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22 pages

English

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Much as mortal youths once ran off to join the circus, this particular Sidhe ran off to join Actors' Equity. She's lived among us for over a century, but stage actress Juliet McKenna isn't immune to loneliness. So when a castmate invites her home for Thanksgiving, Juliet accepts.Her friend's brother sees through her magical disguise--and has the knowledge to trap her into slavery. Now she must choose: return to Faerie and the High Court's wrath, or satisfy Richmond Becket's desire for power at any cost--including her life.

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Short story

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Publié par	Uncial Press
Date de parution	01 janvier 0001
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781601740397
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0113€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Charmed, I'm Sure

A Fantasy Novel Byte
By
John C. Bunnell

Uncial Press Aloha, Oregon 2007

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are productsof the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Anyresemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirelycoincidental.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-039-7 ISBN 10: 1-60174-039-5
Copyright © 2007 by John C. Bunnell
Cover design by Judith B. Glad
All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work inwhole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known orhereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author or publisher.
Published by Uncial Press, an imprint of GCT, Inc.
Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com

for Kate Daniel, mistress of the Tale Spinners, who helpedbring Juliet to life
Charmed, I'm Sure
"Hand in hand, with fairy grace, Will we sing and bless thisplace."
So saying, I led the lord Oberon into a lively waltz, musing for at least the twenty-fourthtime on the irony of having been cast as Titania in a regional production of A MidsummerNight's Dream . I was, arguably, uniquely qualified for the part--and had received very goodnotices from Portland's two leading theater critics--but no one in the cast or crew had any ideathat their faerie queen was, in fact, one of the legendary Sidhe.
Ten minutes later, we had finished our curtain calls and I was backstage, removingmakeup and reaching for the box in which I kept my stage-wig between shows. Our director haddecided that my own fire-red hair was too bright compared to the rest of the cast. "Where willyou be for Thanksgiving, Juliet?" asked the show's Helena, Amy Becket, who was sitting at thevanity table next to mine and brushing powder out of her red-blonde curls.
"Right here, I expect," I said. "I'm told that Atwater's lays an excellent table." This was arestaurant--just down the street and thirty-odd floors up from the theater--whose cuisine I hadbeen awaiting a special occasion to sample.
"What? Surely you're not going to be all by yourself?"
"It appears so." I deposited the wig in its box and shook out my natural hair to its usualshoulder length.
"No family or relatives to spend the holiday with?" Amy persisted, still disbelieving.Then she stopped in mid-breath. "I'm sorry, I'm being pushy."
I smiled at her. "No harm done." It was, I belatedly realized, a logical question. "As forfamily--suffice to say that I disapproved of their plans for my life."
"So you ran away and joined the circus," Amy said, nodding. "Parents can be likethat."
"Indeed," I said. "I gather yours are more supportive."
Amy's expression turned serious. "Well, they were. They were killed in a car crash lastyear. Now there's just my brother..." Her face suddenly brightened. "I know! Why don't you comeand spend Thanksgiving with us? There's lots of room."
I considered. Living among mortals without betraying one's origins is no smallchallenge; doing so under a relative stranger's roof would be more difficult still. And yet theinvitation was tempting, more so than Amy could have guessed. After all, the Sidhe have theirown long-standing traditions of feasting and entertaining guests, and it had been a very long timesince I had sat at a proper banquet-table.
"If you're sure...." I said, cautiously polite. "I wouldn't wish to impose."
Amy swallowed. "Absolutely," she said. "The house is enormous; there'll be room tospare, and probably enough turkey to feed a marching band. And...I'd appreciate the company. It'sgoing to be strange not having Mom and Dad there. Please?" Though she tried to conceal it, Icould hear the slightly desperate note in her voice.
"Very well, then," I said. "I'd be honored."
"Oh, wonderful!" said Amy, almost too cheerfully. "I'll call Rich tonight and let himknow."
I should have remembered the other rule that applies to guests at High Court gatherings:one need not sing for one's supper, but one must frequently do so in order to leave the banquethall afterward.
* * * *
"Good heavens," I said as Amy turned her vintage Beetle through a tall iron gate onto awide, smooth-paved driveway. Towering evergreen trees ringed a lawn easily a half-acre in size,surprisingly well manicured considering western Washington's typically soggy Novemberweather. A rugged gray stone house, genuine-looking turrets rising from each end, stood beyondthe expanse of grass. The driveway curved into a loop in front of the house, and Amy pulled thecar to a stop precisely at the end of a short cobblestone walk leading to a suitably grand-lookingdouble front door. "It looks as if someone imported a castle stone by stone from the oldcountry."
Amy laughed. "Not exactly," she said. "When Dad's parents met in college, he was anarchitect, she was studying medieval history, and her family had more money than they knewwhat to do with. They let Grandfather design this house for Gran as a wedding present. Thelayout is mostly authentic, but he made allowances for things like plumbing and electricity, andMom and Dad did another round of updating after Grandfather died."
As she finished the sentence, a tall figure in a long black formal raincoat opened the car'spassenger door. That done, he stepped back to allow me room to get out, and opened a largeumbrella to shield me against the afternoon's rain. "Come in, please," he said. "Mr. Becket hasbeen expecting you. Wait a moment," he added to Amy as she opened her own door and, to judgeby the splashing sound, stepped squarely into a puddle. "I'll be right back as soon as Ms.McKenna is inside."
"Too late now, Martin," Amy said cheerily, heading for the front door at a brisk trot."You'll have to settle for drying out my sneakers. They're soaked."
Martin sighed softly as he led me up the walk at a more sedate pace. "Indeed, MissAmelia. I presume you'll wish to freshen up at once. Your room is ready. As is yours," he added,turning to me. "I'll show you there and see to your luggage."
I nodded politely. "Thank you," I said, restraining an impulse to offer him a tip. Aheadof us, Amy was already reaching for one of the door-handles, which were carved into the shapesof crescent moons, one waxing and one waning. Just as she grasped it, however, the oppositedoor swung outward, and a man's head emerged from around it.
"Amy! Hurry up and come in before you drown! You too--Miss McKenna, am Iright?"
His hair was lighter in tone than Amy's, but he had precisely the same angular nose,though his had a slender, stiffly waxed mustache beneath it. He also proved, as he swung thedoor wide for everyone to enter, to be shorter and more rotund than his sister. Once we wereinside, he and Martin firmly shut both double doors against the weather, and he favored Amywith a quick hug. Then he turned back to me with a pleased expression.
"Juliet McKenna, at your service," I said, executing a slight bow. "Please, call me Juliet.'Miss McKenna' leads one to expect a critical review in the New York Times."
He accepted my offered right hand with his, using a formal grip as if he meant to kiss it,then apparently changed his mind and covered them both with his left hand. "Richmond Becket,"he said cheerfully, "but call me Rich."
I cast an appraising eye over the foyer in which we stood, taking in the high ceiling, thedense, dark rug covering most of the polished stone floor, and the solid brass lamp-fixtures setinto the wall. "If you insist," I said. "I should think such an accurate nickname would be rather amixed blessing."
Amy sucked in a sharp breath, but her brother broke into laughter. "Point to you," hesaid between chuckles. "I daresay you're going to be one of the most entertaining visitors we'vehad in ages."
A few feet away, Martin coughed softly; his employer abruptly stepped back, a guiltylook crossing his face, and thrust his hands into the pockets of his gray corduroy trousers.