St. Martin’s Press

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. ALL OF THE CHARACTERS, ORGANIZATIONS, AND EVENTS PORTRAYED IN THIS STORY ARE EITHER PRODUCTS OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY.

“Remedial Magic”

Copyright © 2010 by Jenna Black.

All rights reserved.

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Contents

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Preview

About the Author

Hi, my name is Ethan’s Little Sister. Actually, no, it isn’t. My name is Kimber, but no one really seems to care. I’m the brains in the family—the only fifteen-year-old ever to be admitted to Avalon U.—but is anyone impressed by my mad academic skilz? Uh, no. I’m two years younger than Ethan, and I’m in college while he’s still in high school, but he’s the magical wiz-kid, and I’m the family embarrassment.

No, I’m not at all bitter about it. Why do you ask?

I walked home from class on a Friday afternoon, a bundle of nerves and excitement, despite the voice of doom—or, some might say, the voice of reason—in the back of my head telling me not to get my hopes up. Tonight, I was going to stop feeling like a miserable failure for my lack of magic skills, and I was going to do something about it. Never mind that according to conventional wisdom magic can’t be taught. Dee Dee Bishop said she could teach me, and I was prepared to believe her.

I let myself in to my house, hoping and praying that everyone kept to their usual schedules. Dad was a total workaholic, and I swear if he didn’t think it would make him an irresponsible parent, he’d have just camped out at his office each night. My mom had been out of the picture since I was ten, when she decided she preferred living in Faerie to living in Avalon. And this being a Friday, Ethan was sure to be out on the town with his latest girl-du-jour.

The house was quiet as I closed the door behind myself, and I let out a breath of relief. The one sure way for my magic tutoring plan to fail was for Dee Dee to run into Ethan. Living with Ethan was like having a rock star and a pro athlete all rolled into one in the house. Girls might not shriek out loud and faint when they see him, but it’s pretty close. When I was in high school, my friends were too young for him to notice, but Dee Dee was eighteen and fair game. If she got caught in Ethan’s orbit, he’d eventually break her heart and she’d end up hating me for it.

When the doorbell rang—right on time—I had to take a deep breath to calm down. Please, please let Dee Dee be able to help me, I prayed. Just once, I wanted to see my father be really and truly proud of me, to see me standing there, no longer hidden by Ethan’s shadow. And hell, if I could take Ethan’s ego down a notch or three while I was at it, that would be even better. My hands were sweating as I opened the door, but I told myself to smile, and my lips obeyed.

Like me, Dee Dee is Fae, though unlike me she was actually born in Faerie and didn’t move to Avalon—the only place where Faerie and the mortal world intersect—until she was twelve. Maybe that’s why she was so good at magic, though objectively it shouldn’t matter. Magic is an almost sentient force, and though it’s native to Faerie, technically Avalon is part of Faerie, even though it’s part of the mortal world, too. But seeing as magic is almost sentient, it’s possible it “likes” people who were born in Faerie proper better than it “likes” people who were born in Avalon. Then again, it’s positively in love with Ethan, and he was born in Avalon.

I led Dee Dee upstairs to my bedroom, chewing my lip the whole way. I’m not usually this nervous, but it was one thing to admit to a powerful Fae that I wasn’t very good at magic, and it was another to show her just how good I wasn’t. I’m not a big fan of humiliation, though I was prepared to endure it if that was what it took to fix me.

I got my first dose the moment Dee Dee stepped into my bedroom, because her eyes went immediately to the collection of teddy bears arranged on a shelving unit across from my bed. The three-year age difference between us was already enough to make a friendship feel just a little awkward, but the stupid bears were something you’d find in the room of a twelve-year-old. My face heated, and I hoped I wasn’t blushing as hard as I thought I was.

“My mom gave me the one on the bottom left when I was ten, right before she left for Faerie,” I explained, gesturing at the rather ordinary-looking brown bear with its button eyes and plaid bowtie. There was nothing particularly special about it, but it was the last tie I had to my mother, and that made it precious.  Afraid to look at Dee Dee, I plucked the bear off the shelf and fidgeted with his bowtie. “It has sentimental value, but my dad somehow decided that because I liked this one, I must love teddy bears.”  I grimaced at this further evidence of how little my dad actually saw me. “Now he gets me a teddy bear for my birthday and Christmas every year.” Worse, Ethan had picked up the habit, too, so my closet was full of the bears that wouldn’t fit on the shelves.

I risked a glance at Dee Dee and was relieved she wasn’t giving me a pitying or condescending look.

“Why don’t you just tell him the truth?” she asked, quite reasonably.

I shrugged and put my mother’s bear back on the shelf. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve just let it go on too long already.” But actually, I did know, and it was a whole lot more pathetic than that. I didn’t want to tell Dad I didn’t like the bears because I was too grateful for the scraps of affection he threw my way. So I displayed the bears proudly on my bedroom wall, even though they embarrassed me. How messed up is that?

