Fairytale (31 page)

And when Brigit walked away, as she must,
she’d be leaving behind a mannequin. A body without a soul. A man
with a heart pulverized to dust. And he knew it, and there was not
one damn thing he could do about it.

Two more days. For two more days, he could
love her.

And then he’d personally see to it that
Zaslow got his precious painting. And he’d keep the one Brigit had
made, and love it all the more. He’d see to it that old Raze was
safe and sound, and then he’d reunite Brigit with her sister. And
somehow, he’d find the ability to lead them to that place in the
woods he wasn’t even sure he could find anymore. And somewhere,
he’d find the strength to let her go.

***

She couldn’t wait. She couldn’t put this off.
Not any longer. Not now that she knew Adam would try to intervene.
To protect her. He’d get himself killed.

He’d never forgive her for going ahead
without him. She knew that. But the way she saw it, she had little
choice. Raze’s life was hanging in the balance and so would Adam’s
be, if she waited.

She had to get this over with, and the sooner
the better.

The thought of hurting Adam by leaving this
way twisted her insides into hard knots. He’d found her sister.
He’d given her something more precious to her than anything in the
world. He deserved so much more in return.

She slipped away from him late that
night.

They’d made love for hours, with the French
doors open wide, so they could hear the soft, swishing sounds of
the lake in the autumn breeze. He was exhausted, now, and lay
sleeping soundly as she tiptoed across the floor, through those
doors, and over the deck to slip into her own rooms.

And for one fanciful moment in time, she
wished that cave Adam had imagined in the woods would turn out to
be a real one. Because she’d like to go there. She’d like to crawl
through it and find herself in another world. A fantasy world
without such things as hurt and betrayal.

Was there such a place? Could there be? Would
she ever see it?

She went to the closet to check the painting
one more time. She’d make sure it was perfect before she continued
in this dangerous plan. She opened the closet door, and brought her
painting out. She held it at arm’s length, her eyes running over
its familiar colors and swirls.

And then they halted on something she hadn’t
seen before. She squinted, still unsure. It might just be a twig,
or a falling, misshapen leaf.

But no, it couldn’t be. She set the painting
down and took her glasses from where she’d left them on the
dressing table. She slipped them on, picked the painting up again,
and studied it intently.

The shape rested in a spot that would be
right about the breastbone of the woman who stood in the water.
Though that part of her body was hidden by leaves and rushes. The
pendant shone through. No more than a darker shadow amidthe
greenery. But there, all the same.

Brigit lifted her hand, her fingertips
clasping her own pewter fairy and quartz crystal.

“No,” she whispered, blinking in shock. “It
can’t be...”

But it was. She knew, deep in her gut where
you knew things despite what made sense and what didn’t—she knew.
That fairy in the painting, the one who looked so much like Brigit,
only untamed and wild, wore the same necklace. “How?”

The telephone’s shrill call made her jerk her
head around. Her eyes widened at the thought of its noise waking
Adam, and she laid the painting across the bed, snatching the thing
up before it could jangle again.

“Brigit?”

She grated her teeth at the sound of Zaslow’s
voice. “What do you want?”

“Is it done?”

“It’s done.” She closed her eyes, the
finality of her words weighing heavy on her shoulders.

“Good. We can make the exchange—”

“Tonight,” she said quickly. “I want this
over with, Zaslow. The sooner the better.”

“Good.”

She thought about Adam, thought about how
hurt he’d be when he realized what she’d done.

“Maybe...maybe tomorrow would be—”

“No. Tonight, like you said. Don’t try
changing your mind, now.”

“But—”

“Raze is sick, Brigit.”

The blood left her head in a rush that made
her dizzy. Her stomach convulsed at the words. “What do you
mean?”

“I mean what I said. He’s sick. Feverish.
Talking crazy and thrashing around in his sleep. He has the
shakes.”

“Get him to a hospital, Zaslow. Do it now.
Call an ambulance and—”

“Not on your life, honey. Listen and listen
good. Make the switch. Do it tonight. Bring the original to
Binghamton. You know where that is, don’t you? About an hour south
of you.”

