Grimm crossed his arms and shook his head. “My dear, I am certain another fairy is involved. When we read the future, it’s the intents we are looking at. I intended Ari to carry the bottle of wine to the prince, and so that is what would have shown clearly. Our last-minute change would have been almost impossible to foretell. Reading intents is something not even the fae would attempt.”
This made sense. Grimm had tried once to explain how he influenced events, and the closest he could get to it was describing it like making a path in tall grass. Sure, someone might stray, but odds were strong they’d stick to the path. Grimm was good at leading people. I decided to take the opportunity to ask something that had been bothering me for a while. “Grimm, how’s my debt looking?”
Definitely caught him off guard. He glanced around the room. “Evangeline, would you be so kind as to check on the princess?”
“Doing something else, somewhere else.” She put down her nail file and walked out.
When she was gone, I shut the door.
“That kind of question doesn’t come up out of nowhere,” said Grimm, his voice stern.
“Answer the question, please.”
“Look at your vial, Marissa. What do you see?”
I pulled it out of my shirt and felt it grow in my hand. It was barely half full. I closed my eyes, unable to stand to look at it.
“What did you expect, my dear? It’s only been six years.”
Anger poured through me, mixed with fear, and I snapped my eyes open and looked at him. “I expect I work my ass off. I work nights and weekends and every holiday known to man and magic. I walk into war zones and hostage situations with only a gun and a few spells, and most of the time I do a damn good job. I expected more.”
“A lifetime of Glitter takes time to build up, but that’s not what this is about.”
“Evangeline has been here fourteen years in May. Clara and Jess, how long did they work for you full time?” I said, the frustration rising in me. “Did Clara actually pay you off, or did you demote her to part-time because she got too old? And Jess has so many brain injuries she ought to be collecting disability. I’m never getting out, Grimm. I’ll be doing this when I’m sixty, and I’ll still be alone.”
He held up one hand as if to stop me. “Clara has done favors for me for fifteen years. She has a grandson who has a condition I’m happy to help with in return. Jess I only call in emergencies, which this is. And if you will keep my confidence, Evangeline spends Glitter as fast as she earns it, and has ever since the accident. If you want a different life, make different choices.”
“I want to go see Liam.”
“No.”
“I sent a curse in his direction, I owe it to him to make sure he’s all right,” I said, trying not to let the desperation show through.
Grimm shook his head. “Most curses, particularly against high-value targets, are of a ransom nature. The most popular of the heart-seeker era was sleep. The prince rides in, kisses the maiden, and revives her. They live happily ever after because while the prince paid to have her cursed, he didn’t pay to have her killed. Your accidental prince is most likely having the afternoon nap of his life.”
“I want to be sure. You said you wanted to know exactly what was used against Mihail. I say Liam’s the answer.” I was on fire now, I knew I had him.
“He’s more like the problem where you are concerned, my dear. I will send Evangeline to check on him tomorrow. If he’s sleeping I’ll arrange a guard to make sure nothing improper happens to him.”
“I want to go,” I said, sounding more like a little girl than an adult.
Grimm leaned in as if getting a better look at me. “I think you underestimate your skills, Marissa. You are exceedingly good at what I ask you to do. For that reason, it is likely you are the last person he would want to see.”
Fourteen
I WAS IN Upper Kingdom, and it should have been fantastic, but my heart was in a speeding convertible breaking every traffic law available on its way to visit Liam. Liam Stone. He had a last name, and I got it from Evangeline before she left. I didn’t usually collect last names; they got to be a liability. I sat in a bus moving ever closer to the heart of Kingdom, only a few blocks from the palace itself.
Evangeline was checking in on my accidental prince, and I was doing homework on Ari’s almost one, trying to figure out how something as basic as a potion could have failed. The bus finally got to within a few blocks of my stop, and I walked without fear on the high streets of Kingdom. Here you were more likely to meet a king in his convertible or a queen returning from the spa than a dwarf or a witch. Everywhere I looked, I saw police. Some stood on street corners, some rode white horses through the crowds as they made way for yet another royal procession, completely fouling the bus schedules.
I walked up to the doorman and presented my Agency card. “Marissa Locks, here to see Queen Mihail. I have an appointment.” The Second Royal Family was orthodox. When the prince took the throne, he’d never use a first name again. It probably made telling whose coffee mug was whose more difficult.
In the old days each royal family built a castle. These days they owned skyscrapers. Somewhere at the top of that building I hoped I’d find answers to our princess problem. The doorman looked at my card, glanced at my Agency bracelet, and waved me in. I understood the look of disdain that he gave me. I was a fairy’s hired help, but at least I was human.
Truth was, Upper Kingdom was almost all humans. We pushed the dwarves and the elves and most all the other friendly creatures out to Middle Kingdom centuries ago. They could check our bags or deliver the mail, but actually live near the palace? No way. All the nasty things got to live in Lower Kingdom, kept in their own private slum.
Inside Mihail Tower, the lighting was clear and magical, giving the lobby soft shimmers that made the marble floor swim. The last time I saw an effect like that was when I mistakenly drank three Dixie cups of dwarvish liquor. That stuff tasted like cherry soda. Grimm said I proposed to the marble lion outside my apartment building and passed out in an ethanol coma. I never drank dwarvish liquor again.
I approached the elevator. No buttons, just a smooth, steel panel. As the minutes passed by, I waited and the elevator neither opened nor came. In frustration I slapped the steel panel. For my trouble I got a static shock that left my hand tingling. I heard the elevator coming from far above, a rattling hum that echoed through the metal. While I waited, a piano player tickled out a tune that echoed in the empty lobby. At last, the door opened and I stepped in. There was no elevator man, and no buttons.
It shot upward like a rocket. Gravity tried to pull my stomach out through my feet as I rose. The elevator doors slid open to reveal a suite entirely of windows, wide open. All around me was the city by day.
“Finally,” said a woman. I recognized her immediately as Queen Mihail. No flowing gowns or high crowns. She wore a clean-cut business suit and handed her tablet to an assistant as she strode across the marble to meet me. She wore flats, not heels. “I was wondering when the pawn would arrive.”