Glimmerglass Read online

  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 off 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 off 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 nervous 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.”

  chapter two

  I’m sure I was sitting there like an idiot with my mouth hanging open. Grace laughed at the expression on my face as I tried to pull myself together and think.

  For the first time since I’d laid eyes on her, I looked past her uniform and her imposing manner to really see her. She was tall and model-thin, her body almost boyish in its lack of curves. Sort of like mine. My hopes that I would one day fill out were dwindling. Her pale blond hair was thick and lustrous, pulled back from her angular face into a braid that trailed down almost to the small of her back. Blue eyes just like mine, except hers had more of an upward tilt. A Fae tilt.

  “You’re my dad’s sister,” I said, the words somewhere between a question and a statement.

  Grace clapped her hands like I’d just performed a back flip. I felt my face steadily heating.

  “Very good, my dear,” she said in a tone of voice that suggested I was just a bit on the slow side. “Seamus is, shall we say, indisposed at the moment. But he charged me with taking care of you until he is able to do so himself.”

  I narrowed m
y eyes at her. “If this is your idea of taking care of me, I’m probably better off taking care of myself.” I’m not usually that rude—certainly not to authority figures—but jet lag, stress, and confusion had combined to make my temper brittle at best. “You could have just introduced yourself from the start instead of scaring me half to death with your Gestapo routine.”

  Grace blinked a couple of times. I doubted she was used to having anyone talk back to her, much less teenage human girls. The smile faded from her lips, and an arctic chill entered her eyes.

  “A girl no one’s ever heard of comes marching into Avalon claiming to be the half-blood daughter of one of the great Seelie lords, and we’re just supposed to accept you with no questions asked?” she said, her voice as frosty as her eyes. “Seamus had no idea he’d sired a child on your mother, and while he might have been quick to accept you into his bosom as one of his own, it was certainly conceivable that you were an imposter.”

  One of the great Seelie lords? My mom had said Dad was a big-deal Fae, but this sounded like more of a big deal than I’d imagined.

  “While you and I chatted, my staff searched your bag for your hairbrush. They were able to determine that you truly are who you say you are.”

  The violation of my privacy pissed me off, but I was also puzzled. “You were able to do a DNA test in, like, fifteen minutes?” I asked incredulously.

  Grace gave me another of those looks that said I was obviously a little simpleminded. “Not a DNA test, dear.”

  Oh. Magic. I’d kind of forgotten about that. My face heated with another blush. Grace was really good at making me feel like an idiot, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t by accident. I didn’t know what she had against me, but it was obviously something. My brain felt all fuzzy around the edges, and once again I longed for that cozy bed to curl up in. Despite my stress—and annoyance—a yawn forced its way out of my mouth.

  Grace’s expression softened into something concerned and almost sweet-looking. I didn’t believe it.

  “You poor thing,” she said. “You must be exhausted after your long trip.” She stood up, the movement inexplicably graceful. “Come.” I wondered if she knew she said it like she was talking to her favorite pet. “We must get you settled in so you can get some rest.”

  I stayed seated, not sure what she meant. “So I’m free to go now?”

  “I will arrange for another officer to fill in for me for a couple of hours,” she said in another one of her non-answers. “I’ll take you home. If you’d like to stop and grab something to eat first, just let me know. There are a number of lovely cafés very near my house.”

  My stomach gurgled, but I wasn’t sure it was from hunger. One thing I knew for sure was I didn’t want to go home with Grace.

  “Can you just drop me off at my dad’s house?” I asked, already knowing the answer would be no.

  Grace made a sad face. “I’m afraid not, dear. He isn’t home at the moment, and I don’t have a key. But have no fear—you need only stay with me a day or two. Then your father will be ready to take you in.”

  It sounded like I wasn’t going to have a choice in the matter, so I tried to resign myself to the idea. “Okay,” I said, standing up and hoping I didn’t sound too pouty.

  “Splendid!” she said with false cheer.

  Splendid? Who says “splendid” in this day and age? Of course, since Aunt Grace was Fae, I supposed she could be a zillion years old, even though she looked like she was in her mid twenties.

  I followed Grace through a dizzying set of mazelike corridors. I couldn’t help noticing the security cameras that spied on our every move.

  She stopped by what I think was a break room, based on the microwave and vending machines. A small group of uniformed officers sat around a table. Grace barked some orders at them—arranging for someone to cover for her during her field trip—and then we were wending our way through the corridors again.

  Eventually, we came to a key-carded door. Aunt Grace swiped her card, and the door opened onto the parking lot that I had spotted when I’d been standing in line. She guided me to an elegant black Mercedes. The car was so pristine she could have driven it off the lot five minutes ago. It had that lovely new car scent, somewhat spoiled by the tacky, rose-shaped car freshener that hung from the rearview mirror. At least it wasn’t one of those pine-tree taxi-cab specials.

