The Lost Prince (11 page)

It doesn’t have to be a big park. Just a patch of natural earth, with a few trees and bushes scattered about, maybe a little pond, and that’s all they need. I’m told Central Park in New York City has hundreds, maybe thousands of faeries living there, and several trods to the Nevernever, all within its well-groomed perimeter. The tiny park three and a half miles from my house had about a dozen fey of the common variety—piskies, goblins, tree sprites—and no trods that I knew of.

I parked my bike against an old tree near the entrance and gazed around. It wasn’t much of a park, really. There was a picnic bench with a set of peeling monkey bars and an old slide, and a dusty fire pit that hadn’t been used in years. At least, not by humans. But the trees here were old, ancient things—huge oaks and weeping willows—and if you stared very hard between the branches, you sometimes caught flickers of movement not belonging to birds or squirrels.

Leaving the bike, I walked to the edge of the fire pit and looked down. The ashes were cold and gray, days or weeks old, but I had seen two goblins at this pit several weeks ago, roasting some sort of meat over the fire. And there were several piskies and wood sprites living in the oaks, as well. The local fey might not know anything about their creepy, transparent cousins, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

Crouching, I picked up a flat rock, dusted it off, and set it in the center of the fire pit. Digging through my pack, I pulled out a bottle of honey, stood and drizzled the golden syrup onto the stones. Honey was like ambrosia to the fey; they couldn’t resist the stuff.

Capping the bottle, I tossed it into my pack and waited.

Several minutes passed, which was a surprise to me. I knew the fey frequented this area. I was expecting at least a couple of goblins or piskies to appear. But the night was still, the shadows empty—until there was a soft rustle behind me, the hiss of something moving over the grass.

“You will not find them that way, Ethan Chase.”

I turned, calmly.
Rule number two: show no fear when dealing with the Fair Folk.
I could have drawn my rattan sticks, and in all honesty I really wanted to, but that might have been taken as a sign of nervousness or unease.

A tall, slight figure stood beneath the weeping willow, watching me through the lacy curtain. As I waited, a slender hand parted the drooping branches and the faery stepped into the open.

It was a dryad, and the weeping willow was probably her tree, for she had the same long green hair and rough, bark-like skin. She was impossibly tall and slender, and swayed slightly on her feet, like a branch in the wind. She observed me with large black eyes, her long hair draped over her body, and slowly shook her head.

“They will not come,” she whispered sadly, glancing at the swirl of honey at my feet. “They have not been here for many nights. At first, it was only one or two that went missing. But now—” she gestured to the empty park “—now there is no one left. Everyone is gone. I am the last.”

I frowned. “What do you mean, you’re the last? Where are all the others?” I gazed around the park, scanning the darkness and shadows, seeing nothing. “What the hell is going on?”

She drifted closer, swaying gently. I was tempted to step back but held my ground.

The dryad tilted her head to one side, lacy hair catching the moonlight as it fell. A large white moth flew out of the curtain and fluttered away into the shadows. “You have questions,” the dryad said, blinking slowly. “I can tell you what you wish to know, but you must do something for me in return.”

“Oh, no.” I did step away then, crossing my arms and glaring at her. “No way. No bargains, no contracts. Find someone else to do your dirty work.”

“Please, Ethan Chase.” The dryad held out an impossibly slender hand, mottled and rough like the trunk of the tree. “As a favor, then. You must go to the Iron Queen for us. Inform her of our fate. Be our voice. She will listen to you.”

“Go find Meghan?” I thought of the coin lying abandoned on my desk and shook my head. “You expect me to go into the Nevernever,” I said, and my stomach turned just thinking about it. Memories crowded forward, dark and terrifying, and I shoved them back. “Go into Faery. With Mab and Titania and the rest of the crazies.” I curled my mouth into a sneer. “Forget it. That’s the
last
place I’ll ever set foot in.”

“You must.” The dryad wrung her hands, pleading. “The courts do not know what is happening, nor would they care. The welfare of a few half-breeds and exiles does not concern them. But you…you are the half brother of the Iron Queen—she will listen to you. If you do not…” The dryad trembled, like a leaf in a storm. “Then I’m afraid we will all be lost.”

