King of Light: Rosethorn Valley Fae #2 Read online

  She turned to lead them deeper into the house.

  Tabitha looked over and winked as if she were pleased with him.

  He wasn’t sure what he had done, but he found himself deeply gratified that she was happy.

  And that made him angry.

  She’s not my queen. I’m a fae king. My heart will be twined with that of an equal. Not some mortal.

  Helen brought them into a shadowy study with a big desk. Shelves around the room held various figures and artifacts. There was a small section devoted to primitive weaponry, with stone axes and arrowheads, and a flintlock pistol with a carved ivory handle. Another section housed various musical instruments. There was a drum covered in animal hide, a wooden flute, and a violin bow that appeared to be carved out of some type of bone.

  “Please, take a seat,” she said, gesturing to the chairs on the other side of the desk.

  He watched Dorian pull out a chair for Sara.

  Against his better instincts, he pulled one out for Tabitha. He couldn’t let this mortal person think he didn’t have any manners.

  But he hoped Tabitha didn’t get the wrong idea.

  “Has something changed since the last time we talked?” Helen asked.

  “We’ve lost access to the property,” Sara said. “But we do have video footage.”

  “That should be enough,” Helen allowed. “As long as it’s of good quality.”

  “It’s very good,” Sara said.

  Helen nodded in approval.

  “So your next task is to get people talking about your cause,” she explained. “You need a lot of people, not just you, not just Ann.”

  “Who is Ann?” Tristan demanded. These mortals were everywhere. It was difficult to keep track of them all.

  “That’s the head of the borough,” Tabitha told him. “Tristan’s new to the fight,” she explained to Helen.

  “Very nice, dear,” Helen said. “And that’s just what you should be doing, winning over new friends to the cause.”

  “How would you suggest we go about it?” Sara asked. “An email campaign? Flyers?”

  “Oh, no,” Helen said. “That’s what everyone does. When was the last time you supported a cause because of a mailer? We need to speak to them at their level.”

  “What’s their level?” Sara asked.

  “A party, of course,” Helen laughed. “But not just any party. You’ll need VIPs to be there.”

  Tristan wondered what the letters stood for.

  “Very important people,” Tabitha said quickly as if she had heard his question. “Good thinking. You mean like local celebrities?”

  “Well, sure, if you’d like,” Helen said. “But I really mean influencers, the connected and political people right here in Tarker’s Hollow and Rosethorn Valley. People who would impress Ann Perel and who might roll their sleeves up and help you.”

  Tristan turned to Tabitha, wondering if she actually knew anyone like that.

  But she seemed to have lost interest in the conversation. Instead, her attention had turned to a small box on Helen’s large desk.

  The box was made of aged metal, which had been carved into curlicues.

  “Is this a music box?” Tabitha asked.

  “Why, yes, dear,” Helen said, sounding pleased.

  “It’s beautiful,” Tabitha breathed. “Early nineteenth century?”

  “Yes,” Helen told her. “It’s been in my family for a long time. Of course it doesn’t work anymore. I’ve even had it looked at professionally. But it’s still very beautiful.”

  “May I?” Tabitha asked.

  “Of course, pick it up, look at it,” Helen said warmly. “Old things should be admired. And this one is sturdy enough to be held.”

  6

  Tabitha

  Tabitha lifted the delicate metalwork box and cradled it in her palms.

  On closer inspection, she could see animals in the curlicued framework. Wolves and bears peered out from between the tree trunks that decorated the sides of the box. In the middle of the leaf-work top, two tree branches formed a slight dome. At the center of the dome, a barn owl spread its wings as if flying between the branches.

  “The animals are exquisite,” Tabitha said.

  “Yes, the workmanship is truly impressive,” Helen agreed.

  Tabitha turned the little box in her hands. It appeared to be in perfect condition. She wondered why it didn’t work.

  She lifted the latch and the interior was empty.

  “The music came from the dome,” Helen said. “Or at least so I’m told. There’s a button on the side that would have released it.”

  Tabitha closed the box again and fastened the lid down.

  Sure enough, there was a cleverly hidden button on the side of the box, hidden between two wolf silhouettes.

  The box was fairly clean, but it could do with a bit of polishing.

  “Do you have a cloth I can use on it?” she asked Helen.

  Helen opened a drawer and pulled out a cloth, handing it to her wordlessly.

  Tabitha closed her eyes for a moment and let her thoughts wrap around the box in an effort to know it better.

  It was from the early 19th century, someplace in Europe. It had traveled far to come here, seen things Tabitha couldn’t imagine.

  It had been beloved.

  She reached for it with her mind, trying to see through time.

  Tabitha had a knack for restoring historic items. When people remarked on it, she generally said she was interested and had studied up on restoration techniques for many objects, all of which was true.

  But it was also true that at times, it felt as if she weren’t using her training at all.

  At times, it felt like the object was speaking to her, sharing its memories and helping her know what was necessary to give it fresh life.

  Now was one of those times.

