A Kind of Magic (30 page)

“We only defended Josephine from attack by the fae. We’d never go against you.” Amelia seemed insulted by the implication.

“Even if I was siding with my grandmother and the fae against a fellow enchantress?” Amelia didn’t answer, and Sophie shook her head. “I’m trying not to put you in that position. I’ll deal with this. You can stay out of it.”

“You’re dealing with it?”

“I’m not going to get into details.”

“Because you don’t trust us.”

“Because, as I said, I won’t put you in the position of having to pick a side.”

“And after this is dealt with?”

“I’m rethinking whether it’s a good idea for me to even try to be an enchantress. I can’t take your oath, I know that already. I will always have some loyalty to the Realm and the fae. The best I can do is always work to the greater good, regardless of who that aligns me with at any given point, and I can’t swear to do otherwise.”

“Then you are against us.”

“And you’ve fallen right into her scheme. I should congratulate her. She’s accomplished everything she set out to do. If I’m not acting as an enchantress, then I’ll act as a queen of the fae. I would suggest you stay out of the line of fire.”

Michael’s Apartment

6:00 p.m.

Michael started loosening his tie as he came through the door, and then he remembered that he’d told Sophie he’d come to the ballet. But he was so tired. He couldn’t think of what he’d done that day that had been so exhausting. They hadn’t had any major cases come up. It was just more paperwork and phone calls—the part of a detective’s job that they left out of all the TV cop shows. At one point in the afternoon, he and Mari had even discussed letting their superiors know that he was now so thoroughly recovered that they could be transferred.

Maybe he wasn’t so recovered, after all, if he was dragging in like this. He threw his coat over the arm of the sofa and sank into the cushions, telling himself he just needed a few minutes to rest before heading out again. He knew he should probably eat something first, but that would require getting up and going to the kitchen. He wasn’t all that hungry, anyway. He’d had a huge lunch, hadn’t he? He had a vague memory of something heavy and greasy.

He’d thought he’d just closed his eyes for a moment, but the next time he looked at the clock, it was six thirty. If he got up and left now, and if he caught the subway—traffic would be pretty gridlocked at this time of day, so a cab would be a bad idea—he might make it in time.

But Sophie didn’t dance until the second act, and that was all he really cared to see. Even she said the first act was boring. As he recalled from the way it had gone in the performance he’d seen, that meant he had an extra hour. He could take a short nap, grab a bite to eat, and slip in during intermission.

That decided, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and laid it on top of his overcoat, then took his tie off and kicked off his shoes. Adjusting one of the throw pillows under his head, he stretched out as well as he could, propping his feet on the other armrest.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go, he thought, images of Sophie dancing crossing his mind’s eye. He loved watching her dance. There was something inhuman about the way she moved that he found fascinating. If there hadn’t been a stage full of people doing more or less the same thing, though perhaps at a different level, he’d say it wasn’t humanly possible to do those things.

As tired as he’d thought he was, he didn’t go to sleep, not exactly. He just drifted, images of a beautiful redhead swirling through his mind. He was pretty sure now that it was Sophie who so occupied his thoughts, since she was dancing, and that made him feel bad to have moved on from Jen so quickly. It had only been a few weeks—well, a few weeks plus seven years. The question was whether this was just some rebound thing, something to do with that kiss addling his senses, or his fascination with her dancing.

Something told him that he needed to snap out of it, get up, and go, but he knew he had plenty of time, and he didn’t want to let go of his pleasant daydreams.

But no, there was something wrong. This wasn’t right. He fought to wake up, struggled to move, but it was worse than the painkillers after he’d been shot, worse even than the elf shot that had paralyzed him momentarily. Unfortunately, he was alone, with no one to help and no way to call for help. On the off chance that it might work for him the way it had once worked for Emily, he started to send a mental distress call to Sophie, but the thought of her sidetracked him, and he drifted off again to the image of her leaping gracefully through the air.

Lincoln Center

10:15 p.m.

Sophie headed into the lobby with a sense of rising anticipation. She’d imagined Michael in the audience, had danced for him. It was silly, she knew, but whatever worked to keep each performance passionate.

