The Outcast Prince (21 page)

The shop looked exactly like he’d left it, except emptier and open. The door chimed as he walked in. A fairy man walked in from out the back. He smiled, that odd smile that offered friendship at a cost. Caspian had seen a lot of that lately. To the average human the man in his shop probably seemed pleasant, friendly, hell, even good-looking. Once again Caspian thought a life without fairies would be so much simpler.

“Caspian ap Felan.” The fairy extended his hand. “Gratitude to your father and you.” He gave a half-bow that should’ve made Caspian uncomfortable.

It didn’t; instead, there was the growing feeling that he deserved this respect. He didn’t like this fairy blood of his rising to the surface so rapidly. It was going to reach a point where he didn’t trust himself.

“And you are?”

“Bramwel ap Joria,” he said like his name should mean something.

The name meant nothing, but that he’d given it freely did. Bramwel had nothing to hide and was happy to associate with him. This was his new temporary assistant. Who was owing who the bigger favor?

“You were sent by my father.”

“I owe him a debt. Since you can’t enter your house at the moment I took the liberty of bringing clothes here for your return.”

Caspian blinked. “Why can’t I go home?”

“The tea set protects against the
banished
.” Bramwel said the word like it left a bad taste on his tongue.

“And what has Dylis got to do with this?”

“You don’t know? She never mentioned me?” Bramwel’s eyes went wide in shock. “I spent three hundred years waiting for her and she never mentioned me once?”

Caspian regarded the fairy for a moment, the little pieces of the puzzle dropping into place. He’d always liked puzzles. It was because of Bramwel that Felan had been able to get Dylis to look after Caspian. Deals were made, and made again to guarantee an outcome.

Bramwel regarded Caspian cautiously. “So, the Prince really took your soul.”

“Yes.” Really, aside from the threat of death if he didn’t get it back, he wasn’t really missing it. Maybe he could just get un-banished and remain fairy? That would be the blue blood talking. He wasn’t fairy and he didn’t like their games. But his father’s offer of dwelling in Annwyn permanently lingered in his mind.

“Whatever they are up to must be high stakes. I’ve never heard of ripping out a changeling’s soul before.”

“I don’t know what Dylis had told you, but I don’t have time to stand around filling you in.” He glanced around his shop. The big un-enchanted mirror was gone as was a writing desk, several vases, an old typewriter, and one of those old black Singer sewing machines that everyone liked. “You seem to be running the shop well.”

“It’s quite easy.” Bramwel smiled again, and Caspian didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop swaying people’s opinion with magic.

Fairies couldn’t make someone go against their beliefs or personal morals; all they could do was amplify the need. Lydia’s response last night had been real. She’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her; he’d just lowered the barrier that had stopped her from jumping into bed with him straightaway. Again he caught himself justifying behavior that wasn’t naturally his. Maybe it was and he’d just done a bloody good job of suppressing it and acting human like he was supposed to.

“Oh, also, you have an imp problem. I chased him out of the shop but he’s hiding by your car.”

“Ah, enemies closer and all of that. Got any food on you?” Caspian placed his laptop satchel down on the counter next to the cash register.

Bramwel frowned but opened a drawer and revealed a stash of chocolate. If Caspian ever went back to Annwyn, he was taking chocolate with him; he could buy friends by the ounce. Caspian took one and went outside. His car was immaculate. The silver paint gleamed in the sun, and there wasn’t a bee or a hive in sight.

The imp stuck his head out from behind a tire.

Caspian squatted down and handed over the chocolate. “You will be allowed back into the shop.”

The little imp sniffed the packet and grinned. Since Caspian was technically already banished, making a deal with the imp wouldn’t do any further damage.

“I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“You want to go back to Court?”

The imp’s eyes glittered. “What do you require, banished changeling?” He gave a bow.

“Just bring word of Shea’s plans. I’m sure you overhear things, now and then.”

“And in return?”

“I plead your case to Prince Felan.”

“Not enough.”