  She opened her eyes again, but saw a haze around the box, the sun lowered and rose over it again and again. Older hands held it from time to time, growing steadily younger, until it passed into older hands again. Then younger hands held it once more.

  She could just see the surface of the desk, photographs disappearing and being replaced with older ones that eventually turned to black and white.

  It was like the box was shuffling backwards through time, showing her its rich history.

  The strobing effect of nights and days slowed and at last she saw a small set of chubby hands on the box.

  An infinitesimal shred of paper was rolled into a tiny scroll and shoved into the dome opening and the dome was pressed down firmly.

  It tried to pop open again and the little hands crammed it back down.

  Tabitha could feel the pain of the overfull dome, the agony of the paper jammed in the delicate interior hinge.

  She closed her eyes again and felt the present slam down on her consciousness.

  When she opened her eyes, the box was before her, same as before.

  She moved the cloth over it gently, sliding it with her fingernail across the exact spot in the dome where she had seen the paper.

  Sure enough, she could just feel the spot where the dome was very slightly lifted.

  “Do you have a small paperclip?” she asked Helen.

  Helen slid one out of the dish beside her pens and handed it over. “Careful,” she whispered.

  Of course Tabitha would be careful. But it was a tribute to the confidence she inspired when she was in the zone that Helen would allow her to fiddle with her treasure at all.

  She bent the metal clip outward and delicately eased the tip of it against the place where she knew the little scroll had to be.

  She thought about the scrap of paper, the love in those tiny hands as they concealed their secret - not knowing it was breaking the pretty little box.

  The paperclip slid along metal and then hit the rougher texture of paper.

  Tabitha pulled with her fingers and her mind.

  The edge of the now-flattened scroll appear
ed.

  “What in the world?” Helen breathed.

  Tabitha put down the paperclip and eased her fingernail against the tiny bit of paper.

  It slid out immediately.

  Tabitha handed the paper to Helen, who held it reverently.

  “Want to press the button and see?” Tabitha offered.

  Helen reached out her hand and touched the little switch.

  The dome popped open and a tiny barn owl, carved so intricately you could see the individual feathers, popped up and hooted mournfully several times before the dome clicked back in place.

  “Tabitha Barnes,” Helen breathed.

  “I love old things,” Tabitha said. “I have a bit of a knack for fixing them.”

  “You and I both know that was more than just a knack,” Helen said, cradling the box to her chest with tears in her eyes. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

  “It was my pleasure,” Tabitha told her sincerely.

  “I would like to do something for you,” Helen said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “I’m going to throw a party.”

  “A party?” Tabitha echoed.

  “Yes, the party to save the castle,” Helen said crisply. “I’ll take care of everything - the guest list, the menu, the drinks, the decor. We’ll do it here, in my home. You just prepare a little presentation to help everyone understand why it needs to be saved, and what we need to do to make it happen.”

  “Really?” Tabitha asked.

  “Really,” Helen said, nodding. “I’ll call my nephew, Hector. He and Mei will help me organize everything. Do you know Hector?”

  “Of course,” Tabitha said. “He’s an attorney, right?”

  “Yes, but he does a lot of pro bono work,” Helen said proudly. “And his wife, Mei, is a crackerjack party planner. You three just gather your evidence and get ready to plead your case. I’ll throw you a party this community will never forget.”

  Tabitha shared a smile with Sara.

  Was it possible this might actually work?

  7

  Tabitha

  Tabitha stood outside Helen Thayer’s house with her friends a few minutes later.

  “That was amazing,” Sara said.

  “I got lucky,” Tabitha told her. “But I’m really glad it might help us.”

  Sara gave her a look like she wanted to say more, but didn’t push the issue.

  It was getting late. The sun had set while they were meeting with Helen.

  “What now?” Dorian asked.

  “I guess we sleep,” Sara said. “Except…”

  “What?” Tabitha asked.

  “Well, I don’t really have a guest room,” Sara said. “Tristan, we have a sofa in the living room that should do for tonight. Tomorrow we can try to get a bed down there for you.”

  It was true. Sara’s house was tiny. Her second bedroom was hardly big enough for a desk.

  And Tabitha had spent many a movie night on that couch. It was more like a love seat, and nowhere big enough for a man like Tristan to stretch out on.

  “Don’t be silly,” Tabitha said. “He can stay at my place.”

  “Are you sure?” Sara asked, looking like she was trying hard not to smile.

  Tabitha didn’t blame her. Sara was hooking up with that hunky King of Darkness - of course she wanted her house to herself.

  “It’s no problem,” Tabitha said. “I’ve got plenty of space. Come on, Tristan.”

  He didn’t look thrilled, but to his credit, the light king didn’t complain.

  “Dorian and I will study the shards tonight,” Sara said. “If we see anything recognizable, we’ll connect with you. We’ve been checking, but the creatures seem to have been holed up all day.”

  “Sounds good,” Tabitha said.

  Sara and Dorian got into Sara’s little Saab and headed off.

  “Ready?” Tabitha asked, turning to Tristan.

