By a Silver Thread (DFZ Changeling Book 1), page 19
“I am helping,” Tristan said, his face growing serious. “You’re in a lot more trouble than you realize, Lola-lark. I didn’t come looking for you this early because I enjoy morning walks. I’m here because a matter has come to my attention that can no longer be ignored. Alva wants to see you.”
Lola frowned. “What does the fairy queen want with me?”
“The pretender to the throne,” Tristan corrected sharply, “is having trouble adjusting to the magical changes going on in her territory. She might be weak, but Alva isn’t stupid. She knows something big is happening, and she’s invited you to her court to discuss it.”
Lola scoffed. “Invited? She can’t actually expect me to just forget she sent a troll to trash Victor’s house and join her for coffee.”
“She sent a troll to Victor’s house?” Tristan repeated, incredibly intrigued. “How did you defeat it?”
The Rider twitched at the question. It was just a tiny motion, but Lola got the hint.
“Even when he’s not home, Victor’s secrets keep themselves,” she said, lifting her chin. “Alva learned that the hard way.”
“That certainly explains her urgency,” Tristan said, looking delighted by the idea. “But loath as I am to defend anything of hers, I believe this invitation is Alva’s way of being polite. Under the doctrine of hospitality that is an integral part of all barrow magic, she can’t harm a guest she invites into her home. Of course, this also means you won’t be able to harm her.”
“Not planning on it,” Lola said. “Not planning on going at all, actually.”
Tristan shook his head. “On the contrary, I think you should.”
“I don’t have time for fairy politics.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But if you don’t answer her summons, she’ll hunt you in earnest. Better to take the hospitality now than risk being taken prisoner and having no protections at all. Also, while you and I might not be able to stop this fairy you’re so concerned about, Alva is another matter.”
Lola sighed. “She’s not going to help me.”
“But she will absolutely help herself,” Tristan argued. “You think Alva likes having a fairy that strong running rampant in her territory? She’s gnawing herself to pieces over this, which is exactly the position you want her in. All you have to do is offer up your knowledge of this stranger in exchange for Victor’s safe return, and you’ll have her whole court on your side.”
He didn’t make a bad point, but… “I’ve only got three pills left!” Lola cried. “I can’t be wasting hours trying to trick someone who hates Victor into helping me find him.”
“I’d argue this is the best use of your time,” Tristan said gently. “Unless you think you can find Victor by yourself with the three pills you have left.”
Lola dragged her hands through the doll body’s red hair. Parleying with a fairy still felt like a stupid gamble, but so did driving around the city, chasing a fairy that could appear and disappear on a whim. That math changed quickly, though, if they could get the queen on their side. Even Tristan didn’t deny that Alva was powerful, and she had a lot of fairies under her thumb. If Lola could convince her that they had a common enemy, it would put a lot of useful cards in their hand. Victor would hate it, too, which perversely made Lola want to do it more than any of Tristan’s logic. There was just one problem.
“Other than the laws of hospitality,” she said slowly, “how do I know this isn’t a trap?”
“Oh, it’s definitely a trap,” Tristan said, giving her a dashing smile. “But traps are no worry when you have a proper escort.”
He placed one hand on his sword while gallantly offering her the other. It was such a charming display, Lola was actually touched for a moment before her common sense kicked back in.
“What’s the price?”
“How marvelously shrewd of you,” Tristan said. “Fortunately, today’s price is very cheap. All I ask in return for my protection is that you claim me as your guard.”
“That’s it?” Lola said, instantly wary. “Your price for coming with me is that you get to come with me?”
“The barrow Alva is currently infesting belongs to the true queen,” Tristan explained. “Unfortunately, I have been unable to enter it since my lady vanished. When I heard Alva was looking for you, it seemed a bit of a golden opportunity. I get into the queen’s barrow by Alva’s own invitation, and I get to deny her plans for you.”
“Two birds with one stone.”
Tristan beamed at her. “Exactly.”