At the same time, though, she had a nagging sense of unease. She didn’t know if she was being pessimistic or paranoid, but even though he’d told her he’d be there, and even though she’d imagined he would be, she feared she wouldn’t find him in the lobby.

Hoping she was wrong, she scanned the departing crowds, looking for a dark head standing just above most of the other men. There were a lot of tall, lanky, dark-haired men, but none of them were Michael. Maybe he was waiting outside, she thought. He might not want to deal with all those people.

It took her awhile to get through the gallery at the front of the theater, so many people wanted to greet her, congratulate her, or ask for autographs. She’d taken the time to fix her hair and makeup before leaving the dressing room because of Michael, but she was glad she’d done so after being stopped repeatedly for photos with fans.

At last, she made it outside, but no one waited for her on the plaza. She couldn’t help but give a small sigh of disappointment. She’d had such a vivid mental image of him waiting for her under a lamppost, spotlighted with a few flakes of snow dancing around him.

Only after crossing the plaza to make sure he wasn’t there did it occur to her that this left her quite alone. She wasn’t really scared—she had too much power to worry much about the ordinary threats that faced a small woman on her own late at night in a large city—but she felt awfully vulnerable. Given recent crime rates, she was much more at risk of being attacked by Josephine or her fae allies than she was of being mugged, and her defenses would be less overwhelming against magical foes.

Feeling that there was safety in numbers with the bonus of plentiful iron and the fact that someone like Josephine wouldn’t be caught dead on public transportation, she headed for the subway. The station was full of people who’d just left the ballet, and the festive atmosphere was aided by a chamber trio playing on the platform. A couple of little girls in velvet party dresses twirled to the music.

It had been a long time since she’d lived in the city, back when she’d been a teenager dancing with the company, but she didn’t recall ever experiencing anything quite like this. It was more like the city as depicted in romantic movies. In fact, it was practically like a musical. She might not have been startled if everyone in the station had suddenly begun singing and dancing along with the musicians, the whole crowd instinctively knowing the words and the steps.

It wasn’t just the music. She spotted at least five people sketching on notepads. They didn’t even seem to be aware of what they were doing. It was as though creativity was surging through the air and coming out in whatever way it could. Did this have something to do with the weakening barriers between the fairy and human worlds? If it did, was it so bad? The problem seemed to be whatever Josephine was up to. If they could stop her, maybe they could find a way to keep the good effects. Was it naïve to hope fae and humans could find a way to live alongside each other?

While she waited for a train, Sophie signed a few more autographs and posed for more pictures. Even people who didn’t approach her surreptitiously took her photo from across the platform. She supposed that was inevitable after the newspaper reviews, but she hoped she hadn’t lost her anonymity for good. She’d been lazy about her appearance in New York, where she no longer had to worry about everyone in town keeping an eye on her. When she was a teenager, she’d enjoyed the fame, but that had been before every phone contained a camera and the ability to instantly distribute a photo to the entire world.

It was only a few stops to her station, so once she boarded a train, she remained standing close to a door. From the station, she only had a little more than a block to walk before she reached Emily’s building, and once she was away from Broadway, the neighborhood street was so peaceful it was easy to forget she was in one of the world’s largest cities.

It seemed even more peaceful tonight. It really wasn’t that late, but there was a hush over the city, perhaps influenced by the faint flutter of snow that never quite seemed to hit the ground. The snow turned everything into a scene from a Christmas card, especially the occasional apartment window already showing Christmas lights, even though it wasn’t yet Thanksgiving. She was fairly certain it was her imagination, but she thought she heard faint strains of music.

The air was crisp and cold, calling out for cider or cocoa, and there was a hint of a spicy smell when she inhaled. This was the world the way it should be, she thought, the way she so often wanted it to be, but it seldom really was. That alone made her wary, dampening her enjoyment of what should have been the perfect night.

Her spine tingled, giving her the sense of danger nearby, but she wasn’t sure if it was a specific warning or general uneasiness. The building was in sight, so she quickened her pace, keeping her senses—magical and otherwise—at high alert.

