So yeah… I was a little harsh
to Sabrina in “Not So Human,” and a real jerk in “To Err Is Faerie” (though I
still refuse to accept full blame for torturing her the way that I did). Which
is why I don’t blame you one bit if you’re a bit skeptical about my next
statement…
I believe in happy endings.
Okay, now that you've stopped laughing, I really do. It’s just
that sometimes those happy endings don’t come until the end of the series.
I recently finished a novel
about a WWII Scottish spy taken prison by the Gestapo in Nazi-occupied France.
It started out so extremely good! Aside from the torture and everything, of
course.
Oh, and let me take a second
to point out the then natural conclusion that I’m not the only author who puts
her characters through the ringer. See? Back to my main point now…
The middle of this WWII story was excellent too.
Right up until the spy’s best friend had to shoot her in the head after a
botched rescue attempt. She died on the spot.
What. The. Heck!!!!
That’s just wrong.
I would never do that to my
main characters. Just their ex-boyfriends.
Chapter
1
S
|
taring into the
bathroom mirror of her royal palace bedroom suite, Sabrina knew she was
woefully out of her league.
She
had handled a lot in the last year: finding out she was a faerie princess, running
away from America to the supposed safety of Scotland, meeting the older brother
she never knew existed, and getting kidnapped by one of the most evil
organizations the world had ever known. Twice. Moreover, she had somehow
managed to get through all of it alive and with an admirable part of her sanity
intact. With all that behind her, a party shouldn’t feel like such an ordeal to
get through.
In
the back of her mind, Sabrina knew very well that it wasn’t. Not comparatively
speaking. Yet that didn’t mean she was looking forward to the schedule spread
out before her.
Her
brother Kenneth was throwing a gala in her honor. It was the welcome party she
was supposed to have had months ago, soon after she gained the physical
capabilities to assimilate into faerie life. But the Human Preservation and
Advancement Society had gotten in the way of those happy arrangements.
It
had a long track record of messing up Sabrina’s life, almost from birth.
She
hadn’t even been a year old when HPAC operatives assassinated her parents, the
then-king and queen of Scottish Faeriedom. That unexpected tragedy propelled
Sabrina’s much older brother onto the throne, where his panicked advisors convinced
him to send the other remaining member of the royal family far, far away. That
was how Sabrina grew up thinking herself an American orphan, far removed from
such nonsensical notions as winged people or secret societies or tiaras on her
head.
It
wasn’t until the HPAC reappeared full-force in her life more than two decades
later that she was stripped of that snuggly delusion. The organization’s
hardcore certainty that her kind didn’t deserve basic human consideration led
to her near-drowning in a Florida hot tub, several applications of electrical
shock motivation, and a nasty bout of Stockholm syndrome.
After
all that, not to mention growing out her very own pair of wings, it was rather
difficult not to believe in faeries.
Sabrina
arched said wings behind her back, watching their mirrored image stretch as
well. As a general rule, she loved them, with their elongated teardrop shape
and lime-green coloring that faded into yellow further in. By faerie standards,
they were fully functional and fully regal.
But
by her standards right then, they were also fully problematic. If she hadn’t
grown into them and hadn’t developed the ability to size-change into the far
smaller spaces belowground, which faeries called “downstairs,” she wouldn’t
have to attend any royal parties. She’d be scot-free.
Sabrina
sighed at her reflection.
It
sighed right back at her.
The
defeatist attitude she was currently fostering showed on her face, but
otherwise she looked perfectly presentable. Her bright blond hair was pulled
into a sporty ponytail, with any and all wisps held in by half a can of
hairspray. Her green eyes might not be sparkling, but she knew she could put on
a good show as soon as she had to. And her petite but curvy figure was clad in
preppy grey slacks and a vibrantly deep blue blouse. Purple boots, purple
earrings and a purple bracelet completed the day’s princess look; and one
non-nervous part of her acknowledged the fact that she wore it all well.
The
problem was that a polished wardrobe and impeccable manners weren’t going to
save her from gossip. The palace was already filling with people who were
doubtlessly wondering about her and whispering about the details of her
far-from-normal life. Sabrina hated knowing that she was such an open book to
not only her own country’s long list of diplomats and dignitaries and masses,
but also for Ireland’s faerie populace, Wales’, Britain’s, Germany’s, Spain’s,
and the list went on.
