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K
elley threaded her way through the rows of empty seats in the auditorium and climbed the polished wooden stairs to the Avalon Grande’s balcony, still furnished with the original pews from when the place had been a church. She leaned on the balcony rail, resting her chin on her arms, and looked down, contemplating the place where Romeo and Juliet met and fell in love and tumbled headlong toward their tragic ends—victims of familial strife and ancient rivalries. Kelley tried not to draw parallels between her life and the play. There had been too many of those the
last
time.

In the gloom of the darkened stage, the support timbers of the half-built set thrust up from behind leaning canvas flats like the remains of an ancient petrified forest. Of course, once finished and under lights, it would be beautiful. A fairy-tale town from long ago where love that was to die for could flourish. And did . . .

An illusion,
she thought.
It’s a lie.

Fair Verona was nothing but a flimsy charade made of plywood and plaster, painted to look like marble and brick. The “fountain” in the town square was a lovely piece of artifice, giving the impression of water with clever light and sound effects. It was all trickery and guile. Just like Faerie.

“Kelley?”

Sonny’s voice was like a finger down her spine. She shivered.

“You probably shouldn’t be up here on your own. Not under the circumstances.”

A safety lecture was the last thing she needed to hear.

“Kelley . . . I love you.”

That was the first thing.

Sonny held her close in the darkness, silent and warm, neither of them needing any words. But then, after a long time, Sonny did speak. His voice was quiet, thoughtful. Curled into the hollow of his embrace, Kelley listened as Sonny told her stories of growing up in the Otherworld. Little vignettes—like campfire tales—glimpses of his life. He told her nothing strange or sad, and he didn’t mention her father or her mother. Instead he talked of learning to ride. Of playing at the Faerie game of hurling, chasing after a silver ball with wide-bladed oaken staves over an emerald-green field. She could hear the smile in his voice as he told her how the Fair Folk had learned very early on that the fierce little changeling boy with the silver-gray eyes was not to be coddled or pitched easy catches. Sonny told her stories of the tricks that some of the lesser fae—the fir darrig and the piskies—would try to play on him, and how he almost always managed to turn the trick around on its player.

“It does sound like a pretty wonderful place to grow up,” Kelley said.

“It was. Before I knew what wonderful really was.” Sonny tilted Kelley’s head up until she was looking into his eyes. Something flashed deep within those silvery depths, something elusive, but she couldn’t quite capture it. Then it didn’t matter, because he kissed her and she closed her eyes and heard him say, “I don’t care what Auberon says. I don’t care what he needs, and I don’t care that there are still Wild Hunt on the loose. Someone else can do the job. I’m not going back to the Otherworld. Ever. Not unless you go with me. I’m never leaving you again, Kelley. I promise. And anyone who thinks otherwise had better be prepared for a world of hurt.”

Wrapped in each other’s arms, Sonny and Kelley had finally given in to the overwhelming exhaustion that had been building for days. When Kelley awoke, Sonny was gone—his suede riding coat was draped over her. Lying curled up on the wooden pew, she thought she could still feel the tingle of his kiss dancing on the curve of her cheek.

She knew he hadn’t gone far. He’d promised not to leave her. Besides, she knew he was worried about the leprechaun lying in wait outside. She suspected that Sonny had gone back down to the greenroom to consult with the others about what would happen next.

With Auberon so obviously out of commission, they might be in trouble. She didn’t want to dwell on that—on how terrible he had looked—and anyway, Kelley thought, assuming her mother hadn’t already fled back to the Otherworld, surely the power of
her
shadowy throne would prove more than enough to deal with one miserable freaking leprechaun.

The backstage halls were ominously quiet and dark when she went downstairs, Sonny’s coat draped over her shoulders like a cloak. Kelley saw a light bleeding out through the gap in the half-open door of one of the dressing rooms. It was flickering and vaguely purple, and she knew that it must be her mother. Drawing herself up straight, she walked forward with a purposeful step and put a hand on the door. She was going to have to face her mother eventually.
Might as well get this over with . . .