Dee Dee let the subject drop, for which I was grateful, then moved to sit cross-legged on my bed, beckoning me to follow. I sat facing her, my nerves flaring again at the thought of demonstrating my incompetence.

“Where would you say your main problem lies?” she asked me. “Is it with gathering the magic or with commanding it?”

There are two steps to casting a successful spell. The first is to pull magic to you. The more magic you can pull, the more powerful a spell you can cast. Once you’ve pulled in the magic, you have to communicate to it what you want it to do. Traditionally, that’s the hard part. You’re trying to communicate with a force that isn’t quite sentient and doesn’t speak any language known to mankind. In fact, the words you speak to cast a spell are irrelevant, kind of like the commands you use when you’re training a dog. You can train a dog to sit when you say “hippopotamus” if you want to, and it’s the same with magic.

“I suck at both of them,” I admitted reluctantly. I can manage the basic spells any Fae child can do, but anything above that is out of my league.

Dee Dee frowned. “Well, I suppose if you have trouble gathering a lot of magic, you haven’t had a chance to try more complex commands. Maybe if we give you enough magic to work with, you’ll have an easier time commanding it.”

“I guess,” I conceded, though I wasn’t completely convinced. It seemed I had more trouble than most commanding even the scant amount of magic I could pull, and it was hard to imagine adding more magic to the mix was going to help. Still, if Dee Dee thought it might work, I was willing to try.

“Is there a particular spell you’d like to work on? One you don’t have enough oomph to carry off?”

There were a lot of them, but one in particular leapt to mind. “Telekinesis.” It was one of those spells that Ethan was ridiculously good at. The jerk could lift a freaking car with just a couple of muttered words, and it was easy for him. I, on the other hand, couldn’t even pick up a pencil reliably.

Dee Dee brightened. “Oh, that one’s kind of easy,” she said.

I winced, because, of course, I knew it was easy. Or at least should be.

Dee Dee laughed and waved her hand at me. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean it’s easy for me to help with.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and pull as much magic as you can. Then I’ll pull some more and feed it to you so you can cast the spell. Maybe try to bring your mother’s teddy bear over—it’s light and it has sentimental value, so that might help.”

I worried that even with Dee Dee’s help, I wasn’t going to be able to pull it off. After all, even if I had enough magic to work the spell, I still had to actually, you know, work the spell.

“All right,” I told her, and tried to quell the doubts so they wouldn’t get in my way.

I took a deep, calming breath, then reached out to the magic that permeated the air of Avalon. It came sluggishly to my call, as if I was dragging it kicking and screaming toward me instead of coaxing it. The magic made my skin prickle, like there were hundreds of tiny electric shocks pinging against me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dee Dee frowning, no doubt underwhelmed by the miniscule amount of magic I was able to call. When I could pull no more, I gave her an embarrassed smile, and she nodded in acknowledgment. I held on to the magic I had pulled as she cast out her own net.

I almost lost my grip on the magic I had gathered when the prickling on my skin intensified tenfold in approximately two seconds. Whereas I’d had to drag the magic to me by brute force, it was rushing toward her like a puppy expecting a treat. She wasn’t as powerful as Ethan—I always felt like I was going to die of electric shock when he was pulling magic—but she was definitely a heavyweight.

Calmly, she turned to me. “I’m going to send this magic your way,” she said. “It’s more than enough for telekinesis.”

Yeah, she had that right. If I wanted to, I could probably get the whole wall to come to me with that much magic. Well, no, if Dee Dee wanted to, she could get the wall to come. It was yet to be seen whether I could even get one stuffed bear to move.

Focusing my will, I stared at my mom’s teddy bear, visualizing what I wanted to happen, visualizing the bear sailing through the air that separated us. Even though I’d never had real success with this spell, I had tried it many times, and I already had established the words “hocus pocus” as my spell trigger. I’d have loved to have changed them—hell, even my choice of trigger words was embarrassing—but that would be a recipe for disaster.

Mumbling the words in hopes that Dee Dee wouldn’t hear them, I cast my spell, uncomfortably aware of just how much magic was hovering in the room, how much power was at my fingertips. Perhaps I shouldn’t have had Dee Dee feed me so much, but it was too late to back out now.

At first, I thought the spell had failed utterly, and my heart sank. The bear remained sitting on the shelf where I’d left him, though I could tell that the magic had moved away from me because the prickling sensation had faded to a more comfortable level. I opened my mouth to make some self-deprecating remark to Dee Dee when suddenly the bear stood up.

I gasped in surprise, staring at the teddy bear that now stood impossibly on its hind legs, button eyes scanning the room until they locked on me. The mouth, which was nothing but a length of yarn sewn into the faux-fur, opened, showing a set of very convincing-looking teeth.

“Oh, shit,” Dee Dee and I said together as the bear launched himself off of the shelf toward me.

