“Oh, my, that was over rather quickly, wasn’t it?” Nana murmured, pushing her sodden silver hair out of her eyes as they passed out of the strange courtroom and the double wooden doors banged shut behind them.
“Yes, it was.” Rory pried the filter mask off her face and sneezed explosively. “I’m freezing,” she complained, trying to wring the water out of her long red hair.
“I can’t believe she did that!” Cass exploded hoarsely, wrenching at the filter mask that covered her mouth and nose and throwing it back on the table beside the attendant. “I mean, can she do that? Just dismiss the case out of hand without hearing the evidence?”
Phil looked horribly unhappy. “I’m afraid she can, Cass. I told you—the fairy court isn’t anything like ours. The judge has complete discretion to do what she wants and apparently she only wanted to hear the FG’s side of the story.” She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered miserably as a trickle of water ran down her neck. “I’m so sorry—now the FG is going to be horrible to you about your birthday wish and it’s all my fault.”
“It is not your fault,” O’Shea spoke up unexpectedly. “I’d wager everything I own that your fairy godmother was the one who maneuvered to get both the judge and the court time changed so that she could have an old friend as a judge and plenty of time to convince her of her own innocence before we arrived.”
His deep voice was hard and angry and the white shirt he wore was crisp no longer. It clung to his broad chest and arms, outlining some of the most impressive musculature Cass had ever seen. When he pushed his wet, blue-black hair off his high forehead, everything rippled appealingly.
Again the artist part of her itched for a sketch pad and a piece of charcoal—what a model he would make! Then the rest of her brain realized that she was still pissed off and she got back to the topic at hand.
“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “The fact is that we lost and Phil’s right—I’m screwed. The FG can find a way to twist any wish into disaster.”
“Not this time.” The look in their court-appointed elf’s pale green eyes was frightening to behold. Cass thought uneasily that if their fairy godmother could see him now she might rethink her position. He turned to her and put both hands on her shoulders, staring intently into her eyes. “You’re going to keep me informed of exactly what happens when you make that wish. If anything, and I do mean anything out of the ordinary happens, I want to know about it immediately. Do you understand, Cassandra?”
“All right, all ready, Jake.” Cass shrugged his hands off her shoulders, a little unnerved by the intensity of his look. “I get the picture, let’s just…just….” She covered her mouth with her hand and sneezed lightly three times in succession. “Let’s just get out of here and into the sun before we all get pneumonia,” she finished in a croak.
Great, she had already been hoarse from the voice loss charm the trows had put on her and now, thanks to being drenched twice in the crazy courtroom, she sounded even worse. If she lost her voice completely, how would she teach art to the spoiled rich kids at the Tight-Ass Academy tomorrow?
“Very well, I’ll take you back.” Being wet didn’t seem to bother O’Shea at all, Cass noticed sourly. He didn’t sneeze or shiver once as he led the way out.
Still irritated, she followed his broad back in the transparent white shirt out of the huge courthouse and into the sunlight. Well, at least they were on the way home and she wouldn’t have to deal with their court-appointed elf much longer.
Ten
The trip back home was a silent one, even the second ride on a flying couch. O’Shea kept one impersonal arm around her waist the entire time and Cass mostly kept her eyes closed and wished he wouldn’t hold her so tightly. She knew he was only doing his job and looking out for her safety but it was still annoying to be in such a dependant position to a man (or elf).
Also, having his big, hard body so close to hers seemed to do strange things to her heart. Though she tried to tell herself it was pounding because of her fear of heights, she couldn’t help thinking that the feeling of his muscular arm around her waist and the warm, spicy scent of his skin might have something to do with her out-of-control pulse.
Which was ridiculous, of course—she was with Brandon…her model…her muse. And she was perfectly happy with him. But a traitorous little voice in the back of her head wouldn’t stop whispering that O’Shea would make an even better model…if only she could see him without his shirt. Cass tried to nip that idea in the bud but it kept recurring which made being close to the big elf even more uncomfortable.
