A little shimmer of power ran through the air. If Caspian had been born here, he’d have been a powerful fairy.
Caspian followed a shadow servant through the castle. He wanted to avoid the actual Court where the parties happened. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his father, he just didn’t trust fairies. He ran his hand over his chest again, but he didn’t feel any different. Certainly not dead. Without a soul he should be dead. A human would be dead. The only thing keeping him alive was the fairy blood in his veins. Maybe he felt lighter somehow. Like he’d had a couple of drinks and was feeling taller and less mortal.
He was less mortal. He was immortal. He stopped to consider that and what it meant. If he stayed here, he would never die. It was an odd sensation to realize he could live forever. But that would mean a life surrounded by fairies, not humans, and a life without ever seeing Lydia again. Beneath his feet the grass was soft, and the trees rustled in the breeze. This place was like a gentle dream—one that would keep him from truly living if he fell under its spell.
“Take me to a private room,” he ordered the shadow. He almost apologized at the harsh tone of his voice then saw no point. His step faltered as he realized what he’d thought. He’d dismissed the shadow as nothing, not even worth kindness. Was the loss of his soul having an effect already?
The shadow didn’t seem to notice and led him up a winding staircase made of branches and carpeted with leaves. Music and the scent of food drifted up, but he refused to be tempted.
In the small room he closed the door and sat down to think.
Somehow he’d become a pawn… maybe more valuable than that, a knight, or bishop, in a fairy game of chess. The trouble was he couldn’t determine the players, which boards they played on, or how many games they were each playing.
He pulled out the smooth shard of mirror. The surface was dark no matter which way he turned it. When Felan had shown it to him Caspian had been sure he’d seen Lydia. Impossible; he’d looked at everything in that house, been through boxes and the attic, stables and the run-down cabins. The Window wasn’t there. If darkness was all it was going to show him, it wasn’t going to be much help. He touched the surface but got nothing. He was as blind as any man. Maybe it would be more use in the mortal world. He kept the shard in his hand and waited, waited for another glimpse of Lydia. Waited for the three days to pass.
He wouldn’t join the Court and he wouldn’t be lured into lingering. He had to remember the reason why he had to get home and it had nothing to do with fairies and the damn Window or even his soul. His heart was much more important. He’d forgotten that after the divorce. He wouldn’t forget again. He wouldn’t forget Lydia.
Chapter 17
Lydia checked her cell phone again, in case she hadn’t heard it ring while it had been in her handbag. There were a couple of missed calls from the media about tomorrow’s memorial service, and a few texts from her friends. They wanted to see the latest chick flick—something about a wedding and the wrong guy—but she wasn’t in the mood for anything funny.
Caspian hadn’t tried to get in contact. Then again, he’d left with no shoes and no wallet. Could he even get in contact from Annwyn? Was he even still alive? She bit her lip and shoved the phone back in her bag.
Her apartment creaked around her as if trying to get her attention, but it was better being here than at the empty Callaway House. There it was much easier to miss Caspian no matter where she sat as he’d been in every room. He’d never been to her place… which hopefully meant the fairies wouldn’t know of it either. She was afraid for Caspian and for herself after seeing the Hunter.
Something went bump and she froze. It had sounded like the Callaway ghost, which she knew now was a Grey. She held her breath and listened. Silence. Whatever it was sounded like it had come from the spare room.
In the spare room she opened up the box into which she’d packed Gran’s personal things. She carefully pulled out some personal items and the few photos that had been in the bedroom. A half-read novel with a receipt for wine used as the bookmark. She smiled even as her vision blurred with tears, but she kept digging through the box. She knew it was in here. Her fingers touched tissue paper and she pulled it out and unwrapped the mirror.
A compact the size of her palm. The silver case was embellished with leaves. She flicked the catch and the compact opened. Inside the mirror was perfect. No chips or signs of rust. She could see why Gran had kept the mirror, but something like this should be used, not hidden away.
Lydia sniffed and wiped a tear from beneath her eye before her mascara smudged. What would Caspian say about the mirror and the man who’d given it to Gran? What would he see when he touched it? More than just the silver case and mirror. He’d see the history, he’d be able to tell her about the singer and Gran. Did she really want to know?
The hair on the back of her neck prickled as if she was being watched. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought the box home, but the idea of fairies rummaging through Gran’s things was too much. She looked again at the mirror. It looked like nothing special, just a decorative compact. But what did a fairy-made mirror look like? She hadn’t asked, hadn’t thought to ask. All the mirrors in her yard had been big—big enough to use as a portal back to Annwyn. This was tiny.
She frowned and rewrapped it. Her grandmother had kept it safe for years, so there was no way she was going to let the Greys get hold of this. It might be nothing. It probably was nothing. It was too small to be anything. When she saw Caspian next she’d show him the mirror. If she saw him again, but she quickly squashed the thought. He’d be back. He’d promised. For a moment she sat on the floor surrounded by Gran’s personal items. She tried to imagine boxing up everything in Callaway House and stuffing it into her small house, but she knew it would never fit. If she had to sell Callaway House she was going to have to get rid of some things.
Like Gran, though, she didn’t know where to start.
That’s when she started laughing. They were more alike than she’d ever realized. If Gran had found a way to keep Callaway House, she could too. Caspian was right—she needed to get quotes for the repairs instead of hoping they’d just go away. Something in her bedroom creaked, as if someone was poking around. She shivered. An evening out with her friends suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea. She could listen to their news, they’d have a drink for Gran, but she knew none of them would show up for the memorial. That was okay—but she also knew that if Caspian had been here he would’ve and he wouldn’t have cared what people said. Gran would’ve really gotten a kick out of Caspian and his ability as well as his screwed up family.
Three days until he came home.
Three days had never seemed so long.
Lydia swallowed and forced herself to take a breath as she entered the church on day two of Caspian’s time away.
She lifted her chin, ready to face the curious stares of the guests at Gran’s memorial service. She nodded to a few older ladies. Had they once partied or lived at Callaway House, or had they met Gran after its closure? Gran’s doctor was there. An old man himself, he looked slumped and sad, confirming Lydia’s suspicion that there had been more going on.
The priest opened the memorial service. But Lydia tuned out the words. She didn’t want to remember Gran as dead and buried. She wanted to remember her alive. This was just a formality and a chance for others to say good-bye.
And for others to stick their noses in.
Still, Gran would have been happy with the turnout.
Lydia stood near the photos of Gran to deliver the eulogy. She’d chosen pictures that represented Gran’s life. Her wedding photo, one where she was dressed to the nines and sitting in the garden of Callaway House, another