She gave her head a shake at the shock that
rippled through her at his words. Binghamton. That was where her
sister was...”

“Why there?” she whispered, unable, suddenly,
to speak in a normal tone of voice.

“Because my client is meeting me there later.
Bring the painting to the ball park, Brigit. Raze says you know
where that is.”

She knew, all right. She and Raze had gone
there often to watch the local double-A team play baseball.

“The place will be deserted this time of
night. There’s a chain-link fence between the diamond and the
parking lot. You know where I mean?”

She nodded and said yes, tears scalding her
cheeks as she heard a hoarse moan in the background that had to be
Raze.

“Meet me there in two hours,” Zaslow went
on.

“One hour,” she shot back. “Sooner if I can
make it. Bring Raze, Zaslow. Bring him with you or I swear I’ll
slash that damned painting to ribbons.”

“I’ll bring him all right. And if you try to
pull anything on me, Brigit, I’ll be the one doing the
slashing.”

The phone clicked in her ear. Brigit drew a
deep, shuddering breath, and replaced the receiver. Then, trembling
all over, she stepped out onto the deck and crossed to Adam’s
doors, to peer inside.

He thought he heard the phone, but he fell
back into a contented doze so fast, he was never sure. And moments
later, he vaguely recognized her scent. That intoxicating, roses
and honey aroma she seemed to exude, and he relaxed again. Good, he
thought, in the mists of his slumber. She’s coming back to bed. I
just want to hold her. Forever. Two days will never be long
enough.

She came close, very close. He felt her
presence as surely as he felt the cool breeze rushing in through
the open doors, even in his half-asleep state. And then he felt her
lips on his cheek, feather-light, so brief. Barely lifting away
from his skin, they moved, and her whisper was no more than a
fairy’s breath in his ear, barely audible. Perhaps he even imagined
it. Because it couldn’t be real. She couldn’t have just whispered,
“I love you, Adam Reid.”

And like the autumn breeze, she blew away.
The doors closed, and that sense of her was gone.

Adam waited, groggily expecting to feel her
body rolling up against his, her arms wrapping around his waist as
she came back to bed. But he didn’t. And gradually, that lonely
feeling woke him up. He rolled over, sat up in bed, his lips
forming her name, though he didn’t speak it aloud. His body shook,
and his throat tried to close itself off. Where was she? What was
going on?

Drawing a shaky breath, Adam tried to tell
himself the feeling of foreboding that crept up his spine was
imaginary and didn’t mean a damned thing. He tossed the covers
aside and put his feet down on the soft carpeting. Imagination took
wing, telling him he could feel the warm imprints her bare feet had
made in the pile. Foolishness, of course.

He half-turned, reaching for the lamp, but
something glimmered there on the pillow, and he paused, frowning.
And then he saw it and drew in a sharp breath. The necklace. The
one she never took off, lay there on his pillow. My God, she’d left
it for him. And that could only mean she didn’t plan to come
back.

Adam’s heart sank in a quagmire, even as he
lunged from the bed. His hand closed around the dainty fairy as he
lifted it, held it front of him and stared for a split second, as
it swung from its chain. Moving automatically now, and quickly, he
fastened the thin chain around his own neck. The pain constricting
his heart was almost crippling. But somehow, he managed to get
moving. To pull on the jeans he’d left tossed on the floor. To
stuff his feet into shoes. He didn’t even bother with a shirt.

He couldn’t let her leave. He just couldn’t.
Not like this. Not until he talked to her, told her...

He yanked the bedroom door open and stepped
into the hall. From where he stood he had a clear view of the study
below. And he saw the stepladder under his painting of Rush—or was
it hers? And he heard the door slam, and then a car spitting gravel
as it tore away.

Jesus Christ. She was going ahead with this
thing alone! He raced down the stairs, pausing at the bottom to
snatch his keys off the stand where he always left them. But they
weren’t there. Instead, there was a note.

And he picked it up, his hands trembling.