I screamed and dove to the side. Yes, the bear was sort of following my magical command, but no, it didn’t look like it was coming for a cuddle. Not the way it was baring those impossible teeth.

The bear landed on the bed, right where I had been, and I heard the snap of its teeth coming together as I leapt to my feet. It turned to me and snarled.

“A little help!” I gasped at Dee Dee. I was trying to call the magic back, but it was a feeble effort. If it was more magic than I could handle, then it was probably more magic than I could un-handle.

“I’m trying!” Dee Dee said, her face white and her eyes wide. Then, “Look out!” Her gaze was fixed on something behind me.

Instinctively, I ducked. Something sailed over my head, and when I looked up, I saw that three more bears had joined my mother’s teddy bear on the bed, none of them looking even remotely cute or cuddly. They leapt at me again. I dodged wildly and slammed into the front of my dresser hard enough to rattle the collection of perfumes I kept on its top. I let out a startled shriek, because although none of the bears had hit me head on, one had managed to rake its claws over my arm, and it stung like hell.

Dee Dee had plastered herself against the wall, looking. Don’t ask me why—it wasn’t like the bears were attacking her. Maybe she was still trying the corral her magic, maybe not. Either way, she didn’t look like she was going to be any help.

One of the bears had landed on my desk, and with a snarl he knocked my laptop into the wall, the impact so hard the plaster cracked and the laptop ricocheted to the floor. Small or not, the creature was powerful, and I was in a shitload of trouble.

I looked frantically from side to side in search of something I could use to defend myself. The only thing that looked like it might be even vaguely helpful was a padded lap desk, which I snatched off the floor and held in front of me like a shield.

As soon as I grabbed the lap desk, my mother’s bear charged me again, leaping high, its claws and teeth aiming straight for my face. It was Dee Dee’s turn to scream. I didn’t have time for anything more than a gasp. I swung the lap desk hard, hitting the bear and swatting it away from me. It twisted in mid-air like a cat, so that when it hit the full-length mirror on the back of my door, it hit with extended claws.

The mirror shattered with the impact. The bear on my desk was still busily knocking things off, concentrating on those things that would most easily break. Another of the bears was on the duvet, raking his claws over the fabric, then grabbing out big mouthfuls of stuffing, interrupting its work only long enough to growl at Dee Dee when she dared to move.

My mother’s bear sat on the floor in the midst of the mirror shards, eyeing me with predatory calculation. It grabbed a shard as large and sharp as a kitchen knife, giving me a teeth-baring grin as it pulled back its arm to throw. Meanwhile, the fourth bear, who wasn’t occupied with destroying my room, readied itself to pounce. I knew that both attacks were going to come at the same time, and that I could only deflect one.

Whimpering from somewhere deep in my throat, I kept my eye on the mirror shard, figuring if I didn’t deflect that, it could be a fatal error.

My mother’s bear was just about to let loose with its weapon when my bedroom door burst open, knocking the bear to the side.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Ethan yelled as he stepped in the door.

I was too busy deflecting the other bear’s charge to answer his question. Not that I could have given him a good answer if I’d tried. Failing to execute the spell was bad enough, but this unmitigated disaster elevated me from miserable failure to a menace to society. To have Mr. Magical Perfection witness my massive screw-up was almost unbearable.

Ethan took in the scene with a sweeping glance as all four bears once again set their sights on me, perhaps sensing that they were running out of time. Ethan is an arrogant bastard who annoys the crap out of me, but one thing I’ll say for him: he’s a good ally to have in a fight. He must have been pretty damn startled by what he saw, but he reacted with lightning reflexes.

The bears all charged at once, their most coordinated attack yet. There was no way I could block them all, and even if they didn’t manage to kill me, they were certainly going to hurt me pretty badly.

Suddenly, the level of magic in the room intensified, the air thinning as if it was being crowded out by the magic. It was more power than I’d ever felt Ethan pull before, and if I hadn’t been so scared of the damn bears, the power itself probably would have terrified me.

“Undo!” Ethan bellowed, emphasizing the command with a sweeping arm gesture.

The bears simply…exploded in mid charge. Every seam in every bear split wide open, the stuffing falling out. Eyes dropped off, as well as plastic noses and yarn mouths. When the magic cleared, the bears were nothing but indistinct piles of fabric, plastic, thread, and stuffing. It was only then that I realized I was shaking like a leaf, my knees wobbly and knocking together. I lowered myself to the floor and sat before I fell.

What Ethan had just done should have been impossible. I was willing to bet my life that he hadn’t trained up a tear-apart-teddy-bears spell before he stepped into this room. To craft a spell like that should have taken hours of trial and error, but Ethan had done it in a matter of seconds. Across the room, I could see Dee Dee staring at him like he was the Second Coming. If he’d wanted to show off his amazing powers, I doubt he could have manufactured a better way to do it than what I had just given him.

“Everyone okay?” he asked, coming quickly to my side.