“Look.” I stabbed a hand through my hair. “I’m just trying to find out what happened to a friend. Todd Wyndham. He’s a half-breed, and I think he’s in trouble.” The dryad’s pleading expression didn’t change, and I sighed. “I can’t promise to help you,” I muttered. “I have problems of my own to worry about. But…” I hesitated, hardly believing I was saying this. “But if you can give me any information about my friend, then I’ll…try to get a message to my sister. I’m still not promising anything!” I added quickly as the dryad jerked up. “But if I see the Iron Queen anytime in the near future, I’ll tell her. That’s the best I can offer.”

The dryad nodded. “It will have to do,” she whispered, shrinking in on herself. She closed her eyes as a breeze hissed through the park, rippling her hair and making the leaves around us sigh. “More of us have disappeared,” she sighed. “More vanish with every breath. And they are coming closer.”

“Who
are
they?”

“I do not know.” The faery opened her eyes, looking terrified. “I do not know, nor do any of my fellows. Not even the
wind
knows their names. Or if it does, it refuses to tell me.”

“Where can I find Todd?”

“Your friend? The half-breed?” The dryad took a step away, looking distracted. “I do not know,” she admitted, and I narrowed my gaze. “I cannot tell you now, but I will put his name into the wind and see what it can turn up.” She looked at me, her hair falling into her eyes, hiding half her face. “Return tomorrow night, Ethan Chase. I will have answers for you, then.”

Tomorrow night. Tomorrow was the demonstration, the event I’d been training for all month. I couldn’t miss that, even for Todd. Guro would kill me.

I sighed. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. “All right,” I said, stepping toward my bike. “I’ll be here, probably some time after midnight. And then you can tell me what the hell is going on.”

The dryad didn’t say anything, watching me leave with unblinking black eyes. As I yanked my bike off the ground and started down the road, hoping I would beat Dad home, I couldn’t shake the creeping suspicion that I wouldn’t see her again.

Chapter Eight

The Demonstration

The next day was Saturday, but instead of sleeping in like a normal person, I was up early and in the backyard, swinging my rattan through the air, smacking them against the tire dummy I’d set up in the corner. I didn’t need the practice, but beating on something was a good way to focus, to forget the strangeness of the night before, though I still couldn’t shake the eerie feeling whenever I remembered the dryad’s last warning.

More of us have disappeared. More vanish with every breath. And they are coming closer.

“Ethan!”

Dad’s voice cut through the rhythmic smacking of wood against rubber, and I turned to find him staring blearily at me from the patio. He wore a rumpled gray bathrobe, his face was grizzled and unshaven, and he did not look pleased.

“Sorry, Dad.” I lowered the sticks, panting. “Did I wake you up?”

He shook his head, then stepped aside as two police officers came into the yard. My heart and stomach gave a violent lurch, and I tried to think of any crimes I might’ve committed without realizing it, or anything the fey might’ve pinned on me.

“Ethan?” one of them asked, as Dad watched grimly and Mom appeared in the door frame, her hands over her mouth. “Are you Ethan Chase?”

“Yeah.” I kept my arms at my sides, my sticks perfectly still, though my heart was going a mile a minute. The sudden thought of being arrested, being handcuffed in my own backyard in front of my horrified parents, nearly made me sick. I swallowed hard to keep my voice steady. “What do you want?”

“Do you know a boy named Todd Wyndham?”

I relaxed, suddenly aware of where this was going. My heart still pounded, but I kept my tone light, flippant, and I shrugged. “Yeah, he’s in a few of my classes at school.”

“You called his home yesterday afternoon, correct?” the policeman continued, and when I nodded, he added, “And he spent the night at your house the day before?”

“Yeah.” I feigned confusion, looking back and forth between them. “Why? What’s going on?”

The policemen exchanged a glance. “He’s missing,” one of them said, and I raised my eyebrows in fake surprise. “His mother reported that he didn’t come home last night, and that she had received a call from Ethan Chase, a boy from his school, on the afternoon before his disappearance.” His gaze flickered to the sticks in my hand, then back up to me, eyes narrowing slightly. “You wouldn’t know anything about his whereabouts, would you, Ethan?”

I forced myself to be calm, shaking my head. “No, I haven’t seen him since yesterday. Sorry.”