I don’t know what I am, Adam. But thanks to
you, I think I might be more than I’d ever believed I could be. You
gave me back my childhood dreams, and I’ll always be grateful to
you for that.

I don’t know what’s going to happen to me
tonight. I only know that I love you too much to let you follow me,
and end up getting hurt or killed because of the foolish mistakes I
made in the past. You deserve so much more, and a woman far better
than I’ve ever been. Find her. Do it for me.

I’m sorry, but I’ve taken both sets of your
car keys. If I can, I’ll mail them to you when this is over.

I’ll always love you, Adam. Always. No matter
what.

Brigit

Adam turned in a slow circle, frustration
burning a hole through his chest as liquid heat swam in his eyes.
Tears. Goddamn, he hadn’t shed a tear since he was seven years old.
Hell, Brigit had accomplished the impossible. She’d taught him how
to cry again. And how to love.

She’s close to you now! Closer than ever!

Bridin woke to those words ringing through
her psyche. She lay still in the familiar bed; the bed she’d slept
in for most of her life. But in her soul, she knew this would be
the last time she’d wake here. Her battle of wills with the Dark
Prince would end today. But the war would be far from over. Just
beginning, in fact.

Things would change then. No more would he
look in on her when he believed her to be sleeping. No more would
she be the helpless prisoner, locked in his castle tower and
totally dependent on him for her every need. No more.

Once she returned to Rush, she’d be restored
to power. And she’d be obliged to destroy him.

It occurred to her then that she didn’t even
know his given name. She never had. When his family had been
banished to the dark side centuries ago, the name had been
outlawed. No one could utter it in Rush ever again. His family were
the dark ones, and the name he used in this realm, Darque, was only
an extension of that.

Not that it mattered. Not now. Her time had
come. All these years she’d awaited this day, and now it was here.
She knew...it was time.

The Dark Prince must sense something was
about to happen. She could feel his nervousness, hear him pacing in
the room beside hers. He would not be an easy man to trick. His
keen mind would spot the slightest flaw in her performance. But she
suspected she held the weapon that would make her the victor in
this particular battle.

He couldn’t hurt her. And not just because of
the pendant she wore. There was more. All these years he’d held her
prisoner, watched her grow and change, as she’d watched him remain
the same. Dark, charismatic, and utterly evil. But he’d never been
cruel to her, despite that she was his sworn enemy. And she’d been
sure to look deeply into his eyes whenever he approached her. She
knew she possessed that fairy allure, so dangerous to mortal and
fay males alike. And she’d focused that allure on the Dark Prince,
praying he’d be susceptible as well. That she could soften his
barren, black heart toward her...just a little bit. Just
enough.

She’d soon find out whether her attempts had
been successful.

She relaxed her body, muscle by muscle, and
focused on a single spot on the white ceiling above her. She
concentrated, waiting for the knowledge to come to her. She’d know
what to do. She’d know exactly what to do.

Staring at the ceiling, but not seeing it,
she pictured her sister’s beautiful face, put Brigit foremost in
her mind, just the way she had imagined her. The way she’d painted
her. And she concentrated. When she’d focused every part of
herself, mind and spirit on her sister, she consciously relaxed,
letting her mind open like the petals of a flower in the sun. And
she knew what she had to do.

She had to get sick. Very sick. Sick enough
so they’d take her from this place to a hospital. She wasn’t sure
why she was supposed to do that, or even if she could do it, but
she would certainly try.

Her focus shifted. She concentrated now on
the physical rather than the spiritual. And as she willed it, so it
happened. Her state altered, and her breathing slowed. Her heart
rate followed suit, and her body temperature dropped.

Yes. That’s it. But more. Just a bit
more.

Focus. She tapped the strength of her will,
used all the power she had. And consciousness began to recede. Not
enough oxygen now, she supposed, to maintain it. She reached for
the lace doily on her bedside stand, caught it, and tugged until
the lamp that rested atop it crashed to the floor. That done, she
rolled onto her side, close to the bed’s edge. Teetering now. This
experiment could kill her. She must be careful.