I was too humiliated to say anything—even thank you—as he peered at the slashes the bear’s claws had made in my arm. Magic tingled over my skin as Ethan whispered a spell and the wounds closed up, the stinging pain vanishing as if it had never existed.

“How did you do that?” Dee Dee asked, sliding off the bed and still looking at Ethan in total awe. Notice how she wasn’t asking if I was okay. It was like I’d ceased to exist once he’d walked into the room. This was what I call the Ethan Effect, when perfectly sensible girls’ brains turn to useless mush. Human girls swoon at his feet because he’s good-looking, but it takes more than good looks to catch a Fae girl’s eyes. After all, a touch of glamour can make a troll look like a prince, so beauty really is only skin deep. But even when he isn’t doing magic, there’s an aura of power and confidence around Ethan that draws Fae girls to him like ants to a picnic.

I should have been grateful to Ethan for coming in and saving the day. After all, if he hadn’t shown up, I would have been in bad, bad shape by now. And maybe later, when I’d calmed down a bit, I’d find the grace to thank him. But not only was I completely humiliated by how horribly wrong my spell had gone, having Ethan have to come in and save me added a huge dose of insult to the injury. I have never been the picture of grace under fire when Ethan’s around anyway, and with Dee Dee giving him goo-goo eyes like that, I just couldn’t contain myself.

“What are you doing home?” I asked my brother, more to remind Dee Dee that I still existed than because cared. I knew from experience that trying to warn girls off never worked, but that didn’t stop me from trying. “Shouldn’t you be off shagging the flavor of the week?”

That got Dee Dee’s attention, but not for the right reasons. She looked at me in horrified shock. Then her face set into a scowl, as if I’d just insulted the love of her life.

Ethan shook his head at me reproachfully. “It’s that time of the month again?” he asked in mock surprise.

Dee Dee giggled, as if he’d said something remarkably witty and clever. I rolled my eyes and wished I were an only child. Obviously, my magic lessons were over. Yeah, I know, they probably would have been—and certainly should have been—even if Dee Dee wasn’t already succumbing to the Ethan Effect. But I couldn’t help feeling that Ethan was about to steal my friend when he’d already long ago stolen my pride.

You see, the fact is, I’d never really expected my lessons with Dee Dee to suddenly make me into a competent spell caster. I’d had hopes, of course, but that hadn’t been the point of the lessons. The point had been to spend time with one of my classmates, to try to make a connection and have a real live friend. Believe me, that’s hard to do when you’re a fifteen-year-old college freshman.

Ethan gave Dee Dee his God’s-gift-to-women smile, and it made me want to puke. I swear, he’s never met a girl he didn’t immediately want to shag. She, of course, ate it up, blushing and batting her eyelashes at him.

“Do I even want to know what the two of you were up to?” Ethan asked Dee Dee while giving me a sidelong look that said he knew perfectly well that whatever had gone wrong was my fault.

Dee Dee smiled at him. “Probably not.”

I sighed, knowing a lost cause when I saw it. Ethan was going to make a play for Dee Dee, and by the time he was done with her—which with his track record would be in a couple of weeks—she was going to hate me by association. I tried to tell myself it was good riddance. After all, if she were really good friendship material, she probably wouldn’t start ignoring me the moment she caught sight of Ethan. Not to mention that she hadn’t even tried to help me when the bears attacked. If they’d attacked her, you can bet I’d have done something more useful than plaster myself to the wall and scream.

But I couldn’t help mourning the loss. I’d give anything to have a real friend. One who didn’t care about my magical shortcomings, one who liked me for who I am, not for what I can do. One who could be in the same room with both me and Ethan and still remember I existed.

Dee Dee departed on Ethan’s arm, leaving me alone in the shambles of my bedroom. The place was a freaking disaster area, and I needed to clean up the mess before my dad got home. Ethan wouldn’t tattle on me—I have to grudgingly admit he has some redeeming qualities—which meant if I could hide all the evidence, my dad never had to know what a complete fool I’d made of myself.

It wasn’t until I picked up the bowtie that had adorned my mother’s bear that I fully understood what I had lost that afternoon. Not just my dignity, or my hope, or my friend. But also the teddy bear that represented my last link to my mother. My eyes filled with tears, and no matter how glad I was that Ethan had saved me, I couldn’t help wishing he’d found some other way to do it.

Heartsick, I fastened the plaid bowtie on one of the surviving bears, knowing that although it was Ethan who’d cast the spell that destroyed the bear, I had only myself to blame. From now on, I vowed, I was going to be satisfied with what little magic I had. I was going to be proud of myself for my academic achievements, and I was going to stop feeling like a pathetic loser. I was even going to stop comparing myself to Ethan.

Too bad there wasn’t enough magic in all of Faerie to make a vow like that come true.

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Prologue

The absolute last straw was when my mom showed up at my recital drunk. I don’t mean tipsy—I mean staggering, slurring, everyone-knows drunk. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, she was late, too, so that when she pushed through the doors and practically fell into a metal folding chair at the back, everyone turned to glare at her for interrupting the performance.