It was pretty clear he didn’t believe me, for his mouth thinned, and he spoke slowly, deliberately. “You have no clue as to what he was doing yesterday, no idea of where he could have gone?” When I hesitated, his voice became friendlier, encouraging. “Any information would be useful to us, Ethan.”

“I told you,” I said, firmer this time. “I don’t know anything.”

He gave an annoyed little huff, as if I was being deliberately evasive—which I was, but not for the reasons he thought. “Ethan, you realize we’re only trying to help, don’t you? You aren’t protecting anyone if you hide information from us.”

“I think that’s enough.” Dad suddenly came into the yard, bathrobe and all, glaring at the policemen. “Officers, your concern is appreciated, but I believe my son has told you all he knows.” I blinked at Dad in shock as he came to stand beside me, smiling but firm. “If we find anything out, we’ll be sure to call you.”

“Sir, you don’t seem to realize—”

“I realize just fine, officers,” Dad said, his polite smile never wavering. “But Ethan has already given you his answer. Thank you for stopping by.”

They looked irritated, but Dad wasn’t a small man and had this stance that could be compared to a friendly but stubborn bull; you weren’t going to get him to move once he’d made up his mind. After a lengthy pause—as if hoping I would fess up at the last second, perhaps—the officers gave curt nods and turned away. Muttering polite “ma’ams” to Mom, they swept by her, and she followed them, I assumed to the front door.

Dad waited a few seconds after the back door clicked shut before turning to me. “Todd Wyndham is the boy who came over the other night. Anything you’d like to tell me, son?”

I shook my head, not looking at him. “No,” I muttered, feeling bad for lying, especially after he’d just gotten rid of the policemen for me. “I swear I don’t know anything.”

“Hmm.” Dad gave me an unreadable look, then shuffled back into the house. But Mom appeared in the doorway again, watching me. I saw the fear on her face, the disappointment. She knew I was lying.

She hesitated a moment longer, as if waiting for me to confess, to tell her something different. But what could I say? That the kid who’d spent the night with us was part faery, and this creepy new breed of fey were after him for some reason? I couldn’t drag her into this; she would flip out for sure, thinking I was next. There was nothing either of them could do to help. So, I averted my gaze, and after a long, achingly uncomfortable pause, she slipped inside, slamming the door behind her.

I winced. Great, now they were both pissed at me. Sighing, I switched my rattan sticks to one hand and went in myself. I wished I could smack the tire dummy a while longer, but keeping a low profile seemed like a good idea now. The last thing I wanted was a grilling session where they would both ask questions I couldn’t answer.

Mom and Dad were talking in the kitchen—probably about me—so I slipped into my room and gently closed the door.

My phone sat on the corner of my desk. For a second, I thought about calling Kenzie. I wondered what she was doing now, if the police had shown up on her doorstep, asking about a missing classmate. I wondered if she was worried about him…or me.

What? Why would she worry about you, you psychopath? You’ve been nothing but a jackass to her, and besides, you don’t care, remember?

Angry now, I stalked to my bed and flopped down on it, flinging an arm over my face. I had to stop thinking of her, but my brain wasn’t being cooperative this morning. Instead of focusing on the demonstration and the missing half-breed and the creepy Fey out to get us both, my thoughts kept going back to Kenzie St. James. The idea of calling her, just to see if she was all right, grew more and more tempting, until I jumped up and stalked to the living room, flipping on the television to drown out my traitorous thoughts.

* * *

The day passed in a blur of old action movies and commercials. I didn’t move from the couch, afraid that if I went into my room, I’d see my unblinking phone and know Kenzie hadn’t called me. Or worse, that she
had,
and I’d be tempted to call her back. I lounged on the sofa, the remains of empty chip bags, dirty plates and empty soda cans surrounding me, until late afternoon when Mom made an exasperated comment about rotting brains and bumps on logs or something, and ordered me to do something else.

Flipping off the television, I sat up, thinking. I still had a couple of hours till the demonstration. Wandering back to my room, I again noticed the phone on the corner of the desk. Nothing. No missed calls, texts, anything. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

As I reached for it, though, it rang. Without checking the number, I snatched it up and put it to my ear.