Lola sighed. She still didn’t want to do this, especially now that she knew Tristan’s queen was involved. Morgan was the only one he’d ever shown true loyalty toward, but for the first time since she’d met him, Tristan had messed up. He’d told her what he wanted before he got it.
“I’ll be your ticket into Alva’s barrow on one condition,” Lola said. “You have to tell me the name of the fairy who stole my sister.”
“It won’t do you any good,” Tristan warned. “But very well. I promise I’ll tell you the fairy’s name after we go to Alva’s.”
“Now,” Lola countered.
“And risk you running off on me?” Tristan shook his head. “I’ll give you yours once I get mine, though it would be kinder not to tell you at all. This isn’t a bear you should be poking, remember?”
“Fine,” Lola said. “But I’m bringing my own guard.” She looked over her shoulder at the Rider, who was still standing in his circle of frost. “Would you come with me?”
The Rider nodded instantly. Tristan, on the other hand, began to scowl. “I would recommend against it,” he said. “Alva might be little more than a hobgoblin with delusions of grandeur, but she’s still a fairy in a queen’s lair. Are you sure you want to put a weapon like the Rider into her hands?”
Lola shrugged. “He’d be protected by hospitality, too, right?”
“Hospitality only means Alva can’t kill or physically harm you,” Tristan reminded her. “That leaves a great deal of room for creativity.”
“I’m going.”
The Rider’s deep voice broke through the argument like a gong. For a moment, Tristan’s face was shocked, and then his scowl returned, deeper than ever. “If you can talk, I strongly suggest you don’t go.”
“I don’t care,” he said, black visor fixed on Tristan. “I don’t trust you.”
“I’m sure I’ll get over it,” Tristan said, turning back to Lola. “Last chance not to make a terrible mistake.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” Lola said, patting the bag of pills in the pocket of her sweatpants. “I have a fairy and a blood mage to find and not a lot of time to do it.”
Tristan waved his hand, and a candy-red classic Lamborghini screeched into the parking lot. The car spun around the scorched pavement in a donut before sliding to a stop beside Lola’s refurbished coupe, its doors going up with a pneumatic hiss. Lola rolled her eyes at the ridiculous display and placed a hand on her own car, finally letting the gossamer flow back into her, since Tristan had so clearly volunteered to drive.
Normally, reclaiming her magic felt good, like sticking a lost piece back into place. This time, though, the car’s return only increased the strange, uncomfortably overfull feeling Lola had been struggling with all morning. She ignored the sensation, settling her gossamer with a shake as she walked around to the Lamborghini’s passenger-side door.
Tristan was already in the driver’s seat. He patted the bucket seat beside his invitingly, but Lola couldn’t bear the idea of the tall Rider folding himself into the antique supercar’s tiny rear seat, so she climbed into the back instead. Tristan gave her a sullen look but refrained from comment as the Rider gingerly got in, sinking into the smooth leather passenger seat like a boulder.
“So,” Tristan said as his gossamer car began to drive itself away. “Tell me how you managed to drop your pills all over a commuter parking lot.”
“I’d rather not,” Lola said, pointedly not looking at the scratched-up section of pavement where she’d turned into the monster. “But I did find out what the fairy’s making the DFZ dream about. It’s Fenrir.”
“The monster movie?” Tristan pursed his lips. “Interesting choice.”
“It gets weirder,” Lola said before telling him what they’d learned at Simon’s.
Tristan seemed not at all surprised to hear that Victor’s disappearance had been planned, but he looked as puzzled as the rest of them when he heard how much of his fortune—in both money and people—the blood mage had poured into the movie.
“I wonder what he’s after,” Tristan said, tapping his fingers on the leather-wrapped steering wheel that didn’t even seem to be connected to what the gossamer car was actually doing. “With the notable exception of yourself, human magic and fairy gossamer aren’t terribly compatible. We’re like a magician and his audience: the moment people know the trick, the whole thing falls apart.”