Standing in the wings, I wanted to sink through the floor in embarrassment. Ms. Morris, my voice teacher, was the only one in the room who realized the person causing the disruption was my mother. I’d very carefully avoided any contact between my mom and the students of this school—my newest one, and the one I hoped to graduate from if we could manage two full years in the same location just this once.

When it was my turn to perform, Ms. Morris gave me a sympathetic look before she put her hands on the piano. My face felt hot with embarrassment, and my throat was so tight I worried my voice would crack the moment I opened my mouth.

My voice is naturally pretty—a result of my ultra-secret, hush-hush Fae heritage. Truthfully, I didn’t need the voice lessons, but summer vacation was going to start in a few weeks, and I’d wanted an excuse that would get me out of the house now and then but wouldn’t require a huge time commitment. Voice lessons had fit the bill. And I enjoyed them.

My heart beat hard against my chest, and my palms sweated as Ms. Morris played the introduction. I tried to concentrate on the music. If I could just get through the song and act normal, no one in the audience had to know that the drunken idiot in the back was related to me.

Finally, the intro was over, and it was time for me to start. Despite my less-than-optimal state of mind, the music took over for a while, and I let the beauty of “Voi che sapete,” one of my favorite Mozart arias, wash over me. Traditionally sung by a woman pretending to be a young boy, it was perfect for my clear soprano, with the hint of vibrato that added a human touch to my otherwise Fae voice.

I hit every note spot on, and didn’t forget any of my lyrics. Ms. Morris nodded in approval a couple times when I got the phrasing just the way she wanted it. But I knew I could have done better, put more feeling into it, if I hadn’t been so morbidly aware of my mom’s presence.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I was done. Until the applause started, that is. Most of the parents and other students gave a polite, if heartfelt, round of applause. My mom, on the other hand, gave me a standing ovation, once more drawing all eyes to her. And, of course, revealing that she was with me.

If lightning had shot from the heavens and struck me dead at that moment, I might have welcomed it.

I shouldn’t have told her about the recital, but despite the fact that I knew better, there’d been some part of me that wished she would show up to hear me sing, wished she’d applaud me and be proud like a normal mother. I’m such a moron!

I wondered how long it would take the story to make the rounds of this school. At my previous school, when one of the bitchy cheerleader types had run into me and my mom when we were shopping—a task she was barely sober enough to manage—it had taken all of one day for the entire school to know my mom was a drunk. I hadn’t exactly been part of the popular crowd even before, but after that…Well, let’s just say that for once I was glad we were moving yet again.

I was sixteen years old, and we’d lived in ten different cities that I could remember. We moved around so much because my mom didn’t want my dad to find me. She was afraid he’d try to take me away from her, and considering she isn’t exactly a study in parental perfection, he just might be able to do it.

I’d never met my dad, but my mom had told me all about him. The story varied depending on how drunk and/or depressed she was feeling at the time. What I’m pretty sure is true is that my mom was born in Avalon and lived there most of her life, and that my dad is some kind of big-deal Fae there. Only my mom hadn’t realized who he was when she started messing around with him. She found out right about the time she got pregnant with me, and she left home before anyone knew.

Sometimes, my mom said she’d run away from Avalon because my dad was such a terrible, evil man that he’d be sure to abuse me in horrible ways if I lived with him. That was the story she told when she was sober, the story she built to make sure I was never interested in meeting him. “He’s a monster, Dana,” she’d say, explaining why we had to move yet again. “I can’t let him find you.”

But when she was drunk out of her gourd and babbling at me about whatever entered her mind at the moment, she’d say she’d left Avalon because if I’d stayed there, I’d have been caught up in some kind of nasty political intrigue, me being the daughter of a high muckety-muck Fae and all. When she was in one of these moods, she’d go on and on about how great a guy my dad was, how she’d loved him more than life itself, but how her duty as a mother had to come first. Gag!

I wanted to slink away from the recital before it was even over, but I didn’t dare. It was possible my mom was dumb enough to have actually driven here, and there was no way I could let her drive back home in the state she was in. I had the guilty thought—not for the first time—that my life might improve if she got herself killed in a car wreck. I was ashamed of myself for letting the thought enter my head. Of course I didn’t want my mother to die. I just wanted her not to be an alcoholic.

Ms. Morris took me aside as soon as everyone was done, and the sympathy in her eyes was almost too much to bear. “Do you need any help, Dana?” she asked me quietly.

I shook my head and refused to meet her gaze. “No. Thank you. I’ll…take care of her.” My face was hot again, so I made my escape as quickly as possible, avoiding the other students who wanted to either congratulate me on my brilliant performance (yeah, right!) or try to get the full scoop on my mom so they could tell all their friends.