Caspian stood. “Fine. Shrink away to nothing. How long have you got at your current size? Months? Weeks? Do you think an offer like this will come along again? Power is shifting; you want to make sure you’re supporting the right side.”

“And you know this, soulless human shell?”

“I’ve just returned from Annwyn. My lack of soul is temporary, as is the banishment. Is yours?” Caspian’s lips curved, and he caught his reflection in the window of the car. Cold and calculating. He’d left his soul behind but picked up a nasty case of fairy mannerisms in exchange. He shivered. Lydia didn’t make him feel alive, she made him feel human. He needed to hold onto that or he might as well quit now and give himself up for dead.

“I suppose if I overheard something then I might be able to tell you.”

“And I might be able to help you.” Not a binding deal, but enough that Caspian might get a heads up should Shea try something. Which he would, especially once he learned Caspian had been to Annwyn; it was just a question of when and what that Caspian couldn’t predict.

In the back of his shop Caspian changed. He looked around for his spare phone charger and found it. Then he sat down to work, letting Bramwel run the front of the shop. Next to him on the desk he placed the Counter-Window, hoping that Lydia would use the Window again and give him a glimpse of where it was, and an idea about how he could persuade her to give it to him. He might love her… but how much did she love him?

***

After lunch Lydia had turned her cell phone to silent. She’d had three threatening calls already and after answering the first one every unknown or blocked number could talk to her voice mail—some had and she wished they hadn’t. She didn’t want to listen to the hate-filled diatribe. But she couldn’t turn it off as she was hoping Caspian would call. When she tried to call his cell phone, it went to voice mail. Was he still sleeping? She could call the shop but she wanted to stay away from the fairy assistant.

Her cell rang again with a blocked number. She was sure it was the man again, he wanted the diaries burned, he wanted her burned. He thought there was something in the diaries that would implicate him or his family. Her blood ran cold as the caller gave up without leaving a message. She had to do something with those diaries fast, before the caller did what he was promising. The idea of Callaway House being razed made her sick. With shaking hands she rang Callaway House, hoping Caspian was there. The call went through to the answering machine. Surely he was up by now? She rang again in case she’d woken him and he hadn’t gotten to the phone in time. No answer. She tried his cell, but it still wasn’t working. As a last resort she called Caspian’s shop—and if he wasn’t there?

“Mort Treasures.” That too smooth voice again.

Her heart sank; she hoped Caspian would answer. Still, he might be there, doing stuff other than answering the phone. She hoped he was, otherwise she was all out of ways to contact him. What if he’d been taken back to Annwyn? “Is Caspian there?”

“Lydia, is it? He is. Just a moment.” There was silence then a rustle as the handset changed hands.

“Hello?” He sounded normal this afternoon.

A little bit of the worry eased. He’d just needed to rest. Right, after driving her crazy with lust first. She could totally get used to that. “You sound better today.”

“I am. Thank you for letting me stay.”

She wondered if he remembered what he’d said last night. Then decided that now wasn’t the time to bring it up, especially since she hadn’t responded, and wasn’t sure quite how to respond now. She’d left it too late. “I’ve a question about the diaries.” She had questions about a lot of things, but over the phone wasn’t the place to ask them.

“Okay… I don’t have a value for them, but the heritage society was most interested. They want to have a look at them and depending on content would like to display some—I did tell them there were no names mentioned, but the man was quite insistent that he needed to see them.”

“No, no. I’ve been getting offers. There are some media outlets who want to buy them. It’s a lot of money—”

“Don’t do it. The minute you do they’ll own you and you won’t like what you become.” There was an edge to his voice. He knew all about making deals and then having to pay the price and live with the consequences. Again she wondered what his father had asked of him, aside from finding the mirror.

“I wasn’t seriously entertaining the idea, but it would pay for the repairs and then some.” As she spoke she knew it was a lie. She’d been waiting for Caspian to tell her to sell, to make it alright to take the money. Putting prices on things is what he did.

