Tempestuous

  LESLEY LIVINGSTON

  Tempestuous

  a novel

  For John. And for Jack.

  A Midsummer Night’s Dream—pg. 58

  William Shakespeare

  HIPPOLYTA: How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?

  Reenter Thisbe

  THESEUS: She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and her passion ends the play.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Epigraph

  Friday, April 9 - Present Day

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Chapter XXIII

  Chapter XXIV

  Chapter XXV

  Chapter XXVI

  Chapter XXVII

  Chapter XXVIII

  Chapter XXIX

  Chapter XXX

  Chapter XXXI

  Opening Night - Closing Night

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Friday, April 9

  Present Day

  The antique black carriage sped through the night, its tall spoked wheels whirring, skimming the surface of the river as though the spectral horse that pulled it followed a paved track. In the distance, along the banks, the city lights shimmered, but there, in the middle of the river’s wide expanse, all was darkness. As the carriage approached the black, hunched shape of an island, it picked up even more speed, thundering through the crumbling arch of the abandoned coal dock like it was a gateway to another realm.

  The finger of a smokestack thrust up into the sky above the treetops, crowned with a nest of birds that took sudden flight as the carriage horse’s hooves clattered along the remnants of the pier and onto an overgrown avenue. Fallen leaves left over from the previous autumn danced in the wake of the passing carriage.

  The driver hauled on the reins, pulling the horse to a stop in front of the gaping doorway of a moldering stone building. Years of neglect had left the surrounding foliage free to grow thick and lush, climbing up the walls almost to the roof. The profusion of vines and moss had softened the building’s contours but was unable to disguise the elegant lines of its original design.

  As the driver’s feet touched the ground, a wave of iridescent illumination washed outward from the carriage, transforming the abandoned building, altering its rough appearance like a mirage. By the time the driver had thrown open the carriage doors, there were several cloaked figures standing by to receive the occupant of the coach.

  The only surviving son of the Greenman lay on the velvet bench seat like a broken toy that had been thrown against a wall. His limbs were splayed at odd angles. Greenish bloodstains marked the skin at the corners of his mouth. There was a dark scorch mark in the shape of a four-leaf clover at the base of his throat, and he looked to be barely breathing.

  The driver nodded curtly at him. “Bring him inside.”

  As two of the attendants moved toward the coach, the driver turned to the stone edifice and the steps leading up to it—which now appeared smooth and gleaming like marble in the light that spilled from the windows on either side of the open, carved-oak doors. The shadowy figures lifted the unresponsive body and carried it through into the hall. Sounds of merriment and feasting came from within, and the scent of flowers was heavy in the air, seductive and beckoning.

  But before ascending the steps, the carriage driver looked up into the night sky and said, in a voice like a whispered death sentence, “Find the Green Magick. And bring me the one who bears its burden. . . .”

  The dark air filled with darker shadows as the remaining cloaked figures swirled into a frenzy of action: throwing back their cloaks, they shed the smokelike bodies hidden beneath and grew wings. Dark feathers coalesced out of the fabric of the night, and a flock of screeching, red-eyed herons took to the air.

  Chapter I

  The crowd of onlookers had largely dissipated once the New York City Fire Department had finally gotten the blaze under control, though the entire block remained cordoned off with yellow police tape and the gutters ran full with soot-blackened water. Fortunately the structure had been stand-alone, unlike most of the surrounding shops and apartment buildings, and so the damage had been confined to the Avalon Grande Theatre—damage being wholly inadequate to describe the devastation wrought upon the old converted church by the fire that had started there in the early hours of that morning. Just before dawn.

  Just before . . . what?

  Sonny Flannery stood in a shadowed doorway across the street from the ruination and struggled desperately to remember. He knew that he had been inside the Avalon in the moments before it had been consumed by fire—holed up, waiting for morning, held under siege by malevolent Fae—and he knew that there had been fighting. Vicious Green Maidens and their leprechaun brothers. Sonny and his friends had been short on odds. And then . . . something had happened. Something bad.

  And for the life of him, Sonny couldn’t remember what that was.

  All he kept coming up with was that one minute he’d been fighting for his life. The next, he’d woken up in his apartment with a head full of cotton wool and hobnails—only to discover that the one place in all the worlds that Kelley Winslow, the girl he loved, had truly called “home” was gone. Destroyed.

  Now, standing in front of the smoking remains of the Avalon Grande Theatre on Fifty-second, Sonny had the horrible gut-twisting feeling that it was entirely his fault.