Mom was trying to mingle with the other parents when I walked up to her. She was too out of it to pick up on the subtle you’re-a-drunk-leave-me-alone vibes they were giving her. Still feeling like everyone was staring at me, I took hold of her arm.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Dana!” she practically shouted. “You were wonderful!” She threw her arms around me like she hadn’t seen me in three years and gave me a smothering hug.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” I forced myself to say as I wriggled out of her hug and began heading for the door with her in tow. She didn’t seem to mind being dragged across the room, so at least that was a plus. This could have been worse, I tried to tell myself.

I didn’t have to ask Mom whether she’d driven, because the minute we stepped outside, I could see our car, parked so crookedly it had taken up about three spaces. I said a silent prayer of thanks that she hadn’t managed to kill anyone.

I held out my hand to her. “Keys.”

She sniffed and tried to look dignified. Hard to do when she had to clutch the railing to keep from falling headfirst down the steps that led to the parking lot. “I am perfectly capable of driving,” she informed me.

Anger burned in my chest, but I knew exactly how much good it would do me to explode, no matter how much I wanted to. If I could just keep pretending to be calm and reasonable, I could get her into the passenger seat and out of the public eye much faster. The last thing I wanted was to have a big shouting fight scene right here in front of everybody. Mom had given them enough to talk about already.

“Let me drive anyway,” I said. “I need the practice.” If she’d been even marginally sober, she’d have heard the banked fury in my voice, but as it was, she was oblivious. But she handed over the keys, which was a relief.

I drove home, my hands clutching the wheel with a white-knuckled grip as I fought to hold myself together. My mom was in the middle of gushing over my performance when the booze finally got the best of her and she conked out. I was grateful for the silence, though I knew from experience it would be quite a production to get her out of the car and into the house in her condition.

When I pulled into our driveway and contemplated the task ahead, I realized that I couldn’t live like this any longer. Nothing could possibly be worse than living with my mother, constantly lying for her, trying to cover up that she was passed out drunk when she was supposed to be meeting with my teachers or driving me to some off-campus event. Ever since I could remember, I’d lived in mortal fear that my friends at school—what friends I managed to have when we moved around so much, that is—would find out about her and decide I was some kind of freak by association. A fear that, unfortunately, I’d found out the hard way was not unfounded.

I’d been the adult in this family since I was about five, and now it was time for me to take my life into my own hands. I was going to contact my father and, unless I got some kind of vibe that said he really was an abusive pervert, I was going to go live with him. In Avalon. In the Wild City that was the crossroads between our world and Faerie, the city where magic and technology coexisted in something resembling peace. Even in Avalon, I figured, I’d have a better, more normal life than I had now with my mom.

I’ve never been so wrong about anything in my life.

Chapter One

My palms were sweaty and my heart was in my throat as my plane made its descent into London. I could hardly believe I was really doing this, hardly believe I had found the courage to run away from home. I wiped my palms on my jeans and wondered if Mom had figured out I was gone yet. She’d been sleeping off one hell of a binge when I’d left the house, and sometimes she could sleep for twenty-four hours straight at times like that. I wished I could be a fly on the wall when she found the note I’d left her. Maybe losing me would finally turn on the lightbulb over her head and she’d stop drinking. But I wasn’t holding my breath.

I’d had no trouble finding and contacting my father. Mom would never have dreamed of telling me his name when she was sober, and he wasn’t listed on my birth certificate, but all it had taken were a couple of probing questions when she was in one of her drunk, chatty moods to find out his name was Seamus Stuart. The Fae, she confided, didn’t use last names in Faerie, but those who lived in Avalon had adopted the practice for the convenience of the human population.

In the grand scheme of things, Avalon is tiny, its population less than 10,000, so when I’d gone online and brought up the Avalon phone book, I’d had no trouble finding my father—he was the only Seamus Stuart listed. And when I called and asked him if he knew anyone by my mother’s name, he readily admitted he’d had a girlfriend of that name once, so I knew that I’d found the right guy.

Before that first conversation was over, he had already asked me to come to Avalon for a visit. He’d even sprung for a first-class plane ticket into London. And never once had he asked to talk to my mom, nor had he asked if I had her permission to come visit him. I’d been surprised by that at first, but then I figured she’d been right that if he could have found me, he’d have spirited me away to Avalon without a second thought. Don’t look the gift horse in the mouth, I reminded myself.

The plane hit the tarmac with a jarring thud. I took a deep breath to calm myself. It would be hours still before I would actually meet my father. Being a native of Faerie, he couldn’t set foot in the mortal world. (If he’d decided to kidnap me, he’d have had to use human accomplices to do it.) The unique magic of Avalon is that the city exists both in Faerie and in the mortal world—the only place where the two planes of existence overlap. When my father stood at the border of the city and looked out, all he could see was Faerie, and if he crossed the border, those of us in the mortal world wouldn’t be able to see him anymore.

He’d arranged to have a human friend of his meet me at the London airport and take me to Avalon. Only when I got through Avalon immigration would I be able to meet him.