  But he was already getting into her car, so her question was answered.

  She took a deep breath and got in, too.

  Hopefully, whatever strange connection they shared wouldn’t make tonight too awkward.

  “How long have you known?” he asked, as soon as she was seated.

  “Known what?” she asked, starting the car.

  “Known about your magic,” he said simply.

  “Very funny,” she said, pulling out onto Elm and heading back toward Rosethorn Valley.

  “What you did back there,” he said. “You couldn’t have done that without magic.”

  “Sure I could,” she said. “I did. It was just a matter of figuring out what was wrong and then resolving it.”

  “How did you know what was wrong?” he asked.

  How could he look into her soul this way?

  She had never told anyone about her process. She never even thought about it herself if she could help it. Somehow, thinking too hard about it always seemed like it might ruin things.

  Like it might spoil the magic.

  But it wasn’t real magic, was it?

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.

  “My point is proven, then,” he said.

  She could hear his smirk.

  They drove on in silence for some time, finally reaching Rosethorn Valley Road, crossing the creek and heading toward the museum.

  “This is where you live?” he broke the silence to ask.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “It says it’s a museum,” he pointed out.

  “I’m renting rooms here,” she said.

  She didn’t say the rest - that her family bought her the entire building, and that the only rented rooms in the place were the ones she rented out to the museum for a dollar a year.

  It was one thing to have money you hadn’t earned. It was another for people to know about it and judge you.

  It was impossible for the residents of Rosethorn Valley not to know the Barnes family had money. But Tabitha would never flaunt how much of it was hers. If she had learned anything from her conservative parents, it was how to live in a way that didn’t make her stand out too much.

  “A normal life is a luxury, Tabitha,” her father would say as he refused her whatever outrageous outfit or piece of jewelry she had asked for in high school. “The minute you give it up, you’ll realize what you’ve lost. It’s not going to happen on my watch.”

  Tabitha got out of the car and slipped the building key out of her pocket, Tristan trailing close behind.

  The museum took up the whole front portion of the building, including the two-story high studio where she and Tim spent their days tending to business.

  But the back included a turret and a bedroom wing with a finished attic. That was where Tabitha stayed.

  Her hope was that one day, the museum would gather enough local artifacts that she would have to move to a regular apartment. But for now, she loved living in the amazing old house so close to the beautiful things she spent her life restoring.

  “Interesting,” Tristan remarked as they entered the base of the turret.

  Tabitha threw her keys on the table and they went into her living space.

  There were no walls between the living room, dining room and kitchen. A beamed ceiling made the place feel cozy. Four large windows, each with a big window seat, flanked the big open space.

  “I’ll show you to your room,” she offered.

  He nodded approvingly as he took it all in.

  He looked oddly at home here, his big body making the open space feel a little cozier, his golden hair gleaming in the dim light from the floor lamp.

  He was still carrying his two shopping bags of new clothing.

  She found herself glad they had taken care of that task right away. She wasn’t a small woman, but she literally didn’t have one piece of clothing that would have any hope of fitting him.

  “This way,” she said, heading for the staircase behind the kitchen.

  The route was a little tight for someone the size of Tristan
. It had clearly been designed for servants. Even Tabitha had to duck a little.

  “Watch your head,” she suggested over her shoulder.

  His heavy footsteps followed.

  At the top of the stairs, a hallway led past three bedrooms and a bath, all the way back to the guest bedroom in the turret.

  “That’s my room,” Tabitha said as they passed the master suite. “If you need anything, just knock.”

  He nodded, looking into the room with some interest.

  There was relatively little there. Tabitha did nothing in her room but sleep. It was furnished with some of her old stuff from her childhood bedroom. He certainly couldn’t be admiring the decor.

  She flushed, wondering if he might be interested in her bedroom for other reasons.

  “That’s the room I use for an office,” she said, pointing to the next door in the corridor. “And here’s the hall bath.”

  “Your quarters are spacious,” he remarked. “Your landlady must be generous.”

  She had no idea how to answer that, so she chose not to.

  They passed another bedroom and then the door to the upper turret.

  “Here we go. This is yours,” she said. “At least for now.”

  She opened the door to reveal the large, round room.

  The floor was a lovely finished pine and the ceiling vaulted up to the conical roof of the turret. Huge banks of windows all around the room revealed the night sky and the treetops surrounding the museum.

  Against the only flat wall in the room was a big four-poster bed with a closet next to it.

  “Yes, this is acceptable.” The King of Light smiled and nodded slowly. “Very nice, mortal.”

  Damned right it was acceptable. Tabitha would have had this as her own room except that she was accustomed to having an attached bath.

  “Glad you like it,” she said, turning to go. “See you in the morning.”

  “Wait,” he said.

  The word split the air between them and suddenly she was struck by a shiver of the electricity she’d felt the moment they met this morning.

  “Do you need help getting settled?” she asked innocently.

  “Yes, please,” he said.

  She turned on her heel and headed for the closet. “You can put your clothing in here. Let’s get those tags off.”