The Changeling (39 page)

Pulling the door behind me as I left, my senses told me that Smokey was a floor below me and would make his way to the third within seconds. My heart beat so hard I worried that he’d hear it. Under my weight, the floor creaked. I froze.
Crap. I’m invisible. I shouldn’t be making noise
.

Concentrating on Smokey’s room-to-room movements, I realized he hadn’t noticed, so I walked quickly on the outside edge of the hall toward the main corridor. My heart lurched when Gusty re-entered the hotel below. He froze in the lobby, like some kind of Fae stakeout.
Finally, a break.

Through one of her many stories, Aunt May had given me an escape route I’d hoped the Fae would overlook—each floor of the hotel was a ground floor, attached to the mountain at the rear by catwalks. My exit awaited upstairs.

Smokey came through the floor of the last room…directly behind me.
Oh, my god, he’s going to see a blond woman he can’t sense. I’m caught!
I ran to the end of the hall as he neared the door. I wouldn’t make it. At the last instant, I felt a presence in the room across the hall from the one he was searching. It appeared out of nowhere. Just as it happened at the Crescent Hotel, the presence began knocking things around in the room. Smokey shot into the room without taking physical form in the hall.

Around the corner, I paused for a moment and exhaled. Adjusting the enormous swath of floral material back in place, I lingered, and then felt him zapping items as they were slung across the room. Somehow I knew it was Aunt May. She had him chasing echoes. Her presence moved down to the second floor and began the process again, but Smokey didn’t follow her. He wouldn’t be fooled twice. By the time I reached the elevator, he had moved on to the adjacent room.

A horrified couple with children blocked my path by the stairwell. The woman smiled as she surveyed my hideous dress. I hoped it wasn’t hers. All four winced when they caught the overpowering stench of my perfume.

“Excuse us,” the man said as he wrapped his arms around his children and steered them well out of my way.

The little girl, no older than five, grabbed her nose. “Daddy, what is that smell?”

Oops!
A little overboard on the perfume.

I sprang up the narrow stairs all the way to the top floor. They opened to a large, empty vestibule with windows that overlooked Spring Street. To the right I found a lounge with pool tables, comfortable chairs, and a bar. Unfortunately, there were more than twenty people in the room. One by one, they stopped talking and stared at me, mouths agape. I gave them a big Texas-sized smile and spun around. To the sound of laughter behind me, I walked across the light oak hardwood to the other side of the building where there was a door beneath a sign that read
Barefoot Ballroom
.

Dusty black and white photos from the 1920s or 1930s hung on the wall outside the doors—even the people in photographs looked confused by my appearance. Inside, the enormous ballroom was nearly devoid of furniture. To my right, and next to the stained glass windows that towered over the street, was a small bandstand. The room ran the entire depth of the hotel, with windows nearly spanning the space between the tongue and groove ceiling and the worn hardwood floor. At the end of the room, behind a lone easel-mounted panel advertising weddings, I saw what I was looking for: a fire exit. Best of all, there were no people in the ballroom.

Gusty was still waiting downstairs in the lobby by the street, so my exit out of the rear of the hotel was away from his view. Two floors down, and in the other wing, Smokey moved quickly from room to room. I had to hurry—when he cleared the hotel, my gut told me they would begin looking for me outside. The sound of my feet on the floor echoed in the empty space as I raced past the stained glass windows.

It took a split second to disable the alarm, and only a second longer to blow the door open. Sprinting, I cleared the metal catwalk, scrambled up the steps through the wooded hillside, and got as far away from the hotel as I could. The hill was steeper than it looked, but I found a narrow trail that led away from the building. By the time I reached the top of the hill, Smokey was already moving through the fifth floor.
Hurry! Now!