“They’re clearly doing something together,” Lola insisted. “The boy fairy practically said that much to my face.” She narrowed her eyes at Tristan. “Are you sure you can’t tell me his name?”
“Trust me, Lola-love. If this visit doesn’t clear things up, I’ll take you back to my barrow and tell you all my postulations. How does that sound?”
“Like you’re brushing me off,” she said, flopping back against the tiny bench that passed for the Lamborghini’s rear seat. “And while you play fairy politics, I’m going to pop.”
“Nonsense,” Tristan said, turning around. “Listen to your own story. You know Victor is alive and up to something with that fairy, right? Well, if that’s true, then you’re safe as safe can be. The blood mage has invested twenty years of effort into keeping your monster managed. He’s not going to risk losing all of that over something as easily remedied as a few pills.”
That was the same reasoning the Rider had given her, and though Lola absolutely believed her master would throw her under the bus the moment it suited him, it soothed her a little. The strange fairy hadn’t let her die in the parking lot, after all, nor had he left her to the Paladins. That was a lot of effort for someone they intended to let die, so Lola tried to take heart, wrapping her hand around her sister’s wildly jerking thread as Tristan’s candy-red car drove them up onto the Skyways.
~~~
As befitted the self-styled queen of the DFZ, Alva’s barrow was in Lakeview, the single most expensive neighborhood of the entire city. Unlike everywhere else on the Skyways, it wasn’t a towering superscraper or a cluster of super-tall buildings like the one Jamie lived in. This was even more luxurious: a five-block stretch of landscaped parkland overlooking the water with lots big enough to build an actual house on.
Lola had lived in the DFZ her entire life, and the idea of a freestanding house on the Skyways still blew her mind. Even Victor’s clients weren’t rich enough to live here, so she’d only been by a few times, mostly to sightsee. Tristan’s classic Lamborghini fit right in, though. The candy-red car didn’t even draw a second glance from the incredibly stylish people walking their purebred dogs down the tree-lined streets. People who were themselves likely only employees of the mega-rich who actually lived here.
“Does every house have its own helicopter pad?” Lola asked, wedging her face into the triangle of the sports car’s minuscule rear window.
“Some have two,” Tristan replied. “And the street itself converts into a landing strip for private jets, though you do have to book ahead so people have time to move their cars.”
Lola whistled, trying to look every direction at once as Tristan’s summoned car drove them through a black iron gate onto a flagstone driveway through the biggest—and only—front yard Lola had ever seen on the Skyways.
It was so huge, it had its own flock of peacocks. Lola didn’t know if the birds were gossamer or real, but just having the space to hold them in a city where the majority of the residents lived in apartments under bridges was an insulting level of luxury. The grounds were meticulously manicured and covered with the tallest bushes that would grow in the climate, since large trees didn’t have the root-room to grow up here on the bridges, which meant gossamer trees were out as well. Even fairy queens had to wrangle with disbelief, and people in this neighborhood were absolutely judging the heck out of every plant choice.
Probably because the show-off yard took up the majority of the lot’s space, the house itself was smaller than Lola expected. It was only three stories, but it was built in that pretentious boxy plantation style with a fantastic view of the lake. Very stereotypical rich person, but stereotypes were what fairies thrived on, and now that Tristan’s car had pulled up to the front steps, Lola could smell Alva’s gossamer like rotten fruit on the wind.
“Stay close,” Tristan ordered as they got out. “And let me do the talking.”
Lola had no argument with that. She was too busy trying not to gag as Tristan led them up the brick stairs to the mansion’s ostentatious portico. The gossamer was thick as syrup now that they were standing on the threshold. But though it tasted strongly of Alva, the magic clearly did not belong to her.
It was such a weird disconnect, Lola couldn’t actually put her finger on what was wrong. Finally, she decided that the gossamer felt slack, like a sail when the wind has gone out of it. The magic was still there, still potent, but while Alva was clearly the one holding the rope, it was obvious she didn’t have full control.