“Lydia, every minute you spend there will be tainted by the price.” Just what kind of deal had he struck in Annwyn?

But he was right about the diaries and the house. As much as it would ease her life now, she’d have to live with the knowledge that she’d sold Gran’s life to the highest bidder, reducing her life down to cash. That Caspian understood that made her like him a little more. He wasn’t so business-oriented that he didn’t understand. She wanted to ask if he thought the paper’s offer was a fair one, but if she wasn’t going to take it she didn’t want to know. None of that helped her immediate problem.

“Well, what do I do with them? I can’t keep them at the house anymore. I’m getting odd phone calls.”

He was silent for a moment. “What kind of odd phone calls?”

She licked her lip and lowered her voice. “The threatening kind.”

“Have you spoken to the police?”

“No, the calls only started this morning after the newspaper article, and the caller says if I go public he’ll burn Callaway House to the ground, then he hangs up.”

“Don’t go home alone. To your place, or Callaway House.”

Her blood chilled; where was she supposed to go? “I think it’s just to scare me, not hurt me.” She tried to sound more confident than she felt. “I need to get rid of the diaries now, don’t I?”

Another weighted pause. She didn’t like those.

“Should I give the diaries to the historical society?” Maybe she should just burn them, but the idea of destroying something Gran had put so much time into made her sick.

“Can you live with your family’s past on display?”

“Gran never hid anything.” Except the diaries and the names of everyone who’d ever visited.

“And your mother?”

Lydia thought for a moment. Maybe the newer, more personal diaries she could keep. After all, the historical society would only be interested in the mistress years. While Helen’s first name was mentioned, that was all there was and there were plenty of Helens; would anyone really try to track her down, especially after she’d changed her name and effectively vanished?

She sighed. This was such a mess. “What else am I supposed to do? I won’t burn them. I can’t sell them and if I keep them someone will try to steal them.” And she’d forever be waiting for the worst, for someone to take a match to the house. No, it was better they were public. There was nothing to hide in them. Her mother’s new name wasn’t mentioned. And once people realized there was no scandal and no names the heat would go away. Next week someone else would fill the tabloids.

“Have you spoken to the lawyer?”

“Yes. He suggested locking them up at a bank. But that doesn’t help; then those who want them will still think there’s something in them. And there’s not.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nothing.” She hated admitting it, but selling them would be a really public way of showing everyone that there was nothing to see, just the daily trivia of sixty-plus years.

He was quiet again. “I can’t tell you what to do, but if you sell them I think you’ll regret it.”

“This from the man who buys and sells things for a living.”

He laughed, but there was no joy in it. “Some things shouldn’t be sold.”

What
have
you
done?

But she couldn’t ask over the phone. She wanted him to look her in the eye as he told her. Did she really want to know? She bit her lip and deliberated. She could let him walk away now. They’d both had fun, but it didn’t have to continue. Except he wasn’t like any other man she’d ever known and she didn’t want to throw it away just because he was part fairy. That she even thought that was possible showed how much knowing him had changed her.

She lowered her voice. “Are you coming around tonight?”

“If you’re inviting me.”

“I am.”

“Be careful, and ring the police to let them know about the threats, just in case.”

Just
in
case.

“I will.”
You
be
careful
too.
She hung up. The only way she could make this end would be to make her own statement about why she wouldn’t sell the diaries and that there was nothing in them. There’d be people who didn’t believe her, but that was their problem. Before she did that, she’d call the historical society and arrange for them to collect the diaries for vetting and display. She doubted they’d want the risk of being burned down because some old well-to-do family got an unwanted mention.

***

Caspian leaned back in his chair and stared at the phone. Lydia had invited him over. On any other day that would’ve made him happy. Today it filled him with a low-level dread. He was going to have to tell her the truth and ask her for the Counter-Window. He’d thought about asking about the mirror over the phone, but Bramwel was listening and no doubt the imp would be too. He couldn’t trust anyone with the knowledge that he might know where the Window was. Could he trust Lydia?