At Eureka Street, huffing for breath in the hot summer air, I scanned the area around the first home I came to. A man in the backyard never saw me as I crept, doubled over, along a stone retaining wall to check the next house. Empty. Leaping vertically, I caught my weight in a cradle of Air and cleared the wood fence. I crossed the backyard and sprinted between two unoccupied Victorian cottages. I made it down to West Mountain Street before I sensed Smokey and Gusty spiraling out from the hotel.
Oh, hell, here they come
. Hiding behind a shrub, hoping I’d gone unnoticed, I adjusted the frumpy dress again, straightened the wig, and tried to walk at a leisurely pace to the tree-lined sidewalk.

Thump-thump, thump-thump—my heart was deafening. “Breathe, calm down,” I said to myself. Thirty steps down the hill I felt Smokey change directions. My blood ran cold when I realized that he’d be on me in no time—he was coming up the street. I spun and ran. Below me on the right was the next street to the north. Ignoring the possibility that someone could be watching me, I leapt again, literally flying between tree trunks with my feet three feet off the ground all the way to the sidewalk on Owen Street.

It was impossible to compose myself, as I was gasping to catch my breath and sweating profusely. Even the disguise wouldn’t help me in this state. I needed to find a place to hide, and I needed to find it fast. With a quick scan, I located an empty house to the west. Smokey was nearly parallel with me on the street above. The door sprang open as soon as I concentrated on the lock, and I skip-trotted inside.

“Breaking and entering…this is so bad!”

Closing the front door and bolting the locks, I hid in a closet near the foyer and focused on channeling the energy from the air inside.
Disappear! Disappear!
Had Smokey detected me? Had he caught the overpowering scent of a full tablespoon of Coty?
Stop freaking out!

My eyes began to adjust to the darkness, but my nose refused to accept the musty stench of shoes that filled my nostrils. It surprised me that anything could smell worse than I did at the moment, but the closet floor lay buried beneath mounds of old shoes and boots. Taking long breaths through my mouth kept me from gagging, and it also calmed me down. Smokey continued down Mountain Street and then turned left, twice, and began heading back in my direction. Despite my best efforts, my heart sped up again and I felt like an animal caught in a trap.

Huffing like a steam engine as the distance between us disappeared, I fought the urge to sprint out the back of the house.
What do I do? Think! Think!
At the last moment, I froze. Holding my breath as Smokey passed my hiding place, my lungs burning for air, I didn’t exhale until he floated down the street and out of my range. He didn’t detect me. The Fae were searching in a pattern, looking for me in the open.
Oh god!
My senses told me he was back again. Drawing in a quick breath, I fought with a spontaneous whimper, when he slowly moved back into my range and searched Elk Street behind me. If I had bolted a few moments ago, he would have caught me.

Staring at the scuffed face of my watch, and examining the heavy coats and boots tucked in the closet, I waited for twenty minutes before I dared to crack the door. Light appeared in narrow slit between the creaking door and the chipped paint of the jam. Wincing as it blinded me, I pushed the door open further and allowed the fresh air to greet me. Reflexively, I pulled another breath into my lungs, trying to purge the sour stench of old, filthy shoes and Coty.

In a downstairs bath, I found rubbing alcohol. It helped to cut the smell of the awful cologne. I tried to cover up what was left with some White Diamonds I found on the counter. If the Fae did try to track me by scent, I’d blend in to this home and simply disappear on the street…or so I hoped.

Do I risk going back outside so soon? I have to at some point, I know, but they’re looking—everywhere. How long should I wait?
Staring at the mirror, focusing on nothing but my eyes, the decision came. “I have to get out of town. Now!” Channeling the energy from a light breeze, I emerged onto the shady street and walked two blocks down the hill over to Candace’s house on Spring Street, just a quarter mile from the Basin Park Hotel. Smokey drifted in and out of my senses as he searched a broader area of town. Gusty, who was still watching the hotel, didn’t react when I slipped through the wrought iron gate at Candace’s house, even within the short distance.

Candace opened the door. “Um, can I help…Mags?” She looked me up and down, fighting a smile. “Ewww, girl…tragic costume party?”

“Can I please come inside?”

“Yeah, sure. Explain.”

She closed the door behind me, and winced as she drew a sharp breath through her nose. “Oh, god! Why do you look like a drag queen? And what in the world is with that god-awful perfume? You smell like a candle store.”