Tristan must have thought so, too, because his face grew more disgusted by the second. By the time they were standing in front of the brass-plated front door, he looked like he was going to kill something.
“Are you okay?” Lola whispered.
“I will be once I’m out of here,” Tristan whispered back, knocking on the door with the hilt of his sword.
The door opened immediately, swinging on its own to let them into a white marble entry hall. Tristan strode in at once. Lola followed more timidly with the Rider keeping close behind, his reflective helmet turning constantly like he was trying to look at everything at once.
Now that they were inside, Lola saw that the mansion’s impeccable upkeep was only skin-deep. The estate’s face was all perfectly kept gardens and flawless masonry, but the inside was dusty from neglect. There was no furniture, no fixtures, no sign that anyone had been in here in years. Tristan glared at the decay as if it was a personal insult as he drew his sword.
The rapier slid out of its sheath with a beautiful metallic ring. It sang again as Tristan swung it casually, cutting the air with a musical sound. Then, with a flick of his wrist, Tristan brought the slender blade up to nick his palm. Lola gasped as red blood welled from the wound, even though she knew it was only gossamer. For his part, Tristan looked affronted as he held out his hand to let the blood drip onto the dusty white stone.
“Really?” He sneered at the empty room. “Blood? That’s your entry price? Couldn’t you at least try to be creative?”
“You would have preferred something dearer?”
Lola jumped. The scratchy voice seemed to speak out of nowhere. As its words faded, the dusty room vanished, revealing the barrow Tristan’s blood had paid to enter.
It was a field. A huge, open meadow like the grasslands of the Great Plains, only instead of grass, this land was carpeted in flowers. Every kind of bloom Lola had ever heard of and several she didn’t recognize at all were growing in absurd profusion, the blossoms pushing over each other like they were fighting for position. But unlike the plants in the epic yard outside, which had looked almost too perfect, these flowers were clearly past their prime. They were still blooming, still lovely, but brown spots marred the petals’ edges, and some stalks had fallen over entirely, their blossoms shriveled like deflated balloons.
It was still a jaw-droppingly impressive sight. Lola was turning in a circle, trying to take it all in, when she realized they were no longer alone.
A beautiful man stood in the flowers just in front of Tristan. His face looked human, but he was clearly a fairy. If the impossible, otherworldly beauty wasn’t enough of a tip-off, the fact that his skin was the color of pine bark and his suit was made from still-growing evergreen fronds clinched it.
“Welcome to the queen’s barrow,” the fairy said in the same scratchy voice from before, the words rubbing against each other like branches as he swept into a graceful, if shallow, bow. He straightened again immediately, his pine-green eyes flicking from Tristan to the Rider.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice completely unapologetic. “The queen’s invitation was for the changeling only. You two will have to wait outside.”
“Nice try, Juniper,” Tristan said, wrapping his arm around Lola’s shoulders. “But the lovely changeling requested an escort, so I”—he paused, throwing the Rider a weary look—“we are here as her guests. I’m afraid Alva will have to accept all of us if she wants to talk.”
“You are in no position to make demands, fallen knight!” the fairy called Juniper snarled, his mouth opening to show a forest of spiny black teeth. “You should be grateful the queen permits your presence at all.”
“Those are the terms,” Tristan said, vanishing the last drops of his blood from his sword before sheathing it again. “Does Alva want to see the girl or not?”
The fairy glowered, but then, to Lola’s surprise on a lot of levels, he pulled a sleek modern cell phone out of his needles. He turned his back to them and raised the phone to his ear, saying something low to the person on the other end. There was a short, tense conversation, and then the fairy shoved the phone back into his branches and turned again to face them.
“The Fairy Queen of Detroit is eager to meet the changeling who commands Morgan’s White Knight and the blood mage’s Black Rider,” he said haughtily. “To see such power brought so low is a rare treat indeed. You will attend her in the throne room.”