I went through the immigration and customs process in London in something of a daze. I’d been too excited and nervous to sleep on the plane, and it was definitely catching up with me now. I followed the herd to the ground transportation area and started searching the sea of placards for my own name.

I didn’t see it.

I looked again, examining each sign carefully, in case my name was misspelled and that’s why I’d missed it. But the crowd of drivers steadily thinned, and nowhere did I see anyone holding up my name. I bit my lip and examined my watch, which I’d adjusted to London time. It was 8:23 A.M., and when I’d last talked to my dad, he’d estimated that if the plane was on time, I’d get through customs somewhere around 8:15. His friend should be here by now.

I took another one of those deep breaths, reminding myself to calm down. Dad’s friend was only eight minutes late. Hardly worth panicking about. I found a comfortable chair near the doors, my gaze darting this way and that as I looked for someone hurrying into the terminal like they were late. I saw plenty of those, but none of them carried a sign with my name on it.

When 8:45 rolled around and still there was no sign of my ride, I decided it was okay to get a little bit panicky. I turned on my cell phone, meaning to give Dad a call, only to discover I couldn’t get a signal. Belatedly, I wondered if American cell phones worked in London. I swallowed another wave of nerves. Dad had sent me a lovely getting-to-know-you gift, a white rose cameo, and I found myself fingering it anxiously.

I’d been in and out of a lot of airports in my life, and if the flight was long enough, my mom was invariably sloshed by the time we landed. Even when I was like eight years old, I’d been capable of steering my mom through the airport, finding our baggage, and arranging a taxi to take us to wherever we needed to be. Granted, the most exotic place I’d ever had to do it was Canada, but heck, this was England, not India.

Telling myself not to sweat it, I found a bank of pay phones. Because my mom couldn’t be trusted to keep track of bills or anything, we’d arranged for me to have my own credit card, which I promptly used to make the long-distance call to Avalon.

I let the phone at my dad’s house ring about ten times, but no one answered. I hung up and bit my lip.

I’d been ner vous enough about this whole adventure. Now I was stranded at Heathrow Airport and my dad wasn’t answering his phone. Add to that a crushing case of jet lag, and all I wanted to do at the moment was curl up in a snug, comfy bed and go to sleep. I swallowed a yawn—if I let myself get started, I’d never stop.

At 9:15, I had to admit that the chances of my dad’s friend showing up were slim to none. My dad probably wasn’t answering his phone because he was waiting for me at the Avalon border, as he’d promised. So okay, all I had to do was get a cab to take me to the border. It was only about twenty-five miles out of London. No big deal, right?

I exchanged some money, then got in one of those enormous black cabs they have in England. It felt really weird to see the driver on the wrong side of the car, and even weirder to be driving on the wrong side of the road.

My driver drove like a maniac and talked nonstop the entire way to Avalon’s Southern Gate. I don’t know what his accent was, maybe Cockney, but I only understood about a third of what he said. Luckily, he never seemed to require a response aside from the occasional smile and nod. I hoped he didn’t see me flinching and wincing every time it seemed like he was about to squash someone into roadkill.

Like everyone else in the universe, I’d seen lots of pictures of Avalon. You could find about a thousand guide books dedicated to the city—I had two in my luggage—and just about every fantasy movie ever made has at least one or two scenes that were filmed on location in Avalon, it being the only place in the mortal world where magic actually works. But seeing Avalon in person kind of reminded me of seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time: no photograph on earth could do it justice.

Avalon is situated on a mountain. Yes, a real, honest-to-goodness mountain. The thing juts up into the sky out of the flat, green, sheep-dotted countryside, and it looks like someone grabbed one of the Alps and haphazardly dropped it where it most definitely did not belong.

Houses and shops and office buildings had been built into every square inch of the mountain’s slopes, and a single paved road spiraled from the base to the castle-like structure that dominated the summit. There were lots of lesser cobblestone roads that led o? that main one, but the main road was the only one big enough for cars.

The base of the mountain is completely surrounded by a thick, murky moat, the moat surrounded by a high, electrified fence. There are only four entrances to the city itself, one at each point of the compass. My dad was supposed to meet me at the Southern Gate. The taxi driver dropped me o? at the gatehouse—a three-story building about a half a block long—and I felt another pang of apprehension as I watched him drive away. It was possible for cars to pass through the gates into Avalon, but the driver would have to have an Avalon visa to be allowed through. Backpack over one shoulder, I dragged my suitcase through a series of rat mazes, following the signs for visitors. Naturally, the lines for residents were all much shorter.

By the time I got to the head of the line, I was practically asleep on my feet, despite the anxiety. There was a small parking lot just past the checkpoint, and like at the airport, I could see people standing around there with placards. But as I waited for the customs official to stamp my passport, I still didn’t see my name on any of them.

“One moment, miss,” the customs official said, after having examined my passport for what seemed like about ten years. I blinked in confusion as he then walked away from his post, carrying my passport.

