To Catch a Queen (6 page)

“And what would that be?”

Her grin exposed yellowed and missing teeth. “It’s the oldest cliché in the book, but it’s true, which is how it became a cliché. If only those hack writers knew they were getting it right.” She paused for a brief cackle. “Love, of course. In the stories about people being rescued from the fairies, they do all kinds of things to free them, but it’s not about
what
they do. It’s about who’s doing it and why. It’s always the people who love them—who love them enough to go through all that nonsense. Jumping through the magical hoops is merely a way of proving your love.”

“So if you get taken by fairies and no one loves you, you’re out of luck?”

“It doesn’t have to be romantic love. It can be the love of a parent for a child, a child for a parent, a brother, sister, friend—anyone who’s willing to take on a seemingly impossible ordeal for you. And if you don’t have anyone who loves you in any way, well, then maybe you’re better off with the fairies, living it up and forgetting your old life.”

Michael thought that explained how Sophie had been able to save Emily. She may have known all the right things to do, but it came down to the fact that she’d been willing to do anything to save her sister. Did that mean he’d failed in not even trying to save Jen? A flash of anger at Sophie flared up in his chest. She’d talked him out of trying. If it hadn’t been for her, he might have had Jen home with him by now.

But no, he hadn’t been up for an ordeal of any kind at the time, and he’d read enough to know that trying and failing could have doomed Jen forever. He was ready now, though. “What—” he began, but his voice failed him and it only came out as a rasp. He cleared his throat to get the lump out of it and tried again. “What do I need to do?”

“The ordeal usually presents itself when the opportunity arises, so the main thing you need to do is get to your wife. It’s the right time of year for that, when the barriers between worlds are thinner than ever.” It was actually even easier than that, he thought, assuming he could get Sophie to talk to him enough to know he needed her to get him into the Realm. “But there are a few things you could try to initiate your own ordeal and give yourself an advantage.”

She paused for a long time, and he wondered if she was waiting for him to get out a notebook and take notes. “Such as?” he prodded.

“I’m thinking! This hasn’t been as big a part of my job as it used to be in the old days. Someone goes missing today and they think serial killer or going off the grid, not stolen by fairies, so no one tries to get their loved ones out. Even a hundred years ago in some places, they’d have been coming to someone like me for help. You’re my first.”

She leaned over to check on the sleeping woman, got up and went to her cart, rummaged around, and came back with another blanket and an old notebook with a water-stained cardboard cover. She tucked the blanket around her patient, then sat cross-legged, pulled a small flashlight out of the pocket of her baggy sweater, and started reading the notebook. Michael forced himself to wait patiently and resisted the urge to pull his weapon and order her at gunpoint to tell him what he needed to do to save his wife.

He was starting to suspect she was delaying just to mess with him when she turned off her light, closed the notebook, and said, “Okay, here are a couple of things that usually seem to work.” She held up one knobby finger. “One: Ransom her. Buy her freedom. But money or gold won’t work. It has to be something more valuable than that.”

“Diamonds?” he guessed.

“Nope. Valuable in terms of personal cost to you. But it still has to have value to them. What you give can be a simple memento. It gains value as you trade it for something that means something to the person you’re trading it to, and so forth.”

“Like that thing where someone started with a paper clip and traded until he ended up with a house?”

“Something like that, only the challenge will be to figure out what you have that’s valuable to you that will be even more valuable to someone else.”

“Whom do I pay? The fairy who took her lost power, and the queen is okay with letting her go.”

“You’ll figure that out when you get there. The point is that you’re willing to pay. You may even be in a situation where you can offer something as a gift, then they’re obligated to give you anything—or anyone—you ask for in return.” She held up two fingers. “Two: You prove yourself worthy of her. Usually, that has something to do with bravery, cunning, faith, even sacrifice. The trick there is that you can’t create the situation. You just have to recognize it and take advantage of it when it arises by doing what you have to do. You got that?”

He nodded. He knew he was willing to do anything. He just hoped he’d be capable and that he’d get the opportunity.

