"We'll meet you in the back ballroom," he says, steering me into a side door. I watch the pixies swarm away before he shuts the door.
"Are those all the pixies there are?" I ask.
"No. Just most of the pixies in this region. The ones that belong to me."
"There's more than one region?"
"Of course."
"Right. Of course." I walk to the window and stare out at the snow.
"I'll leave you here to wait for your mother," he says. "I have preparations to make. Feel free to roam around the house, Zara, but I'm afraid you can't leave."
"So I'm a prisoner."
"A guest."
"Guests can leave," I say. I face him. "I want to see Jay Dahlberg."
He flinches.
"I insist," I say.
"He's upstairs. Two flights. Third door to the right. It's not pretty, Zara. But I can't hide what I am. What I need."
I take in the beautiful curtains, the leather couch, the plush-ness, the orchids everywhere. "None of this is pretty."
Once he's out the door I count to sixty and then I leave too. I walk up the white marble stairs with the dark red Afghani runner. One flight. Another. I pass pixies who glare at me, pixies who sniff the air. Their movements are too fluid for humans, their eyes too fierce. They look at me like prey. Some touch my arms, my hair, whispering, "Princess. Princess." It's all I can do not to tear out of here screaming. Instead, I just keep moving up and up till I'm on the third floor.
I count the doors to try to focus, to calm my heart, and then it'sthe door, the door that Jay Dahlberg should be behind. It's just a regular door, wooden, with a gold, shiny knob that's engraved with rune-like writing. I wonder how many prisoners are captured behind such ordinary doors. Pulling in a big breath, I turn the knob and open the door.
Jay Dahlberg is on top of the sheets of a large bed, twisted on his side. His arms are full of bite marks and he's only wearing boxers and a ripped-up T-shirt.
"Oh, Jay," I whisper and shut the door.
He doesn't stir as I step quietly across the plush carpet, another oriental, hand woven. Figures. He doesn't move as I touch his arm, right above five slashing marks, where they must have taken his blood.
His skin freezes against my fingertips. His skin pales beneath the fluorescent light. His back is carved with slashes and bruises.
"Jay?" I say, touching him a little more. "Jay?"
He moans. His eyelids flicker and open. His lips are cracked but still manage to move. "Hey, you're the new…"
"Girl. Yeah, I'm the new girl," I say for him. "I'm going to untie you and get you out of here."
His eyes shock wide open. "You can't. The pixies."
"I know all about the pixies," I say, working on the knots that bind his feet. "I do not give a rat's ass about the pixies. I am getting you out of here."
I start on the knots around his hands, but it's hard with my splint on. I finally get them and ease my good arm around his waist. "Can you stand?"
"Sure," he says, but he wobbles the moment his feet touch the ground. "Sorry."
"You can lean on me. It's okay, but there are a lot of stairs," I say. "We'll take it slow."
We are almost to the door when he stops. "New girl…"
"Zara."
It is an effort for him to speak. His body trembles away from my hands even though he needs me to hold him up. "He cut me. He licked my blood. And then they all do. It's like… it's like they're sucking your soul away. He could… he could do that to you."
"It's fine," I say. "I'll be fine. You are going to be fine. No one is going to hurt you again, okay? Not on my watch. Now, let's just get you out of here."
I open the door and listen. Nothing.
"Wait," I whisper. "Did you see any other guys here?"
He works to move his lips. "No."
"A boy? The Beardsley boy?"
"They said he was dead."
Anger knots inside of me, matching the ache of my broken arm. "I am getting you out of here."
We start down the hall. I think of all the stairs. I think of all the pixies. I do not care.
It isn't easy, but we make it down the hall, down one flight of stairs.
"Where are the pixies?" Jay whispers. "They'll suck on us. They'll come."
"I don't know. In the back room, I think. It's okay."
But then we hear voices, reaching up the final flight of stairs. The voices come from the front hall. My heart pains in my chest. This is not part of my plan. She shouldn't be here yet. She's supposed to be here later when everything is over.
"Yes, you got what you want, okay? I'm here." A woman's lilting voice says, shaking, trying to be tough, but not quite making it. Why couldn't she have just told me all this before? Why did she have to lie?
Because she wanted to keep me safe, I guess.
"My mom," I whisper to Jay.
"Your mom is here? Why is your mom here?" Jay totters against the banister.
"To save me." I pull him closer, trying to keep him upright.
He struggles to understand. "But you're saving me."
"I know, it's okay. Come on."
We make it halfway down the stairs and I can finally see what's going on. My mom is standing in the middle of the front hall, right on a large white square of granite. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest. The king stands on the black square next to her. The pixies are lined up on the walls again, surrounding them.
"It looks like a giant chess board," Jay whispers.
I haul him down another flight of stairs.
"You have no idea how much I've missed you," the king says.
My mother smirks. She does not say anything.
"You've made me wait a long time."
She rolls her eyes. I thought she only rolled her eyes at me. Jay and I make it down another step.
Nobody seems to notice.
Finally she says, "Your pixies attacked our daughter."
"They were renegades. They've been dispatched."
"Yes. By Betty."
He does this giant melodramatic sigh. "I have dispatched the others."
"The others?"
"It was quite the conspiracy. You know I lose my power when I don't have a queen with me. So upstarts who arc power hungry take advantage."
I'm not going to let him get away with this so I yell from the stairs, "You killed Brian Beardsley. Look at Jay. He's almost dead."
Everyone turns to look at us, including my mom. Her arms drop.
The pixie king throws his arms out to the sides. "You know I can't help it."
"You could just stop!" I yank Jay down another stair, closer to my mother, closer. She looks at me with panicked eyes. I'd like to hug her, even though I'm so mad at her. I'd like her to know that I forgive her, that I understand what she is trying to do. I focus on him, the king.
"It's in our nature," he says.
"Then change your nature. You don't have to torture. You don't have to kill."
"Then I would die. Then another pixie, perhaps one more cruel, one less enamored of human peculiarities will take my place."
"So?"
Both my parents look at me. Jay wobbles. I balance him.
"People die all the time for the greater good. It's called being a martyr. Plus, you were stalking me, calling me, trying to get me lost in the woods. That is a definite no-no in the Good Father Handbook," I explain, taking one more step and finally I'm on the flat floor. The pixies hiss like wild animals. They inch closer to me, sniffing the air, smelling Jay's blood probably, getting hungry, wanting to suck. The king motions for them to move back. They do, but you can tell they don't want to.
"I wanted you to come to me of your own free will," he says to me. "I wanted you to want to know your father."
"Get this straight, getting someone lost and confused is not having them 'come to you of their own free will.' Plus, you pretended to be my stepdad, which is just pure evil."