“I found Mitch.”

Her mouth dropped open as everything seemed to register. “You’re hiding from them, aren’t you? What do you need? You alone? What can I do? Oh my god, where is he?”

“Did Danny call you?”

“Yes…but I never guessed. What do you need?”

“Can I hide here for a little while? And, uh, I kinda need a car.”

“Sure, of course. Where are
they?”

“Searching for me. Close.”

Not that it would help hide me from the Fae, but she darted from window to window yanking the curtains closed.

TWENTY-SEVEN

DARKNESS

Candace stopped asking questions when I promised to explain everything later. For ten minutes I stood in her shower and let the hot water rinse off the last traces of perfume and gaudy lipstick. Candace gave me the keys to her MX-5, and loaned me one of her mom’s sundresses. It was a better fit than the floral tent I’d been wearing. She begged to help, so I told her to text Ronnie and Doug to meet her at the Byrne’s cottage where they’d be dropping my car off, but to wait for her phone call before they did. “I need you to be on your way before they start following you—don’t call Ronnie until you’re at Sara’s. They will follow you. Are you okay with that?”

“Of course,” she said.

“When Doug and Ronnie get there, knock on the door and give Sara my keys. Tell her I said I’d be by to pick the car up later. Play dumb. She’ll figure it out and make sure nothing happens to you. Just take the guys and come back here.”

“Can we help you with anything else?”

“By staying here, out of harm’s way, you’ll be helping me more than you can imagine. I’ll tell you about it when I get back.”

She hugged me tightly, whispering, “Don’t let anything happen to yourself. Swear it?”

“I swear it. I’ll see you tonight, I promise.”

She continued to hold on, and I knew she was afraid for me.

“Candace?”

“Yes,” she said, hugging me even tighter.

“It’s time.”

She finally released her death grip on me, and sent Ronnie and Doug a text exactly as I dictated. Thirty seconds later, she received a reply from both. “Ready.” She grabbed her keys and phone and ran down the stairs.

I donned the blond wig and glasses, and waited. Twenty minutes later I sensed the Fae moving toward Main Street. Smokey had been conducting a house-to-house search several blocks away and Gusty had lingered down by the hotel. They converged downtown at break-neck speed when, I assumed, Ronnie and Doug had taken my car. That had to be it, I thought, the Fae were following something on Main Street that was moving faster than a pedestrian. “Here goes.”

Candace’s yellow convertible hummed to life and I sped north and away from the Fae. With the summer foliage passing in a blur, I drove by the old train station and headed toward Highway 187. Memories of Billy and Sara telling me about the Second Aetherfae flooded back when I crossed the blue and yellow one-lane bridge to the hamlet of Beaver. The memories faded quickly as I pressed on toward Holiday Island. I drove for an hour. My nerves calmed the closer I got to Fayetteville.

Just a few miles from the farmhouse, I rendezvoused with Danny at a Holiday Inn Express on the west side of Fayetteville. He was waiting in the lobby, and he glanced dismissively at me when I walked up. As I walked closer, he studied me again and his expression changed to bewildered fascination, recognition, and then he began laughing.

He crossed his sinewy arms, muscles flexing under the dark blue silk suit, and drummed a finger against his thick cheek. “Impressive wig,” he said.

“You didn’t recognize me, did you?” I shot back.

“That’s true. Big blond hair, enormous sunglasses—bourgeois housewife from Dallas?”

I laughed.

“Terrible dress,” he said. His thick mane of brown hair danced on his collar when he shook his head.

“You should have seen the last one.”

He closed his dark amber eyes, “I don’t sense
anyone
following you.”

“No, I got away.”

He pointed to the door. “Shall we?”

He led me to the parking lot and handed me a set of keys. “You said a fast car.”

I pushed the lock button on the key, and the headlights flashed on a low slung, bright red Mustang, with white stripes, glowing brightly in the early-afternoon sun. Below a chrome cobra on the front fender, a logo said GT500.