She
wasn’t being egocentric believing they were all whispering about her. She’d
made the faerie headlines too many times for them not to have formed their own
opinions.
Those
opinions could range from how uncultured she was as an American human, to far
more charitable estimations of how well she was holding up after her multiple
run-ins with the dreaded HPAC. Despite how carefully Kenneth had tried to
handle the press after her last encounter, there was only so much he could do.
The palace was filled with too many people, all of whom knew very well that “the
severely traumatized Princess Sabrina was holed up in her suite for a week
straight after her brother brought her back downstairs. What she went through
at the hands of our greatest enemies, we might never know.”
That
was an exact quote taken from one particular melodramatic publication. Worse yet,
it wasn’t untrue. There was nothing the royal spokesfaeries could refute about
that obnoxious article. All it could do was ask everyone to “respect the
family’s privacy as they get through this difficult time,” a wasted appeal
right from the beginning.
People
talked just the same in Faeriedom as in the human world.
Despite
all of that prying and gossip and speculation, there were just a handful of
people who knew the full details. That included Kenneth, his wife Kyla, their
son Alistair, her best friend Deanda. And Dallas.
Dallas,
who was her official escort to the ball that night. Dallas, who had seen her at
her very lowest point.
Which
she didn’t want to think about.
It
was therefore pretty darn convenient when someone knocked on her door.
Since
she already knew who to expect, Sabrina didn’t hesitate in trotting over.
Unlocking it, she flew several steps backward to get out of the way for her
best friend, who was awkwardly cradling a pile of parcels.
There
was a particularly large squarish box on the very bottom, with three smaller
yet still cumbersome packages on top of that, and five more stacked on top of
those. Sabrina couldn’t even see Deanda’s face behind them, just her beautiful
black and white wings, which were stretched out on either side for balance.
“What
in the world are you doing?”
“Bringing
you more gifts from the latest attendees to stroll through the door,” Deanda
trilled happily. “Don’t worry. They’ve all been screened. Where should I put
them?”
Sabrina
looked around her usually neat and tidy room. Presents had been arriving for
the last four days straight, and most of them were still lying unopened around
her suite. Some were stacked behind the yellow couch, others were piled along
the far side of her four-post bed, and still more lined the wall on either end
of her walk-in closet.
“Put
them anywhere.” She shrugged despite how Deanda couldn’t see her. “I’m not
trying to sound ungrateful, but this is getting ridiculous. I live in a palace;
I’m pretty sure I’m not hurting for anything.”
Laughing
in agreement, her best friend headed toward the couch, where she somehow
managed to set everything neatly on top of the boxes already sitting there.
“Speaking
of the girl who has everything,” Sabrina added, “why are you delivering my
packages anyway? Are future queens allowed to do such menial chores?”
Deanda,
who was steadily dating the future Scottish king, turned around to show her
face, her violet eyes twinkling. “Future queens are allowed to bully princesses’
future boyfriends into handing over said packages they so obviously took from
menial laborers.”
Sabrina
scrunched her forehead in complete confusion at the convoluted comeback. “I
have no idea what you’re talking about. Seriously.”
“Dallas
was looking for an excuse to come see you.”
“Oh.”
Sabrina brushed that aside without so much as a blush, only a sad little twinge
in her stomach. “I’m sure he was just on his way to pick me up for our final
dance lesson.”
“So
it’s weird for your best friend to bring packages over, but not for your
non-boyfriend?” Deanda crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows
to emphasize her point. “Anyway, your lesson isn’t for another twenty minutes,
which makes his behavior even more suspicious.”
“Dallas
is not my boyfriend,” Sabrina assured calmly, making herself meet Deanda’s gaze
for all of three seconds. “And what do you think of these boots? Do they work
or is it too much purple?”
“They’re
fine. You look awesome.” There was no hesitation in the response. Either to the
wardrobe question or the protest before it. “And I never said Dallas was your
boyfriend. I said he was your ‘non-boyfriend.’ That means you guys are mooning
over each other without actually doing anything about it.”