My throat went dry as I saw him talk to a tall, imposing woman who wore a navy-blue uniform—and a gun and handcuffs on her belt. It went even drier when the official gestured at me and the woman looked in my direction. Sure enough, she started heading my way. I saw that the official had handed her my passport. This didn’t seem like a good sign.

“Please come with me, Miss…” She opened the passport to check. “Hathaway.” She had a weird accent, sort of British, but not quite. Meanwhile, the customs official gestured for the next person in line.

I had to step closer to the woman to avoid getting trampled by the family of five that came up to the desk behind me.

“Is there a problem?” I asked, and though I tried to sound nonchalant, I think my voice shook.

She smiled, though the expression didn’t reach her eyes. She also reached out and put her hand on my arm, leading me toward a key-carded door in the side of the building.

I tried to reach for the handle of my suitcase, but some guy in a coverall got there before me. He slapped a neon orange tag on it, then hauled it off behind the official’s desk.

I wondered if I should be making a scene. But I decided that would just dig whatever hole I was in deeper.

“Don’t be afraid,” the woman said, still towing me toward the door. Well, I suppose she wasn’t really towing me. Her touch on my arm was light, and it was more like she was guiding me. But I had the feeling that if I slowed down, it wouldn’t feel like guiding anymore. “It’s standard procedure here to conduct interviews with a certain percentage of our visitors.” Her smile broadened as she swiped her key card. “It’s just your lucky day.”

I was now hitting stress and sleep-deprivation overload, and my eyes stung with tears. I bit the inside of my cheek to try to keep them contained. If this was just some kind of random selection, then why had the official looked at my passport for so long? And why hadn’t my dad told me it was a possibility? I certainly hadn’t read anything about it in the guide books.

I was led into a sterile gray office with furniture that looked like rejects from a college dorm and a funky smell like wet wool. The imposing woman gestured me into a metal folding chair, then pulled a much more comfortable-looking rolling chair out from behind the desk. She smiled at me again.

“My name’s Grace,” she said. I wasn’t sure if that was a first or a last name. “I’m captain of the border patrol, and I just need to ask you a few questions about your visit to Avalon; then you can be on your way.”

I swallowed hard. “Okay,” I said. Like I had a choice.

Grace leaned over and pulled a little spiral-bound notebook from one of the desk drawers, then readied an intricately carved silver pen over the paper. I guess the Fae aren’t big on using Bics.

“What is the purpose of your visit to Avalon?” she asked.

Well, duh. I’m sixteen years old—I’m not here on a business trip. “I’m here to visit with family.”

She jotted that down, then looked at me over the top of the notebook. “Aren’t you a little young to be traveling unaccompanied?”

I sat up straighter in my chair. Yeah, okay, I was only sixteen, but that’s not that young. I was old enough to balance the checkbook, pay the bills, and drive my mother around when she was too drunk to be allowed behind the wheel. Grace’s eyes flashed with amusement as I bristled, and I managed to tamp down my reaction before I spoke.

“Someone was supposed to meet me at the airport,” I said, though that wasn’t really an answer to her question. “No one showed up, so I just took a taxi. My father’s supposed to meet me when I get through customs.”

Grace nodded thoughtfully, scribbling away. “What is your father’s name?”

“Seamus Stuart.”

“Address?”

“Er, 25 Ashley Lane.” I was glad I’d bothered to ask for his address before showing up. I hadn’t really known I’d need it.

“Was he in the parking area? I can ask him to come in if you’d like.”

“Um, I’ve actually never met him, so I don’t know if he was there or not.” I hoped I wasn’t blushing. I don’t know why I found the fact that I’d never met my father embarrassing, but I did.

She scribbled some more. I wondered how she could possibly be writing so much. It wasn’t like I was telling her my life’s history. And why would the border patrol need to know all this crap? I’d had to answer most of these questions when I’d applied for my visa.

“Am I going to get my luggage back?” I asked, too ner vous to sit there and be quiet.

“Of course, dear,” she said with another of those insincere smiles.

Just then, the door to the office opened. The guy in the coverall who’d taken my luggage popped his head in and waited for Grace’s attention. She looked up at him with an arched eyebrow.

“It’s confirmed,” he said.

For the first time, Grace’s smile looked entirely genuine.

“What’s confirmed?” I asked, the genuine smile for some reason freaking me out even more than the fake one.

“Why, your identity, dear. It seems you really are Seamus Stuart’s daughter.”

My jaw dropped. “How did you confirm that?”

“Allow me to introduce myself properly,” she said instead of answering. “My full name is Grace Stuart.” Her smile turned positively impish. “But you may call me Aunt Grace.”

Jenna Black graduated from Duke University with degrees in anthropology and French.  A full time writer of paranormal romance and urban fantasy, she lives in Pittsboro, North Carolina.  Visit her on her Web site at www.jennablack.com.