From time to time, Nana pointed out landmarks to Phil and Rory but for the most part, everyone was quiet. Cass’s voice had gotten worse and she didn’t think she could talk if she wanted to but she knew Phil was worrying about the trouble she’d caused and Rory was probably still thinking about the black horse O’Shea had called a phooka.
At any rate, it wasn’t likely her little sister would ever see the horse creature again since Cass had no intention of calling Jake O’Shea, no matter what happened with her birthday wish. He would just want to drag them all back to the Realm of the Fae for another court date and she had no intention of going through all this drama again for nothing.
In her opinion, this entire trip had been a huge waste of time and effort when she could have been painting and getting ready for the show at the I.C.U. gallery. She and her sisters had been dealing with their fairy godmother’s screw ups for years without the help of the highhanded, (if extremely muscular) elf, and they would probably manage to muddle through on their own a while longer.
The couch put them down not far from the ‘cell’ made of the sparkly pink and gold bricks which O’Shea told them was a ‘way station’, also known as a ‘willow door’ even though Cass saw nothing resembling a willow tree anywhere in the vicinity. It was, he said, an entry point between the Realm of the Fae and the human world where the magic that divided them was thin. He ‘fed’ their flying couch and Cass watched it flap away, hoping she’d never have to get on such a sick-making mode of transportation ever again.
O’Shea muttered the words in Gaelic that formed the arch in the bricks and took them home with no trouble. As the navy-blue smoke cleared in the living room, Cass thought she had never been so happy to see the brown leather furniture and hardwood floors of her grandmother’s house on States Street in her life. It was good to be home.
“Well, Mister O’Shea.” Phil stuck out her hand to the elf with a nice, professional smile. “Thank you for all your help today.”
“Yes, thank you very much, young man.” Nana shook his hand as well. She was somewhat bedraggled and windblown, as they all were from the drenching in the courtroom and the flight on the couch, but she managed to retain her dignity as always.
“You’re all very welcome,” O’Shea answered, shaking with Rory as well when she dutifully held out her hand. “I only wish things had gone better.”
“You did the best you could,” Phil said, trying to smile. “It isn’t your fault the FG…er, I mean our fairy godmother got to the judge before we got there. I’m sure Cass feels the same way. Don’t you, Cass? Cass, where are you going?”
Crap! Cass was already halfway up the stairs and she turned back to face the small knot of people still gathered in the living room. She had been planning to sneak quietly up to her room, change clothes and con Rory into returning O’Shea’s jacket to him. That way she could avoid hearing any more about how she had to notify him immediately if her birthday wish blew up in her face and she wouldn’t have to say a lot of nice polite bullshit she didn’t mean.
“Cassandra? Are you leaving without saying goodbye?” O’Shea arched one blue-black eyebrow at her as she stood frozen on the steps.
“Uh…” Cass cleared her throat. She was so hoarse now it was difficult to make herself heard across the room and she had no idea how she was going to teach the next day. “I was just going to go change
into my own clothes so I could give you back your jacket,” she half-whispered.
He frowned at her, a vertical line forming between his blue-black eyebrows. “Your voice is much worse.”
No shit, Sherlock, Cass thought sarcastically but she just nodded.
“I’ll only be a minute,” she whispered, thinking she could still get Rory to bring down the jacket after she was safely in her room.
O’Shea nodded.
“All right, I have a little time since our court date didn’t exactly go as planned.” And to Cass’s horror, he began to follow her up the stairs.
“Look, you really don’t have to…” she began, but her words ended in a fit of coughing that really hurt. Crap! It wasn’t just the voice loss charm now—she felt like her throat was lined with barbed wire. Apparently being charmed, then drenched, and then flown through the air didn’t agree with her.
“I may be able help your voice too,” O’Shea said, as though reading her thoughts. “Lead the way.”