Sabrina
went over to her ornate and multi-drawered jewelry box to pretend like she was
reconsidering her earring choices, even going so far as to pick one up and hold
it to her lobe. “We are not ‘mooning over each other.’ Dallas doesn’t see me
that way. Not anymore.”
Facing
the mirror again, she compared the shade of purple already dangling from her
ears to the one she knew she wasn’t going to exchange it with. In her new
world, there were whole color schemes humans couldn’t come close to imagining.
Faeries, on the other hand, had much more powerful eyesight to take in such ranges.
In many ways, that made coordinating outfits with wing hues a lot easier. But
there were still pairings that clashed, or at least didn’t look nearly as good.
She
put the second set of earrings back in their little enclosure, then turned back
to Deanda, who was regarding her with assumed superiority.
Sabrina
refused to be baited though. There wasn’t a trace of bitterness or horror or
even irritation in her voice when she responded to the unspoken challenge. Which
showed how much her etiquette lessons were paying off.
“I
know we had a thing for a week or two when I first arrived, but that was before
everything that happened happened. Dallas doesn’t see me that way anymore. He’s
barely even teased me since we got back from that HPAC facility, much less made
any romantic moves.” That was where the training slipped and she let something
out that she didn’t mean to. “I don’t know if he blames me or is disgusted with
me, but that spark is gone regardless.”
“Are
you done?” Deanda asked with an impressive combination of condescension and
sympathy: a blend very few people other than true best friends could manage.
Sabrina
shrugged her wings.
“Wonderful.”
Deanda took a seat on the plush yellow comforter. “In that case, wake up and
smell reality. Dallas doesn’t blame you, and he’s definitely not disgusted with
you. He blames himself, which, deep down inside, you know.”
She
wasn’t entirely wrong; but that didn’t mean Sabrina could be entirely confident
she was right either. “He has no reason to blame himself. If anything, I was
the one who got him into that mess in the first place. It wasn’t his fault.”
“And
it wasn’t yours either,” Deanda stated firmly. “It was the HPAC’s. I really
wish you two would accept that already. It’s painful watching you guys beat
yourselves up like this day after day when there’s a whole lot of other people
who deserve that kind of punishment.”
The
uncomfortable sensation in Sabrina’s stomach was starting to spread, as it did
whenever she dwelt too long on the current topic of discussion.
“Can
we not do this right now, Dee?” It sounded like a question, but it was much
more of a plea. “I promise we can have a good, long discussion about it later.
But not now. Not when I have to get through tonight without making an absolute
idiot of myself.”
Deanda
sighed, her wings waving unhappily behind her. Then she bucked up and switched
the subject as requested. “You’re not going to make an idiot out of yourself.
You’ve been training for this for four whole months now.”
“I
feel like I need another four months. Minimum.”
It
was her own fault she didn’t have that extra wiggle room. Her brother had made
it very clear she could take as much time as she needed or even wanted. There
was no pressure whatsoever. But after her first week back, plagued with
memories of Tasers and batons and Dr. Stewart’s fingers wrapped around her
chained leg, Sabrina had been ready to do anything for a distraction. She’d
thrown herself into her new life, taking classes and courses and tutorials and
accepting honorary placements on charity boards with perhaps a little too much
zeal.
All
of that helped, but only so much, especially when she kept catching unfortunate
snippets of rag-mag gossip and even more professional articles about her
heavy-handed confrontations with the HPAC. And so she’d determined to give them
something else to talk about, like how well she was doing and what dress she
would be wearing to the royal ball.
It
had seemed like such a good idea at the time.
“I
stepped on Dallas’ foot during dance lessons last week,” she confided. “He was
a trooper, but I know it hurt. I was in stilettos. It had to have hurt.”
“So
there you go,” Deanda assured as if this was the best news ever. “You already
know if you step on his feet tonight, he’ll be able to play it off like nothing
happened. What else is there to worry about!”
Despite
herself, Sabrina had to smile.
Her
friend went on after missing the perfect beat. “It’s really nothing. You mix
and mingle, and whenever you run out of stuff to say, you give the excuse that
you’d better get back to greeting everyone, but ‘it was so lovely to chat, and
I do hope you enjoy the rest of the party.’”
