was going to lose my battle against sleep, so I dug my laptop out of my backpack. I thought maybe I could shoot a quick e-mail out to Mom, letting her know what a mess I was in. Maybe she’d sober up enough to come riding to my rescue. But—surprise, surprise—my prison cell didn’t come equipped with Wi-Fi. I had a couple of dirty books I’d downloaded from the Internet—since I pay the bills in the family, my mom never notices the charges—but reading dirty books while locked in a cell just seemed … wrong.

  For the first time since I’d snuck out of the house to catch my flight, I felt a twinge of guilt. Could Mom hold herself together enough to pay her own bills without me there? I imagined her sitting, alone and sloshed, in our house with no water or electricity. Then I shook my head at myself. She’d been leaning on me more and more as the years went by, but whether she acted like it or not, she was an adult, and she could take care of her own damn self!

  At around seven, Lachlan brought in another tray. My stomach rumbled. Those scones had worn off at least an hour ago. This time, the tray held an enormous panini sandwich, dripping with melted cheese and mayo, along with a small garden salad. I guessed this came from his bakery as well.

  When he took the tray away, he once again suggested I should get some sleep. At that point, I was practically asleep on my feet, but I was still too stubborn to do as I was told. Just to prove that I wasn’t taking his advice, I started warming up my voice with a series of vocalises. Then I practiced the songs I’d been working on with my voice teacher before I’d run for what I thought was greener grass. I suspected Lachlan was listening, even through the six-inch-thick door, so I mentally urged myself to perform for him. Maybe his heart would melt at the beauty of my voice and he’d set me free.

  Yeah, and I thought I saw a pig flying just last week.

  I lost myself in the music for a while, the songs flowing out of me one after the other. While I sang, I almost forgot that my father was in jail and my aunt Grace was keeping me locked up “for my own good.” I closed my eyes and allowed
the music to transport me to another world.

  Eventually, I noticed a burning sensation on my chest. For reasons I couldn’t explain, the cameo had grown very warm, almost like I’d been holding it near the fire. I took it off and examined it, trying to figure out why it was hot, but it cooled off so fast I wondered if I’d been imagining things.

  Once I stopped singing, it hit me again how achingly tired I was. My eyelids weighed ten tons each. Figuring I’d more than proved my point to Lachlan, I decided that now was the time to let the exhaustion take over.

  I couldn’t see changing into my PJs under these circumstances, so I settled for taking off my shoes and socks and exchanging my jeans for a pair of loose, beat-up workout pants. Then I climbed into the small but relatively comfortable bed. It was dark out, and I’d turned off the overhead light, but there was too much of a chill in the air to turn the fireplace off. I fell asleep staring into the silent, flickering flames.

  It was still dark when I woke up, completely disoriented. For the first few moments, I couldn’t figure out where I was, but it didn’t take much time for the memory to rush back. My head felt thick and heavy, and everything around me felt unreal. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was two a.m.I flopped over onto my other side, sure I’d be asleep again in seconds, but then I heard the sound of footsteps outside my door.

  Belatedly, I realized that I’d heard some kind of thud, and that’s what had awakened me. I’d thought that it was some remnant of a dream, but as I heard the grating sound of the bar being raised, I decided it hadn’t been a dream after all.

  I quickly sat up, scrambling to disentangle myself from the covers. Perhaps I’d heard more than I remembered, or perhaps it was just a premonition, but I felt certain the person opening my door wasn’t Lachlan. Seconds later, I was proven right when a man pulled open the door and stepped into my cell.