Cass wanted to ask how he proposed to help her voice when it felt like she was getting a first-class throat infection but she just didn’t have the time. Sore throat or not she needed to work on her piece de resistance for the show at the I.C.U. gallery and she had already wasted enough time as it was.
The idea of being alone with Jake O’Shea made her strangely uncomfortable but it would only be for a minute. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned and headed back up the stairs with O’Shea trailing behind her.
Her room, which was now also her studio, was down at the very end of a long hall at the top of the stairs. The big lavender house on States Street where she and her sisters had done most of their growing up was full of secret nooks and crannies and she had always been a little afraid to go all the way down that long hall to get to her room as a little girl. It was gloomy and pictures of dead ancestors from her grandfather’s side of the family stared down with empty eyes.
Even today some of those pictures gave her the shivers and she always hurried past them. But now Cass ignored the dead ancestors—it was too hard to think of anything but the large, live elf following her down the hall to get the shivers over a couple of spooky old pictures.
She was certain that when she got to her room, O’Shea would wait politely at the door while she went inside and changed. Instead, he followed her in without even asking and stood there, looking around at her art work as though he had every right.
Asshole! Cass frowned at him, feeling like her space was being invaded.
“Hey, don’t you believe in asking before you come in someone’s room?” she asked in a hoarse, indignant whisper.
O’Shea looked surprised.
“There were no wards on the door so I assumed there was no need to ask. Do you have a problem with me being here?”
“No whats on the door?” Cass demanded hoarsely. What the hell was he talking about?
“No wards—spells that prevent entry. In the Realm if we don’t want a certain room tampered with, we place a spell on the door to that room to keep out unauthorized entry. It’s considered rude but effective.” He shrugged. “Don’t you have wards in the human world?”
“We have locks,” Cass whispered. “But I’m not the kind of person that shuts the door in somebody’s face and locks it behind me.”
“Funny—that’s exactly the sort of person you strike me as, Cassandra.” One side of O’Shea’s narrow but sensual mouth quirked up in a sarcastic little smile. Cass answered it with a frown.
“Look, smart guy—” she began in an annoyed whisper.
“I’ll step outside if you want me to,” O’Shea interrupted her. “But I’d much prefer to stay here and admire your artistic efforts.” He nodded at the stacks of paintings and half-finished sculptures that littered the room. “I’m especially interested in this one,” he said, pointing to a sculpture she had done of an animal that looked like a cross between a cat and an otter with wings. “What kind of animal is this, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Cass whispered defensively. “That’s just what came to me when I started molding the clay. Look…” She blew out a breath and pushed her messy curls out of her face. “You can stay in here if you want—I’ll change in the bathroom. Just don’t touch anything.”
She stalked into the bathroom and shut and locked the door firmly behind her, just in case he decided to follow her in there as well.
Once inside the bathroom, which Nana had redecorated in pink striped wall paper with a shower curtain to match, she discovered that she hadn’t brought anything to change into.
Shit, there’s no way I’m going back out there to dig around in the closet after I made such a big deal out of locking the door. I’d look like a fool!
Cass glanced around, looking for anything to wear but she was distracted by the tinny, electronic bray of the X-Men theme coming from her cell phone which was lying on the edge of the sink. She picked it up and groaned mentally as she saw the number for the I.C.U. gallery flashing in the window. She was temped not to answer at all but she knew the owner, Albert Rodriguez, would just keep calling every five minutes until she did. There was no getting out of it—she’d have to take the call.
Cass picked up the phone and mentally braced herself.
“Hello?” she whispered as loudly as she could.
“Cassie, doll, how are you? Albert’s been saying to himself—‘Now I wonder how that Cassie Swann is. I haven’t heard from her lately.’”
Cass tried to suppress a sigh. Albert Rodriguez had an annoying habit of talking of himself in third person, as though he was speaking to her about a mutual acquaintance instead of himself.