If Tristan was insulted by the fairy’s words, he didn’t let it show. He just strolled off into the flowers, one hand in his pocket, the other tapping his sheathed sword against his shoulder. Lola and the Rider followed a moment later, leaving Juniper glaring at their backs as they walked across the field to a little set of stone steps that descended a gentle slope.
Lola frowned. “What does the fairy queen want with me?”
“The pretender to the throne,” Tristan corrected sharply, “is having trouble adjusting to the magical changes going on in her territory. She might be weak, but Alva isn’t stupid. She knows something big is happening, and she’s invited you to her court to discuss it.”
Lola scoffed. “Invited? She can’t actually expect me to just forget she sent a troll to trash Victor’s house and join her for coffee.”
“She sent a troll to Victor’s house?” Tristan repeated, incredibly intrigued. “How did you defeat it?”
The Rider twitched at the question. It was just a tiny motion, but Lola got the hint.
“Even when he’s not home, Victor’s secrets keep themselves,” she said, lifting her chin. “Alva learned that the hard way.”
“That certainly explains her urgency,” Tristan said, looking delighted by the idea. “But loath as I am to defend anything of hers, I believe this invitation is Alva’s way of being polite. Under the doctrine of hospitality that is an integral part of all barrow magic, she can’t harm a guest she invites into her home. Of course, this also means you won’t be able to harm her.”
“Not planning on it,” Lola said. “Not planning on going at all, actually.”
Tristan shook his head. “On the contrary, I think you should.”
“I don’t have time for fairy politics.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But if you don’t answer her summons, she’ll hunt you in earnest. Better to take the hospitality now than risk being taken prisoner and having no protections at all. Also, while you and I might not be able to stop this fairy you’re so concerned about, Alva is another matter.”
Lola sighed. “She’s not going to help me.”
“But she will absolutely help herself,” Tristan argued. “You think Alva likes having a fairy that strong running rampant in her territory? She’s gnawing herself to pieces over this, which is exactly the position you want her in. All you have to do is offer up your knowledge of this stranger in exchange for Victor’s safe return, and you’ll have her whole court on your side.”
He didn’t make a bad point, but… “I’ve only got three pills left!” Lola cried. “I can’t be wasting hours trying to trick someone who hates Victor into helping me find him.”
“I’d argue this is the best use of your time,” Tristan said gently. “Unless you think you can find Victor by yourself with the three pills you have left.”
Lola dragged her hands through the doll body’s red hair. Parleying with a fairy still felt like a stupid gamble, but so did driving around the city, chasing a fairy that could appear and disappear on a whim. That math changed quickly, though, if they could get the queen on their side. Even Tristan didn’t deny that Alva was powerful, and she had a lot of fairies under her thumb. If Lola could convince her that they had a common enemy, it would put a lot of useful cards in their hand. Victor would hate it, too, which perversely made Lola want to do it more than any of Tristan’s logic. There was just one problem.
“Other than the laws of hospitality,” she said slowly, “how do I know this isn’t a trap?”
“Oh, it’s definitely a trap,” Tristan said, giving her a dashing smile. “But traps are no worry when you have a proper escort.”
He placed one hand on his sword while gallantly offering her the other. It was such a charming display, Lola was actually touched for a moment before her common sense kicked back in.
“What’s the price?”
“How marvelously shrewd of you,” Tristan said. “Fortunately, today’s price is very cheap. All I ask in return for my protection is that you claim me as your guard.”
“That’s it?” Lola said, instantly wary. “Your price for coming with me is that you get to come with me?”
“The barrow Alva is currently infesting belongs to the true queen,” Tristan explained. “Unfortunately, I have been unable to enter it since my lady vanished. When I heard Alva was looking for you, it seemed a bit of a golden opportunity. I get into the queen’s barrow by Alva’s own invitation, and I get to deny her plans for you.”
“Two birds with one stone.”
Tristan beamed at her. “Exactly.”
Lola sighed. She still didn’t want to do this, especially now that she knew Tristan’s queen was involved. Morgan was the only one he’d ever shown true loyalty toward, but for the first time since she’d met him, Tristan had messed up. He’d told her what he wanted before he got it.