“That
easy, huh?” She said dryly.
“Yup,” Deanda assured, rolling her eyes at the
simplicity of the matter. “Blah blah, chirp chirp, beep beep. Piece of cake.”
Sabrina
refrained from pointing out that her fellow faerie had grown up with the
cocktails and ball-gowns scene. It would be a pointless effort when her friend
seemed so determined to be optimistic about everything. So she changed the
subject yet again.
“Now
that you mention ‘cake,’ where’s Alistair and why aren’t you hanging all over
him?” The transition made a lot more sense in her head than out loud, but she
didn’t bother to explain it.
She
eyed the bed, one part of her wanting to sit down with Deanda, the other part
too antsy to actually do it. Instead, she began running her wings up and down
the wall behind her in no particular pattern or rhythm.
“I
do have a life outside of my boyfriend,” Deanda retorted. “Best friends still
take priority, and I knew you’d be stressing.”
“Best
friends take priority,” Sabrina agreed, complete with her own knowing look.
“But this best friend is okay if you want to try smoothing things over with
your man. I know something’s off between you two, and I’m pretty darn sure I’m
not so wrapped up in my own self to not know what that something is.”
Someone
knocked on the door before she could completely finish her sentence, ending the
chance to have that particular chat.
Deanda
grimaced in acknowledgment anyway.
With
the influx of well-to-do guests flooding the palace for the last few days,
there had been plenty of little spats and drama to juice up the gossip mills.
As Deanda had predicted a full week ago, “You can’t expect a bunch of spoiled
royals to coexist peacefully under one roof. They’re so temperamental.”
Sabrina
had countered by reminding her that she’d likely be royal too within the next
two years. Yet as usual, her friend produced a quick retort, specifically that
she would be marrying into the family; she wasn’t spoiled by birth.
Sabrina
hadn’t taken offense at the time, and she could see Deanda’s point even more so
now. One of the many minor issues marking the soiree was German Princess Elena
Stropenheiger. The twenty-three year-old had apparently long since set her
sights on Alistair, and was making it very clear she didn’t care that he was in
a relationship now. While her behavior wasn’t the Scottish prince’s fault, it
was still making for some tense times between him and Deanda.
“We
can talk about this later too,” Sabrina assured, flitting her wings enough to
float off the floor. Then she was at the door, opening it up to greet Dallas,
who was a full ten minutes early.
Early
and standing somewhat awkwardly between her guards, Gerard and Simon, who were
on duty that day. It was hard not to notice his discomfort when he was so very
oblivious to his own feelings half the time. Or maybe it was because they’d
gone through so much that she could read him like an attractive but pretty
messed up book.
There
was a reason why she had been physically drawn to him from the start. He was
tall, dark blonde and handsome, with beautiful brown eyes and smoky green
wings. Moreover, he’d been working out a lot more ever since his return from
HPAC captivity, which meant it was even more difficult to keep her eyes away
from the defined muscles in his brawny arms. Or the way his shirt lay against
his tight chest.
“Hey,
Dallas,” she said in her best normal voice, which was a whole lot better than
his. “I don’t think the dance studio is going to be open until ten-thirty.
Wanna come in and kill time ‘til then?”
“Oh.
Yeah,” he hedged. “I thought we could just walk slow.”
A
fast walker herself, Sabrina found his response doubly offbeat. She held the
door open a little further. “Well, Deanda is here –”
“Oh,
sorry,” he interrupted. “I didn’t realize that. I can come back in a bit.”
“Dallas,”
Deanda called out from her place on the comforter. “Stop stalling and get your
fine self in here.”
He
complied, but Sabrina could see his eyes settle on the bed. Then he tore his
gaze upward to say “hello” to the other faerie in the room, a pained expression
lingering on his face. “How’s it going?”
With
almost all altruistic motivations, Sabrina decided to answer that question
instead. “She’s upset about Elena.”
Deanda
swiveled her head away from Dallas to glare her exasperation.
She
chose to ignore it, knowing full well that Dallas would be able to back her up
on the issue.
Sure
enough, his features twisted in immediate skepticism. “Why? Because she’s
chasing Alistair?”