  “Your bag is in the trunk,” Aunt Grace told me before I had a chance to ask. Then she started the car and we were on our way.

  The bridge over the moat was a narrow, two-lane affair, and the guard rails on the side looked kind of flimsy to me. Maybe that was just because the moat’s murky, nasty water gave me the creeps.

  Trying to ignore the water, I glanced over my shoulder—a bit wistfully—at the gatehouse that marked the border between Avalon and the mortal world. A part of me was already wishing I’d never set foot out of my mom’s house. Yeah, it majorly sucked living with her, taking care of her, lying to all my friends about her. But at least she was the devil I knew.

  A wave of nausea rolled over me, and my vision went momentarily blurry. I turned back around to face front.

  “Is something wrong?” Grace asked.

  I shook my head and swallowed past the nausea. “I’m just jet-lagged and stressed out and maybe even a little motion sick.” I wondered if she’d mind me barfing in her shiny new car. I bet the answer was yes.

  “What did you mean when you said my father was ‘indisposed’?” I asked her as my stomach—luckily—settled down.

  “He’s had a spot of … legal trouble, I suppose you’d call it.” The Mercedes began its smooth, effortless ascent of the steep two-lane road that spiraled up the mountain. “But don’t worry. Everything should be cleared up in a day or two. And I’ll take good care of you until he’s home.”

  “Where is he?”

  The corners of her mouth tightened, and she hesitated before answering. “Very well, if you must know,” she said, making it sound like I’d been badgering her about it for hours, “he’s in jail.”

  I gasped. Steering with one negligent hand, she reached over and patted my knee. I had to resist an urge to jerk away.

  “It is merely a misunderstanding,” she said in what was supposed to be a soothing tone. “He’ll be seen by the Council tomorrow, or the next day at the latest, and he’s certain to be released at that time.”

  My father was in jail. Of all the problems I’d imagined facing in Avalon, this wasn’t one of them. My hand crept again to the cameo I wore, fingers nervously stroking the textured surface. Grace’s eyes tracked my gesture. Her lips thinned when she saw the cameo, but she didn’t say anything. I dropped my hand anyway.

  I was bubbling over with more questions, but at that moment, Grace pulled into a tiny parking lot, big enough for maybe a half dozen cars at most. She was out of the car and popping the trunk before I’d managed to get a single one of my questions out. Again, I didn’t think it was by accident.

  I was too tired to deal with this now. After I’d had a nap and didn’t feel so much like roadkill, I’d sit down with dear old Aunt Grace and have a long heart-to-heart in which she would explain what was going on with my dad. Like why he was in jail. And what was this Council he was going to be seen by? I belatedly wished I’d read up on the Avalon governmental system. All I could remember about it from civics class was that it was unlike any other government in the world, and the duties were shared equally between humans and Fae.

  Grace opened the trunk for me, but she left it to me to do the heavy lifting. I sure was glad my bag had wheels. Without a word, she led me down one of the cobblestone side streets. The cobblestones weren’t exactly easy on the wheels, and I struggled to keep the bag upright. And to keep it out of the puddles that gathered in the low spots, and the horse crap that gave the street a distinctively barnlike smell.

  I must have been making some kind of face, because Grace actually volunteered information for the first time I could remember.


  “The internal combustion engine does not function in Faerie,” she explained. “Those who have reason to travel between Avalon and Faerie perforce do so on horseback, so you’ll see a great many more horses here than you might in most cities.”

  This was probably fascinating information, and no doubt I should be gawking at my exotic surroundings. But the jet lag was too overwhelming, and I was struggling too hard with my stupid luggage to manage it.

  I was relieved beyond words when we finally came to a stop in front of a picturesque stone row house. It was three stories high and rather narrow, but the old-fashioned, leaded-glass windows and the window boxes overflowing with white roses gave it a pleasant, homey look.

  Aunt Grace muttered something under her breath, and the door made a series of clicking sounds before it swung open. No one had touched it.

  Magic, my mind mumbled. But I was too tired and grouchy to be properly impressed.

  I didn’t get a good look at the interior, because Grace immediately led me upstairs to the third floor. And no, she didn’t offer to help me haul my bag up the two narrow wooden staircases.

  “Here we are,” she said, opening the first door at the top of the stairs.

  I hauled my luggage over the threshold, then dropped it gratefully. The room looked really nice, but all I really had eyes for was the huge, soft-looking four-poster bed. Never had a bed looked more inviting.

  Grace smiled at my obvious yearning. “I’ll leave you to get some rest,” she said. “There’s an en suite bathroom right through there.” She pointed at a closed door at the other end of the room.

  “Thanks,” I said, my tendency toward politeness rearing its ugly head. I took a couple of steps toward the bed. I probably should have fished my toiletries out of my luggage and at least brushed my teeth before collapsing, but the lure of sleep was overpowering.

  “Sleep well, dear,” Grace said; then the door closed behind her and she was gone.