“I’ll be your ticket into Alva’s barrow on one condition,” Lola said. “You have to tell me the name of the fairy who stole my sister.”
“It won’t do you any good,” Tristan warned. “But very well. I promise I’ll tell you the fairy’s name after we go to Alva’s.”
“Now,” Lola countered.
“And risk you running off on me?” Tristan shook his head. “I’ll give you yours once I get mine, though it would be kinder not to tell you at all. This isn’t a bear you should be poking, remember?”
“Fine,” Lola said. “But I’m bringing my own guard.” She looked over her shoulder at the Rider, who was still standing in his circle of frost. “Would you come with me?”
The Rider nodded instantly. Tristan, on the other hand, began to scowl. “I would recommend against it,” he said. “Alva might be little more than a hobgoblin with delusions of grandeur, but she’s still a fairy in a queen’s lair. Are you sure you want to put a weapon like the Rider into her hands?”
Lola shrugged. “He’d be protected by hospitality, too, right?”
“Hospitality only means Alva can’t kill or physically harm you,” Tristan reminded her. “That leaves a great deal of room for creativity.”
“I’m going.”
The Rider’s deep voice broke through the argument like a gong. For a moment, Tristan’s face was shocked, and then his scowl returned, deeper than ever. “If you can talk, I strongly suggest you don’t go.”
“I don’t care,” he said, black visor fixed on Tristan. “I don’t trust you.”
“I’m sure I’ll get over it,” Tristan said, turning back to Lola. “Last chance not to make a terrible mistake.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” Lola said, patting the bag of pills in the pocket of her sweatpants. “I have a fairy and a blood mage to find and not a lot of time to do it.”
Tristan waved his hand, and a candy-red classic Lamborghini screeched into the parking lot. The car spun around the scorched pavement in a donut before sliding to a stop beside Lola’s refurbished coupe, its doors going up with a pneumatic hiss. Lola rolled her eyes at the ridiculous display and placed a hand on her own car, finally letting the gossamer flow back into her, since Tristan had so clearly volunteered to drive.
Normally, reclaiming her magic felt good, like sticking a lost piece back into place. This time, though, the car’s return only increased the strange, uncomfortably overfull feeling Lola had been struggling with all morning. She ignored the sensation, settling her gossamer with a shake as she walked around to the Lamborghini’s passenger-side door.
Tristan was already in the driver’s seat. He patted the bucket seat beside his invitingly, but Lola couldn’t bear the idea of the tall Rider folding himself into the antique supercar’s tiny rear seat, so she climbed into the back instead. Tristan gave her a sullen look but refrained from comment as the Rider gingerly got in, sinking into the smooth leather passenger seat like a boulder.
“So,” Tristan said as his gossamer car began to drive itself away. “Tell me how you managed to drop your pills all over a commuter parking lot.”
“I’d rather not,” Lola said, pointedly not looking at the scratched-up section of pavement where she’d turned into the monster. “But I did find out what the fairy’s making the DFZ dream about. It’s Fenrir.”
“The monster movie?” Tristan pursed his lips. “Interesting choice.”
“It gets weirder,” Lola said before telling him what they’d learned at Simon’s.
Tristan seemed not at all surprised to hear that Victor’s disappearance had been planned, but he looked as puzzled as the rest of them when he heard how much of his fortune—in both money and people—the blood mage had poured into the movie.
“I wonder what he’s after,” Tristan said, tapping his fingers on the leather-wrapped steering wheel that didn’t even seem to be connected to what the gossamer car was actually doing. “With the notable exception of yourself, human magic and fairy gossamer aren’t terribly compatible. We’re like a magician and his audience: the moment people know the trick, the whole thing falls apart.”
“They’re clearly doing something together,” Lola insisted. “The boy fairy practically said that much to my face.” She narrowed her eyes at Tristan. “Are you sure you can’t tell me his name?”