She guffawed. “Oh, don’t look so grim, Detective. The fun thing about dealing with the fairies is that it’s perfectly okay to cheat, find loopholes, and use trickery. In fact, that’s where the cunning comes in. If you find an easier way out, that means you’ve proved yourself smarter than they are.” She grew solemn again and reached out to clasp his hand. “But there’s always a final test, one of wisdom, which is different from cunning. You’ll have to make a choice, and you’ll have to make the right one. It’s never the easy one.” She held on to his hand a moment longer, and he could feel the rough calluses on her palm abrading his skin. Abruptly, she released him and got to her feet. “Help me get her into my cart.”

While he was assessing whether he could lift the woman from the ground, an eerie howl nearby made his flesh crawl. He didn’t think there were wolves in Central Park, and after the earlier incident with whatever Mrs. Smith had scared away he had a feeling that this was something much worse than wolves. That was confirmed when Mrs. Smith instantly tensed, then rushed to her cart, grabbed the torch, and relit it with a lighter pulled from her pocket. The sudden light blinded Michael, but he sensed the presence of a group of people circling them.

Once his eyes adjusted to the torchlight, he realized that the newcomers were fae. These fairies looked wild, savage even. They wore the wispy clothing seemingly fashioned from spiderwebs and leaves that many of the other fairies he’d seen favored, but they also wore jewelry that looked like it had been fashioned out of human bones. In his police career, Michael had come across a few cases with skeletal remains, and he recognized the finger bones strung together around the neck of one of the fairies. He didn’t even want to think about where those bones had come from.

The dancers began chanting, their voices melding into a strange harmony that didn’t fit into any musical scale he’d ever heard. He had to strain to make out the words. At first, he thought it was in some other language, but soon he was able to make out words in English—or did the magic that allowed him to see the fae also allow him to understand them?

“The night of the hunt draws near,” they sang in a low monotone, “and we will ride again. You’ll know what it is to fear, when the Wild Hunt rides again.” Their song grew wilder and their dancing more frenzied as they continued. “Again, again, the Wild Hunt rides again. The earth will tremble and blood will flow when the Wild Hunt rides again.”

They leapt and whirled like dervishes. Some of them took turns rushing toward the torch, daring each other to come closer and closer to the tongues of flame. Michael glanced toward Mrs. Smith, but whether he sought guidance or reassurance, he didn’t know. She glowered at the dancers and held her torch steady, but she made no other moves. He thought he detected fear in her eyes, though.

The dancers noticed the unconscious woman and moved toward her. Michael instinctively stepped in front of her and said, “Leave her alone.”

One of the fairies faced Michael. “Oh, one of them, are you? You don’t scare me.”

Michael went for his gun, but decided against it. Discharging his service weapon would mean paperwork. Instead, he slid his hand into his jacket pocket. Grateful that he was up-to-date on his tetanus shot, he maneuvered a few of the iron nails in his pocket between his fingers so their points would protrude when he made a fist, the way they taught women to carry their keys in self-defense classes. He took a step toward the fairy, easing his hand out of his pocket but keeping the nails hidden.

“Your kind isn’t welcome,” another fairy said. “You’ll suffer most of all when the Hunt rides.”

Michael wished he knew more about this Hunt because as it was, his response was limited to “will not.” Instead, he smiled enigmatically and said, “Are you so sure about that? How do you know where you’ll end up when you face the Hunt?”

The fairy took the bait and moved toward Michael, his fists raised. Michael struck first, driving an iron nail into the flesh of the fairy’s upper arm. He was surprised by how easily it went in. He released the nail as the fairy howled in pain, then whipped around to lash at the fairy coming at him from the side. He scraped that one along the jaw and continued the swing to hit a third, driving that nail in.

The screams of pain made his hair stand on end. They were clearly inhuman and spoke to some primitive part of him that wanted nothing more than to run, but he stood his ground. The fairies’ screams were soon not the only sounds. Beau barked and snarled, and Mrs. Smith lunged at the attackers with her torch.