  One brick wall still held bits of broken, rainbow-tinted glass in its window frames, but most of the rest of the building had been reduced to rubble when the bell tower collapsed. Over near the side alley where the stage door still hung awkwardly inside its sagging frame, Sonny saw the shattered remnants of mirrors and burned and blackened costume racks. On the end of one rack, a pair of sparkly fairy wings hung from a cord, barely singed.

  Sonny turned abruptly and stumbled blindly down the sidewalk—almost knocking over a middle-aged woman in overalls and half-glasses who stood staring at the wreck of the theater, tears streaming unheeded down her face.

  It began to rain, a few spattering drops swiftly turning into a downpour. Head down, shoulders hunched, Sonny walked without having a destination in mind. The wind that pushed the rain against him, soaking his T-shirt and plastering it to his chest, held a biting chill. But there was also the hint—just a taste—of green, growing things, spring buds and blossoms, that reached Sonny’s nostrils, and he breathed in deeply, almost gulping the air, in an attempt to steady himself. Green things . . . and smoke? No. The smoke was in his head. A memory of . . . of what? Of a fight he couldn’t remember. A battle that had set Kelley’s theater ablaze, apparently. That was, at least, what he had gathered from the images on the television—video footage shot earlier that morning of the Avalon Grande collapsing in on itself, disappearing in a thick column of inky smoke, gutted. Like Sonny had been in the moments after Kelley Winslow had uttered those words.

  “I don’t love Sonny Flannery.”

  Green things and smoke . . .

  He looked around, the need to run, to hide, to escape almost overwhelming. His chest ached—inside and out—as though he’d swallowed seawater into his lungs or been
thrown against treacherous rocks, battered by waves.

  This must be what it feels like to be shipwrecked, Sonny thought. Clinging to a hope for rescue that isn’t coming . . .

  Sonny turned and stumbled backward, off the curb and into the street, ignoring the outraged protests of car horns and screeching brakes.

  “I don’t love Sonny,” she had said—unaware, it seemed, that he was standing right there. Behind her. Close enough to step through the door. To reach out a hand and touch her bright hair. He didn’t know why she’d said such a thing, but he did know that it had to be true. One of the universal truths in Sonny’s world was this: Faerie couldn’t lie.

  Kelley was Faerie.

  “I never did and I never will,” she had said.

  The memory of her words seared through Sonny even as the teeth of the wind tore at him. He’d grown up in the court of the Winter King and rarely felt the cold, but now he was shivering so hard his teeth rattled. In front of him the yawning maw of the subway station entrance at Fiftieth and Eighth beckoned him. He staggered blindly toward the shelter of the stairwell and then on down, traveling underground like Orpheus in search of his beloved in hell. Only Sonny knew with bitter certainty that his Eurydice didn’t want him.

  She’d said so herself.

  Chapter II

  “She’s leaking,” rumbled the ogre.

  “She’s not ‘leaking,’ Harvicc.” Tyff shushed him. “She’s . . . crying. And crazy.”

  Kelley barely felt her roommate’s hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently.

  “Kelley . . . why are you suddenly a crazy person?”

  Under any other circumstances, Kelley would have laughed at Tyff’s question. Why was she “suddenly” crazy? Why was she acting as if the world had just collapsed all around her? Probably because it had.

  Through a blur of tears, she watched as the French doors leading into Sonny’s apartment flew wide and the tall, lanky shape of the Janus Guard Maddox came tearing out onto the balcony. “What in seven hells is going on around here?” he shouted, a thundercloud frown darkening his face. “Where’s Sonny? I want some bloody answers!”

  Tyff opened her mouth to say something, but Kelley shot to her feet and turned a blazing look on her roommate that made the Summer Fae put up a hand and back off.

  “Somebody had better tell me what happened,” Maddox said, looking back and forth between the two girls. “Kelley?” There was a dangerous note of warning in his voice.

  The pain from the iron knife blade that had slashed across Kelley’s ribcage throbbed mercilessly. Tyff had dressed and bound the wound, but still, only the four-leaf clover charm Kelley wore around her neck kept the pain from being unbearable. “Leave it, Madd,” Kelley said. “I meant what I said when I told you this is none of your business.”

  Tyff took a small step forward. “Kelley, I think he has a right to—”

  “Shut it, Tyff!” Kelley rounded on her roommate before she could say another word. Shocked by the reprimand, Tyff blinked and did as she was told. A tense, silent stand-off ensued, with Tyff staring grimly into some middle distance, Maddox staring unblinking at Kelley, and Harvicc the ogre shifting from one enormous foot to the other, his confused glower sweeping back and forth. Over near the far corner of the terrace stood the Fennrys Wolf—the Janus Guard so-named for his Viking origins—his lean-muscled arms knotted over his chest, silently observing the whole thing.