“Trust me, Lola-love. If this visit doesn’t clear things up, I’ll take you back to my barrow and tell you all my postulations. How does that sound?”
“Like you’re brushing me off,” she said, flopping back against the tiny bench that passed for the Lamborghini’s rear seat. “And while you play fairy politics, I’m going to pop.”
“Nonsense,” Tristan said, turning around. “Listen to your own story. You know Victor is alive and up to something with that fairy, right? Well, if that’s true, then you’re safe as safe can be. The blood mage has invested twenty years of effort into keeping your monster managed. He’s not going to risk losing all of that over something as easily remedied as a few pills.”
That was the same reasoning the Rider had given her, and though Lola absolutely believed her master would throw her under the bus the moment it suited him, it soothed her a little. The strange fairy hadn’t let her die in the parking lot, after all, nor had he left her to the Paladins. That was a lot of effort for someone they intended to let die, so Lola tried to take heart, wrapping her hand around her sister’s wildly jerking thread as Tristan’s candy-red car drove them up onto the Skyways.
~~~
As befitted the self-styled queen of the DFZ, Alva’s barrow was in Lakeview, the single most expensive neighborhood of the entire city. Unlike everywhere else on the Skyways, it wasn’t a towering superscraper or a cluster of super-tall buildings like the one Jamie lived in. This was even more luxurious: a five-block stretch of landscaped parkland overlooking the water with lots big enough to build an actual house on.
Lola had lived in the DFZ her entire life, and the idea of a freestanding house on the Skyways still blew her mind. Even Victor’s clients weren’t rich enough to live here, so she’d only been by a few times, mostly to sightsee. Tristan’s classic Lamborghini fit right in, though. The candy-red car didn’t even draw a second glance from the incredibly stylish people walking their purebred dogs down the tree-lined streets. People who were themselves likely only employees of the mega-rich who actually lived here.
“Does every house have its own helicopter pad?” Lola asked, wedging her face into the triangle of the sports car’s minuscule rear window.
“Some have two,” Tristan replied. “And the street itself converts into a landing strip for private jets, though you do have to book ahead so people have time to move their cars.”
Lola whistled, trying to look every direction at once as Tristan’s summoned car drove them through a black iron gate onto a flagstone driveway through the biggest—and only—front yard Lola had ever seen on the Skyways.
It was so huge, it had its own flock of peacocks. Lola didn’t know if the birds were gossamer or real, but just having the space to hold them in a city where the majority of the residents lived in apartments under bridges was an insulting level of luxury. The grounds were meticulously manicured and covered with the tallest bushes that would grow in the climate, since large trees didn’t have the root-room to grow up here on the bridges, which meant gossamer trees were out as well. Even fairy queens had to wrangle with disbelief, and people in this neighborhood were absolutely judging the heck out of every plant choice.
Probably because the show-off yard took up the majority of the lot’s space, the house itself was smaller than Lola expected. It was only three stories, but it was built in that pretentious boxy plantation style with a fantastic view of the lake. Very stereotypical rich person, but stereotypes were what fairies thrived on, and now that Tristan’s car had pulled up to the front steps, Lola could smell Alva’s gossamer like rotten fruit on the wind.
“Stay close,” Tristan ordered as they got out. “And let me do the talking.”
Lola had no argument with that. She was too busy trying not to gag as Tristan led them up the brick stairs to the mansion’s ostentatious portico. The gossamer was thick as syrup now that they were standing on the threshold. But though it tasted strongly of Alva, the magic clearly did not belong to her.
It was such a weird disconnect, Lola couldn’t actually put her finger on what was wrong. Finally, she decided that the gossamer felt slack, like a sail when the wind has gone out of it. The magic was still there, still potent, but while Alva was clearly the one holding the rope, it was obvious she didn’t have full control.
Tristan must have thought so, too, because his face grew more disgusted by the second. By the time they were standing in front of the brass-plated front door, he looked like he was going to kill something.
“Are you okay?” Lola whispered.