Like most bullies, these fairies were quick to flee when their targets fought back and did damage. Soon, Michael, Mrs. Smith, Beau, and the unconscious woman were alone again. Mrs. Smith turned to Michael. “Well done. I see you know a thing or two. Do you always carry iron?”

“These days? Yeah.”

“Keep it up. Now we’d better all get out of here in case those yahoos come back with friends. Get her into the cart for me.”

Lifting the sleeping woman from the ground was more difficult than catching her after a faint had been. He’d finished physical therapy, but he still needed a little time in the gym. He got the woman settled onto the piles of blankets and pillows inside the cart in a way that didn’t look too uncomfortable. Mrs. Smith blew out her torch with an impressive gust of breath, put it in the cart’s child seat, then picked up the blanket from the ground and draped it over the woman. As she tucked in the corners, she said, “What hunt were you talking about?”

“They were chanting about some Wild Hunt that’s apparently going to ride again and make us all afraid.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “You understood that? You really have been touched. And good timing, too. If the Hunt’s going to ride again, we’ll need all the help we can get. Most everyone these days will have no idea what to do.”

“
I
don’t know what to do,” Michael said.

“You know about iron, which is more than most. If the Hunt’s free to ride, that means things might be getting ugly in the Realm. You’ll need to get your wife back, pronto. There’s a market tomorrow night at Bethesda Terrace. You’ll find what you need there, maybe even a way into the Realm. Good luck. You’ll need it.” Before he could ask any questions, she trundled the cart away, walking like she didn’t have the weight of an entire person in there.

“Okay, that was odd,” Michael remarked to Beau, who snorted in what sounded like agreement. “I wonder if she’s right.” The hope welling in his heart was almost overwhelming. For the first time in seven years, he had an actual plan.

The Theater District

10:30 p.m.

Every time Emily stepped on the stage, she feared she’d lose her mojo. Acting and singing were largely about feeling, so how could she do either properly when she was so numb? She wasn’t sure she could go on living this way. Throughout the evening show, she found herself wishing she’d told Sophie everything and asked for her help.

And then she’d sing one of her numbers and be met with roars of applause. That reminded her she now had the power to hold an audience’s hearts in her hand, to make them feel whatever she wanted them to feel. She could make them laugh or cry, and she could make them love it. Ever since her time in the Realm, the house had been packed for every performance. Some people were even addicted, lining up for standby tickets every night. It was like the kids who’d repeatedly flocked to
Rent
in its heyday, something no one would have expected for a musical based on a Jane Austen novel. No one realized that it wasn’t the musical itself that had this effect, but rather its star.

Or maybe they did realize it. Emily’s agent had a list of producers wanting Emily to star in their shows as soon as her current contract expired. There had already been two musicals written just for her. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined such success. It had taken her seven years in New York before she’d had the stroke of luck that let her step into a title role as an understudy. Would she have had her current level of stardom if she hadn’t been kidnapped by a fairy and been changed by the experience, or would she have only stayed in the role until they hired a bigger name or closed the show? She couldn’t help but fear that if her current success had been about her, it would have come far sooner. Even the notoriety from her brief disappearance didn’t explain all her fame.

When she thought about it that way, it was a no-brainer. Would she really give up such abilities just so she could taste and feel again? It wasn’t as though she was selling her soul. She’d known the risks when she took a drink in the fairy realm. At least there was some upside from it.

As the big finale came to an end, she noticed something different in the theater. Normally, she couldn’t see anything of the audience other than a dark blur beyond the stage lights, but one person near the back glowed. Had Sophie stayed for the show? The sellout wouldn’t have stopped her if she’d wanted in. But no, that wasn’t the same glow as Sophie’s. Emily’s pulse quickened at the thought of who it might be.

This time, she didn’t linger after the curtain calls. She hurried to change into street clothes, then rushed to the stage door. Even in the throng of fans and flashing cameras, she spotted him, shining silver and unmistakably fae in spite of his old-professor human glamour.