“Yeah,”
Sabrina supplied again, resorting to some Scottish vernacular for emphasis.
“She’s acting the daft lassie.”
He
shrugged his wide shoulders, his wings moving easily behind him. “Trust me, he
doesn’t care about her. She’s all high-street with no real class.”
“See?”
Sabrina said with a pointed tone and matching stare. “Told ya.”
“Her
laugh is annoying too,” Dallas noted, more to himself than anyone else. “I
can’t wait until she leaves.”
“Same
here,” Sabrina agreed, growing much more introspective. “If only because
that’ll mean this whole thing is over and done with.”
“Speaking
of which.” Deanda hopped off the bed with a little too much enthusiasm. “You
guys should get going. Have fun dancing! And Za?”
Recognizing
the particular tone in her voice, Sabrina’s eyes narrowed.
Already
halfway to the door, Deanda didn’t quite stop in that trajectory to toss a
final word of advice over one wing. “That conversation we’re going to have
later? This might be a good time to start practicing.”
And
then she was gone, leaving her friend to frown at the hallway, and Dallas to
look completely confused. Though that emotion lasted briefly before he reverted
right back to nervousness.
“You
ready?”
Considering
the way his entire body was leaning away from her, Sabrina was fairly certain
he wasn’t referring to anything romantic, no matter what Deanda wanted to
think. She nodded, swallowing back the degree of disappointment that welled up
inside her unbidden.
“Might
as well.”
Locking
her door behind them, she knew very well why Dallas had felt so uncomfortable
in her bedroom. He always was when he stopped by, which was always when he was
with Alistair; never by himself.
Admittedly,
he wouldn’t have visited her there alone even if things had been different. Not
to do more than pick her up anyway. Faerie culture was still pretty
conservative in a lot of ways, including when it came to dating rules. Her
brother in particular didn’t condone unchaperoned lingering in the opposite
sex’s bedroom. And it would have been difficult to get around his wishes when
she had at least two bodyguards, who just so happened to be in his employ,
around her whenever she wasn’t in her private quarters.
That
should have meant she and Dallas had nothing awkward to dwell on when it came
to bedrooms. However, the HPAC had written out a different story for them, one
that had ultimately failed but still resulted in uncomfortable memories.
With
both of them held captive at the time, the humans had gone out of their way to
set them up, employing various torture tactics until Dallas was going out of
his mind with worry and Sabrina was going out of her mind in general, thanks in
part to a drugged-up drink she was coerced into taking.
She
still didn’t remember the entire encounter she’d literally stumbled into,
though she did know she’d done her best to ravish him. Dallas had used very
cagey language when he described that part to their lawyer, Elizabeth. However,
being a connoisseur of literature, Sabrina was used to reading between the
lines.
With
the fine print of Dallas’ testimony burned across her retinas, Sabrina had put
two and two together. If she was right about that equation – and she thought
she was – then she had jumped him, he’d fended her off like a gentleman and
they’d spent the night snuggling, him shirtless and her in a ridiculous red
dress that showed way too much off.
She
remembered those last two details at least. As much as she might wish
otherwise, she remembered everything after waking up in the oversexed room with
its seductive colors and satin sheets.
So
she was very well aware that she’d freaked out and huddled in a corner. That
the thoroughly evil Stewart had come barging in like he was saving her when he
really just meant to terrorize her into further submission. And that he and Dr.
Morrison had planned on foisting the contrived romance on their two subjects
again at a later time and place when they were more certain to get what they
wanted. Which happened to be little faerie lab rats to add to the full-grown
subjects they already had.
That
was what her bedroom made Dallas think of; and that was why she couldn’t blame
him for balking about coming in. Sabrina just hoped he knew the truth. That she
had only been trying to be friendly this time around. She wasn’t trying to ravish
him all over again.
For
one very brief second, while she was turning away from the door, she wondered
if she had the nerve to tell him that. But she chickened out well before she turned
to face him again with a perfect smile on her face.
Deanda
was entirely correct. There were issues that needed to be addressed all around,
this being one of them. It was merely a question of when to do that addressing.
In that one regard, she supposed, the party was a
saving grace. Comparatively speaking, she’d much rather focus on her guests.