Even so, she almost missed the sudden gust of wind for what it was: an unnatural attack. Unlike the snow monster at the ballet, this didn’t seem to be mostly for show. Conscious of the fact that this was likely another test to show her up as fae, she forced herself to rely on enchantress magic. Fortunately, she was adept at throwing up a magical shield, and soon she was in a calm cocoon as the wind whipped around her. She picked up her pace, hurrying toward Emily’s building. As she passed trees, they bent nearly double in the wind that followed her.

As suddenly as it had blown up, the wind subsided, but she didn’t drop her shield or her guard. Even so, she almost lost her footing as a sheet of ice formed on the sidewalk. The shield didn’t help there, as she hadn’t thought to bring it below her feet. Actually, she wasn’t quite sure how to do that. Only her superb sense of balance and muscle control from a lifetime of dance kept her from taking a spill.

“That’s not fair,” she muttered. The danger here wasn’t magical. If she broke or twisted an ankle, it could hamper or even end her dance career. She sent a burst of warm air to the ground, but the ice was too solid to melt away quickly, and she had no intention of standing there until it was gone. Switching to another tactic, she pushed downward with her hands, sending a strong wave of magic at the ice, which shattered. Now, at least, she could stand in one place without the risk of her feet going out from under her, but she wasn’t sure she could break the ice ahead of her without lowering her shield or causing damage along the street.

She decided to remain where she was and collect her bearings, casting her senses out to detect the source of the magical attack. The magic seemed to be coming from just ahead of her, next to the front steps of Emily’s building. She didn’t see anyone there at first, but when she reached into her coat pocket to get her keys and her hand brushed the laminated four-leaf clover she always carried, she saw a tall woman lurking there in the shadows.

If the clover allowed her to see past glamour, that meant it had to be fae magic. Josephine must have been working with her fae allies, and if she had fae hiding her with glamour, that meant she very likely wasn’t trying to out Sophie as fae in front of other enchantresses, since that would be revealing her own fae ties, and that meant the gloves were off, magically speaking.

One wave of Sophie’s hand, and the ice on the sidewalk disappeared. She strode forward and stopped right in front of Josephine. “Oh, honey, you should know that since I’m fae, I know how to see past your glamour.” She squeezed her clover and opened her fae senses, and the enchantress became even more real than if Sophie had been seeing her in broad daylight. Her aura was recognizable, and she now saw what Michael meant about there being something odd about it. When Sophie turned her head at a sound from behind her, she saw Josephine out of the corner of her eye, and for a split second she thought she was viewing something beneath a second layer of glamour, but it was gone before she could focus and she had something else to worry about, with a fireball coming at her from behind.

That was a neat trick. Sophie didn’t yet know how to originate fireballs from anywhere other than her own hand. She didn’t know how to form them remotely or boomerang them, or whatever it was Josephine was doing. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the chance to analyze the magic, she was so busy defending against it.

“What is it you want from me?” she demanded of Josephine as she deflected fireballs coming at her from every direction. “I’m not sitting on the fairy throne, and I’m nobody among enchantresses. So why are you wasting so much time and energy on me? Don’t you have a world domination plot to carry out?”

“I want you out of my way,” Josephine snarled, hurling another fireball at Sophie.

Sophie deflected and dissipated it. “I’d think that would be a waste of time and energy. If you hadn’t been messing with the Realm and dragging the fae into it, and if you hadn’t also targeted my sister, I wouldn’t have cared if you became grand poobah of all enchantresses. Now you’ve just ticked me off.”

They flung magic at each other, each of them deflecting it harmlessly, but Sophie was sure that at some point, one of them was bound to mess up or get distracted. And then what? Was this a duel to the death? Was there a way out of this without killing anyone? She’d won her previous battles by focusing on her own goal, exposing her opponents’ schemes, or persuading her opponents to change their perspective. She hadn’t yet had to deal with such a direct confrontation, and she didn’t think she was going to talk Josephine out of it.