anything I can do?”
She shrugged. “Right now, I just want to go home.”
“You’re a sovereign of Faerie, Kelley. At least, you have the blood of one—two, I should say.”
“But not the power of two. Not anymore.” Try as she might, Kelley could not keep the bitterness from creeping into her voice as she thought about the moment when Auberon had taken away the power that she had inherited from his throne . . . and the horrid emptiness it had left behind.
“You still possess the gift of your mother’s blood. That is hardly inconsequential. Go the same way you came: just make a door. Walk through.” Bob paused, gazing at her with his keen, unnerving stare. “Then slam it behind you and never use it again, if that’s what you want.”
“You think I’m being cruel. About Auberon.”
“In some ways, I think you’re being very . . .” Bob fished for the right words for a moment. “Very true to the nature of your kind. If not the actual kindness of your nature.”
Bob sure liked his wordplay, Kelley thought. But his tone was sincere and made her think about what he had actually said. He had been a friend to her in a very difficult time and he knew her. Her—Kelley. Not just Kelley the actress, or Kelley the Faerie princess. Bob, she had to admit, had a certain amount of insight into Kelley the person.
She thought about that as her gaze roamed restlessly over the wild and unfamiliar terrain. Here she was, sitting in a world that was—ostensibly—her home, and yet it was utterly, fantastically foreign to even her most basic sensibilities. The very air on her skin felt different. Alien. She saw weird, phosphorescent lights flitting in among the tall, spectacular trees, and felt unseen eyes on her—not hostile, just curious. Everything seemed to stand out in sharp relief. The scent of ripe apples and fallen leaves was a heady perfume in her nostrils, and all along the moss-and-pebble path that led to Sonny’s pretty little cottage, pools of rainwater shone like mirrors, rimmed with frost as delicate as the lace edging on one of the fairy costumes from the theater. Kelley knew somehow, without even needing to ask, that the dell the cottage nestled in was near the place where the land crossed over from her father’s kingdom and became her mother’s. She shouldn’t know that. There was no reason for her to possess that knowledge. The fact that she did frightened her a little.
She wished she were home in Manhattan. Or even back in the Catskills, where she’d grown up. Thinking she was human. Her hand went to the charm at her throat, fingers brushing the cool green-amber stones.
“D’you remember when I asked you if you could make it so that this never comes off?” She tapped the pendant. “So that I could never draw on Mabh’s power?”
Bob nodded slowly. “I do. And I believe I counseled against such rash action.”
“You did. Except, well, now it’s happened. Whether I wanted it to or not.”
“You mean the charm—”
“I can’t take it off.”
“But you are here!” Bob protested, not understanding. “You must have opened the Gate. I know it wasn’t that Janus brute Fennrys, because only someone who wields the power of royal Fae blood can do that at will.”
“Yeah, I know.” Kelley lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I think it might have something to do with that tree I killed—”
“You killed a tree?”
“It tried to kill me first.”
“Perhaps you should tell me exactly what happened to you, Princess.”
Kelley sighed gustily and gave Bob the “CliffsNotes” version of her adventure in the park, while all around her Sonny’s fire sprites danced in her hair. The evening stars began to peep through the creeping dark.
“This man who attacked you,” Bob said finally, once she was finished her tale. “Describe him for me.”
“He was some whacked-out Faerie guy.” Kelley shuddered a bit, remembering how frightened she’d been. “I thought he was just a
She shrugged. “Right now, I just want to go home.”
“You’re a sovereign of Faerie, Kelley. At least, you have the blood of one—two, I should say.”
“But not the power of two. Not anymore.” Try as she might, Kelley could not keep the bitterness from creeping into her voice as she thought about the moment when Auberon had taken away the power that she had inherited from his throne . . . and the horrid emptiness it had left behind.
“You still possess the gift of your mother’s blood. That is hardly inconsequential. Go the same way you came: just make a door. Walk through.” Bob paused, gazing at her with his keen, unnerving stare. “Then slam it behind you and never use it again, if that’s what you want.”
“You think I’m being cruel. About Auberon.”
“In some ways, I think you’re being very . . .” Bob fished for the right words for a moment. “Very true to the nature of your kind. If not the actual kindness of your nature.”
Bob sure liked his wordplay, Kelley thought. But his tone was sincere and made her think about what he had actually said. He had been a friend to her in a very difficult time and he knew her. Her—Kelley. Not just Kelley the actress, or Kelley the Faerie princess. Bob, she had to admit, had a certain amount of insight into Kelley the person.
She thought about that as her gaze roamed restlessly over the wild and unfamiliar terrain. Here she was, sitting in a world that was—ostensibly—her home, and yet it was utterly, fantastically foreign to even her most basic sensibilities. The very air on her skin felt different. Alien. She saw weird, phosphorescent lights flitting in among the tall, spectacular trees, and felt unseen eyes on her—not hostile, just curious. Everything seemed to stand out in sharp relief. The scent of ripe apples and fallen leaves was a heady perfume in her nostrils, and all along the moss-and-pebble path that led to Sonny’s pretty little cottage, pools of rainwater shone like mirrors, rimmed with frost as delicate as the lace edging on one of the fairy costumes from the theater. Kelley knew somehow, without even needing to ask, that the dell the cottage nestled in was near the place where the land crossed over from her father’s kingdom and became her mother’s. She shouldn’t know that. There was no reason for her to possess that knowledge. The fact that she did frightened her a little.
She wished she were home in Manhattan. Or even back in the Catskills, where she’d grown up. Thinking she was human. Her hand went to the charm at her throat, fingers brushing the cool green-amber stones.
“D’you remember when I asked you if you could make it so that this never comes off?” She tapped the pendant. “So that I could never draw on Mabh’s power?”
Bob nodded slowly. “I do. And I believe I counseled against such rash action.”
“You did. Except, well, now it’s happened. Whether I wanted it to or not.”
“You mean the charm—”
“I can’t take it off.”
“But you are here!” Bob protested, not understanding. “You must have opened the Gate. I know it wasn’t that Janus brute Fennrys, because only someone who wields the power of royal Fae blood can do that at will.”
“Yeah, I know.” Kelley lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I think it might have something to do with that tree I killed—”
“You killed a tree?”
“It tried to kill me first.”
“Perhaps you should tell me exactly what happened to you, Princess.”
Kelley sighed gustily and gave Bob the “CliffsNotes” version of her adventure in the park, while all around her Sonny’s fire sprites danced in her hair. The evening stars began to peep through the creeping dark.
“This man who attacked you,” Bob said finally, once she was finished her tale. “Describe him for me.”
“He was some whacked-out Faerie guy.” Kelley shuddered a bit, remembering how frightened she’d been. “I thought he was just a
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