“Hi, Albert. Actually I’m kind of busy right now. Can I call you back?” she croaked, hoping her voice didn’t give out before the hyper little gallery owner did. Albert Rodriguez was a plump little dumpling of a man with a thin gray fringe around the top of his shiny bald head but he had more energy than anyone Cass had ever seen.
“Oh, no, Cassie my love.” He made a tsking sound that hurt her ear. “Albert needs to talk to you right now about the centerpiece for your show this Friday. Remember that? The show you’re having at Albert’s little gallery?”
“Of course I remember,” Cass whispered. “I’ve been working night and day on the centerpiece—it just isn’t quite right yet. My model has been unavailable and I—”
“No more excuses, Cassie my sweet.” The gallery owner’s high, nasal voice took on a decidedly nasty tone. “Albert expects to see that beautiful centerpiece of yours very shortly or the show is off. And that would be such a shame because Lady Blankenship and her crowd has already RSVPed with a vengeance and I hear she’s looking for a topic for next month’s column in Bay Beautiful.”
Cass felt herself starting to sweat. She’d been working to get this show for months and she couldn’t let it fall through—she just couldn’t. It could mean her ticket out of minimum wage hell and into the ranks of the artistic elite. Or at least into the ranks of artists who were actually able to live off the proceeds of their art.
“Please, Albert, don’t cancel on me,” she babbled as well as she could with her bad throat. “The centerpiece is almost done—it’s just that the mouth isn’t quite right. I just need to get my model to sit for me for fifteen minutes and I can finish it up and have it down to you. Just give me a few more days. I promise you’ll have it before Friday.”
“Well…” The gallery owner sounded like he was debating. Cass held her breath and clutched her cell phone so hard the plastic casing creaked. “All right,” he said at last after an extended pause. “But just remember, Cassie my dearest, that Albert happens to know plenty of other young artists that would kill for a show at the I.C.U. You happen to be the most talented but that doesn’t mean Albert won’t replace you if you turn out to be unreliable.”
“I promise you’ll have the centerpiece. Just give me a few more days and you won’t regret it,” Cass vowed fervently.
She knew the gallery owner
was serious because she’d heard of shows being pulled the day before and even the day of their opening, all because the unfortunate artist whose work was being shown had done something to piss off the temperamental Albert.
“All right, Albert will see you shortly. And remember, Cassie my love, the sooner, the better.” The I.C.U. gallery owner hung up with a click leaving Cass to swear at her cell phone in a hoarse whisper.
Her first impulse was to call her wayward model and boyfriend Brandon and demand he get his ass down there so she could finish the portrait at once. Then she remembered that they had talked earlier that morning and he was going to be out with his band all day.
Great, just great. She wished she could work from a picture of him but she never did her best work unless the subject was right in the room with her. Of course, from the way Albert had threatened her, she might not have a choice.
Cass sighed. So much weird shit had happened to her since she walked down the stairs in her night shirt and slippers that she’d almost forgotten it had only taken a few hours. That thought reminded her that she still had Jake O’Shea, the court-appointed elf in her room. No doubt he was wondering why it was taking her so long to change. He might even think she was trying to find something sexy or cute to slip into to get his attention.
Cass pushed the thought away uneasily, ignoring the way it caused her heart to speed up again. Ugh! As if he wasn’t arrogant enough already!
She scanned her bathroom for something to wear once more and this time her eye fell on a pile of clothes she’d left on top of her hamper. They weren’t really dirty but she’d been doing Pilates in them and had taken them off before she stepped in the shower the day before.
Cass shed O’Shea’s oversized jacket and the ragged remains of her nightshirt and hurriedly slipped into the high-waisted yoga pants, a sports bra, and the form fitting crop top black T-shirt she wore to do her Pilates work-out. She couldn’t afford to join a gym but Rory had given her an excellent DVD for Christmas that had several workouts from beginner to advanced on it and Cass popped it in and did it whenever she had a minute or needed to relive stress and center herself.
Be Careful What You Wish For (The Swann Sisters Chronicles Book 2) Page 8