Kelley was about to call her mother’s name, but she realized that the queen was talking to someone. Not exactly prone to eavesdropping, Kelley nevertheless stayed silent and still. Peering through the gap, she saw her mother standing in front of one of the many makeup mirrors in the room, using the glass like it was some kind of mystical teleconference screen. The very reason Kelley had switched dressing rooms with Alec. She frowned and moved closer, listening. Mabh sounded upset.

Kelley held her breath. She recognized the other voice—the deep rumbling tones of Herne the Hunter, Mabh’s lover of centuries past and the former leader of the Wild Hunt. Kelley had met him six months before, the night Sonny had taken her to the Tavern.

“
No
one was to know,” Herne was saying. “Ever. It was the only way to keep him safe.”

“Of
course,
” Mabh agreed derisively. “Just so long as no one ever got close enough to look him in the eye!”

“His true nature was veiled when he was infant,” Herne said sharply. “Even from himself. We cast a powerful charm over his mind—disguised as the memory of a lullaby, something he would always remember. . . .”

“Which also would have worked nicely”—the Autumn Queen’s sarcasm was expansive—“
if
the boy had been smart enough not to let a Siren go digging around in his skull, eating that memory like a candied fig. Without it now, he’s an open book for any of the Fae who care to read deeply enough. Which I did. I wish I hadn’t.”

Kelley felt the pit of her stomach drop.

Sonny . . . she’s talking about Sonny.

“What a dangerous game you decided to play, Herne. You men. You all think you’re so damnably clever, don’t you?”

“You can’t possibly imagine that I could have foreseen such an extraordinary chain of events, Mabh,” Herne said angrily.

“Oh, Herne!” Mabh mocked him with her bitter laughter. “You of
all
people should know what twisted paths the Fates delight in making us walk.” Mabh sighed heavily, and Kelley saw her sink into the chair in front of the makeup counter, her dark robes pooling on the floor around her like an oil slick. There was a long pause, and then her voice was softer as she said, “He is a handsome lad, I’ll give him that.”

Kelley pushed the door open just enough to see Herne’s image in the mirror dip his head in a slight bow. “And she is a beautiful lass,” he said, a small, sad smile on his sculpted, regal face.

“Yes. She is,” the Autumn Queen said proudly. “It seems we breed lovely offspring, you and I.”

“True, lady.” Herne chuckled wanly. “Just not together.”

“No.”

“A son of mine and a daughter of yours. You are right about the Fates. Is that not their laughter I hear echoing down the wind?”

“It’s certainly worth a giggle or two on their part.” Mabh’s own mouth twitched mirthlessly. She turned away from the mirror for a moment, as if contemplating the pattern of water stains on the peeling wallpaper. “Does
she
know what he is? What he’s capable of?” Mabh asked finally. “His mother, I mean.”

An expression of old, deep pain crossed Herne’s face. “When I was with her, Emmaline knew me only as a man. Just an outcast wild man living in the forest. When Sonny was born, I knew that there was something very special about him. I turned to the one person who had the power to protect him. I begged the Winter King to take my son and keep him safe.”

“Auberon?” Mabh sputtered in disbelief. “You actually
trust
him?”

“Aye, lady. I do,” Herne said. “And besides which—he also had a child whom
he
wished to keep safe.”

“From whom?” Mabh demanded. “Not me, surely! I would never harm my own child. Great goddess, I should never have agreed to let Auberon take my daughter to the Unseelie Court in the first place.”

“I do not know what Auberon’s fears for the girl were, Mabh,” Herne said impatiently, “only that he had them. For this reason it seemed an arrangement that was almost fated. We . . . made an agreement.”

Mabh shook her head, her expression one of shocked disbelief. “So it was all a
ruse
? The theft of the boy to begin with, his poor mother driven to steal my daughter as her only means of recourse . . . like pawns on a chessboard. And
you
helped Auberon and that miserable boucca set the whole thing up!”

“Puck is blameless. Auberon simply knew his nature and used it to best advantage. The boucca doesn’t even know Sonny’s true identity. No one does, yet. Except for you, Auberon, and me. It is dangerous knowledge.”

“I’d say that’s an accurate assessment,” Mabh scoffed. “You of all people should know just how dangerous. That boy has the potential to become a grave threat—especially to anyone close to him. And yet you did not think to warn Kelley away when he brought her to your Tavern for safekeeping on the Nine Night.”