“I will be once I’m out of here,” Tristan whispered back, knocking on the door with the hilt of his sword.
The door opened immediately, swinging on its own to let them into a white marble entry hall. Tristan strode in at once. Lola followed more timidly with the Rider keeping close behind, his reflective helmet turning constantly like he was trying to look at everything at once.
Now that they were inside, Lola saw that the mansion’s impeccable upkeep was only skin-deep. The estate’s face was all perfectly kept gardens and flawless masonry, but the inside was dusty from neglect. There was no furniture, no fixtures, no sign that anyone had been in here in years. Tristan glared at the decay as if it was a personal insult as he drew his sword.
The rapier slid out of its sheath with a beautiful metallic ring. It sang again as Tristan swung it casually, cutting the air with a musical sound. Then, with a flick of his wrist, Tristan brought the slender blade up to nick his palm. Lola gasped as red blood welled from the wound, even though she knew it was only gossamer. For his part, Tristan looked affronted as he held out his hand to let the blood drip onto the dusty white stone.
“Really?” He sneered at the empty room. “Blood? That’s your entry price? Couldn’t you at least try to be creative?”
“You would have preferred something dearer?”
Lola jumped. The scratchy voice seemed to speak out of nowhere. As its words faded, the dusty room vanished, revealing the barrow Tristan’s blood had paid to enter.
It was a field. A huge, open meadow like the grasslands of the Great Plains, only instead of grass, this land was carpeted in flowers. Every kind of bloom Lola had ever heard of and several she didn’t recognize at all were growing in absurd profusion, the blossoms pushing over each other like they were fighting for position. But unlike the plants in the epic yard outside, which had looked almost too perfect, these flowers were clearly past their prime. They were still blooming, still lovely, but brown spots marred the petals’ edges, and some stalks had fallen over entirely, their blossoms shriveled like deflated balloons.
It was still a jaw-droppingly impressive sight. Lola was turning in a circle, trying to take it all in, when she realized they were no longer alone.
A beautiful man stood in the flowers just in front of Tristan. His face looked human, but he was clearly a fairy. If the impossible, otherworldly beauty wasn’t enough of a tip-off, the fact that his skin was the color of pine bark and his suit was made from still-growing evergreen fronds clinched it.
“Welcome to the queen’s barrow,” the fairy said in the same scratchy voice from before, the words rubbing against each other like branches as he swept into a graceful, if shallow, bow. He straightened again immediately, his pine-green eyes flicking from Tristan to the Rider.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice completely unapologetic. “The queen’s invitation was for the changeling only. You two will have to wait outside.”
“Nice try, Juniper,” Tristan said, wrapping his arm around Lola’s shoulders. “But the lovely changeling requested an escort, so I”—he paused, throwing the Rider a weary look—“we are here as her guests. I’m afraid Alva will have to accept all of us if she wants to talk.”
“You are in no position to make demands, fallen knight!” the fairy called Juniper snarled, his mouth opening to show a forest of spiny black teeth. “You should be grateful the queen permits your presence at all.”
“Those are the terms,” Tristan said, vanishing the last drops of his blood from his sword before sheathing it again. “Does Alva want to see the girl or not?”
The fairy glowered, but then, to Lola’s surprise on a lot of levels, he pulled a sleek modern cell phone out of his needles. He turned his back to them and raised the phone to his ear, saying something low to the person on the other end. There was a short, tense conversation, and then the fairy shoved the phone back into his branches and turned again to face them.
“The Fairy Queen of Detroit is eager to meet the changeling who commands Morgan’s White Knight and the blood mage’s Black Rider,” he said haughtily. “To see such power brought so low is a rare treat indeed. You will attend her in the throne room.”
If Tristan was insulted by the fairy’s words, he didn’t let it show. He just strolled off into the flowers, one hand in his pocket, the other tapping his sheathed sword against his shoulder. Lola and the Rider followed a moment later, leaving Juniper glaring at their backs as they walked across the field to a little set of stone steps that descended a gentle slope.