  High above, against a backdrop of ominous thunderheads, three vaporous figures twisted around one another, keening above the wind as though they were an extension of Kelley’s agony. Which, in a way, they were. The Cailleach—Storm Hags—were her mother’s minions. Her mother, the Queen of Air and Darkness. They were the representatives of Queen Mabh’s power in the mortal realm, and so—by osmosis or inheritance or guilt by association—they were Kelley’s as well.

  She hated them.

  She hated all of them. The Hags, her mother, her cold and cruel father, Auberon . . . the Faerie. They had done this to her. To Sonny.

  They didn’t do anything to Sonny. You did.

  She had lied to him. Broken his heart. She’d done it to protect him. . . .

  Liar. You did it because you were afraid of him.

  A tumult of emotions surged in Kelley’s chest, threatening to overwhelm her. She turned her back on her friends and gripped the stone balustrade, staring bleakly down at the park, so far below. A cold spring rain had begun to fall, but Kelley didn’t notice its chill. Maybe it would help to put out the last of the fire, she thought, and a fresh wave of pain almost doubled her over the railing, making her feel as if she would retch.

  The fire. The theater. Sonny. Gone.

  Everything that mattered to her in life. Gone . . .

  And Kelley had been the one to drive Sonny away. It was the right thing to do, she argued with the voice in her head that called her “liar.” Sonny was in possession of more magickal firepower than even the strongest of the Fair Folk, and he had no idea. But something had triggered his power—to devastating, horrific result—back in the theater. That something was Kelley. When Sonny had thought for a brief instant that she’d been killed, the resulting fury he’d unleashed had given them all a taste of what he was capable of.

  Damn right I’m afraid of him.

  She was also afraid for him. Maybe, hopefully, the leprechauns and their sisters were no longer a threat, but Kelley knew deep down that Sonny was still in real danger. Her nightmares of him lying dead on the ground—just like the Greenman—had told her as much. There were those in the Faerie realm who would kill for the Green Magick, and Sonny wouldn’t be safe until Kelley could figure out a way to make him safe. In the meantime, she couldn’t risk being near him—the weak link in his armor, the fuse to his dynamite—and she definitely couldn’t risk revealing his secret. What made it infinitely worse was that she couldn’t tell him any of this, because she knew he wouldn’t understand. So she’d done the only thing she knew would make him leave her. At least until she could figure out what to do . . .

  The small hairs on the back of her neck lifted. She turned slightly and realized Maddox was standing very close behind her.

  “Where is he?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. He’s gone.”

  “Just like that?” His voice was quiet. Hard.

  “Yes.”

  “He was in no fit state to go anywhere when I left him. When I left him here with you.” Maddox had never sounded like that before. His anger was colder than the rain. “Now you tell me he’s gone off who knows where? And I take it you’re not about to go looking for him.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I see.” He nodded once. She could feel his gaze boring into her even though she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Well, let me tell you something. That boyo is like a brother to me. And I swear to all the gods, if something bad happens to him—there will be a reckoning.” He turned to go. “This is on your head, Princess.”

  I already know that.

  If something bad happens to Sonny . . .

  Suddenly all of the pain and doubt was overwhelming—too much to keep knotted up inside. Kelley felt like she was suffocating. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to feel. She wished with all her might that she was someone—something—other than what she was. Something not defined by the words Kelley and Faerie princess.

  She wished that she were free. . . .

  Clawing at her four-leaf clover charm—the only thing that kept her magick in check—Kelley tore the necklace off, and a sudden, violent barrage of lightning flared magnesium-bright in the darkness of the storm. Kelley’s eyelids squeezed shut, and another kind of fire—her own dark fire—flashed behind her eyes. Everything blurred and twisted in her mind. Thought, emotion, pain . . . all of it was suddenly gone.

  Kelley was gone.

  In her place, a kestrel falcon soared upward into the sky above the terrace of Sonny’s penthouse apartment. She spread her wings—her feathered wings—wide agai
nst the wild, buffeting winds. Startled, she opened her mouth, and a shrill keening cry skirled above the sounds of the storm.

  “Whoa!” shouted Tyff from far below. “Kelley! Get down here before you hurt yourself!”

  Hurt . . . Fear! Panic!

  The kestrel’s thoughts swam with confusion. The frantic beating of her wings sent her sideways into a sheeting wall of rain.

  “Kelley!”

  Air currents buffeted her from all sides.

  Helpless! Help me!

  Mind fogged with terror and the effects of her drastic transformation, she flapped wildly and tumbled end over end, plummeting toward Sonny’s terrace far below in an out-of-control dive.

  “Kelley!” Tyff screeched.

  Harvicc caught her before she hit the ground and wrapped his immense hands around her with a surprising gentleness.