“Perhaps I’ve grown too soft with my gathering age.”

“
That
is a perilous indulgence, my love.”

“He is my son.”

“True. He is all that you are.” Mabh’s voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “All that I
made
you.”

Herne went white, although with anger or fear, Kelley wasn’t quite sure at first. “Do you mean to tell me, lady, that on top of everything else, he is full of
your
magicks? That not only does his blood run with the power of the Greenman, but he also carries the taint of the Wild Hunt’s curse? Have you
seen
this?”

“I have.”

The Greenman.
Kelley felt a knot of apprehension tighten her stomach. She remembered Bob’s words about the ancient nature god’s power and its potential for devastating misuse. Rather like her mother’s fearsome gift.
If Sonny carries both within him
. . . She held her breath and listened.

“I feared this.” Herne’s hand went to a small, stag-head-shaped scar at the base of his throat. He turned a fearsome glare on the Autumn Queen. “It was an ill thing you did once upon a time.”

“Oh, don’t lecture me, my love.” Mabh spat the words back at the image in the mirror, acid on her tongue. “You were happy enough to reap the fruits of my fascination with you. Until you tired of me and my wonders, that is.”

“I do not say I have no fault in this.”

“Quite.” Mabh’s eyes sparkled fiercely. “You might also have considered the consequences of another dalliance
after
me. That is—if you were so concerned about passing on the taint of my ‘gifts.’”

“I did
not
dally with you, Mabh!” Herne strained forward, and it looked to Kelley as though he would come charging through the mirror in a shower of glass. His eyes locked with the Autumn Queen’s, and his face twisted with anguish. “I adored you!”

The Faerie queen fell silent as Herne gazed at her. After a long moment, she shook her head sadly and said, “You fear those that would find the boy and use his power for ill? I fear the boy himself.”

Herne stared at Mabh, waiting for her to continue.

“He loves her, Herne.”

“And she loves him. I know.”

“I don’t think you do.” Mabh’s voice cast a chilling pall over the tiny room. “He loves Kelley in the way that
I
once loved
you
. I saw that in him, too.”

In the mirror Kelley saw Herne’s face drain of all color and vitality. He looked utterly devastated.

“When I looked in his eyes,” Mabh whispered, “I saw
that
.”

Kelley ducked into the next dressing room as her mother turned away from the mirror, every line of her body tense with emotion.

Kelley listened as she heard Mabh’s footsteps retreating down the hall. When the sound died away, Kelley burst into the other room and ran to the mirror. “Herne!” she shouted.

The mirror was empty. Only Kelley’s reflection shone back at her. She hammered a fist on the glass—not
quite
hard enough to break it—and called the Hunter’s name. When he didn’t appear, she sank down into the chair that her mother had so recently vacated.

“You
lied
to him,” she murmured to the empty room. Sadness and worry—and bitter disappointment—warred for domination over her emotions.

“I never lied to Sonny,” a voice said softly.

Kelley jerked her head around and gazed into the mirror—into the eyes of Herne the Hunter. “You never told him he was
your son,
” she said. “Not ever having told him that particular truth is the functional equivalent, don’t you think? I thought you were better than that, Herne.”

“I did it to protect him.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then allow me to tell you a little story.”

Kelley crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

“A very long time ago, in the days after the Wild Hunt was chained and I myself had been thrown down from the sky, retreating into the wilderness where I could lose myself, I was befriended by a god. The Greenman had been the first of Faerie to ever cross over into the world of men. He created the Four Gates of Faerie. I suppose he just felt sorry for me in the beginning, but over time we became close companions—brothers, almost. When the decision was made to move the Samhain Gate to this place, to this new young city, he was the one who did it, building the Gate into the very fabric of the park. I came with him.”

“What does any of this have to do with Sonny?” Kelley said impatiently.

“He took on the guise of a mortal man, calling himself Andrew Green, in order that he might work with those constructing the park itself and accomplish
his
task as they completed theirs. That left him vulnerable. After the Gate was finished, Andrew was murdered by a thrall—a changeling slave—in what was believed to be an attempt to steal his power.” Herne’s face twisted with old, still fresh anger. “He was shot to death with iron bullets.”