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the truth of the events of that night. I was desperately afraid it would be too late for Lance, by the time
we managed it.
I said, Sit there and relax for a bit. I have a few calls to make. The hospital still had his first blood
samples. I'd suggest adding a few drugs and toxins to their screening list.
Joe huddled into the corner of the couch. Cleo leaned into him and he hugged her tightly.
Try to breathe slowly, I said. I'll be right back. Try to think of anything that might help us figure
this out. Did you see anyone else? Did Mab remind you of anyone in real life? Who might want to
kidnap Lance?
I left quietly, and tried to avoid seeing the bleak, betrayed look he gave me. Poor boy. He wanted
me to buy into his story, of course. He was distraught, and at some superficial level, he'd convinced
himself the whole fantastic tale was real. Whether he was another victim, or the guilty party, he'd need
gentle handling not to break him, as we uncovered the truth.
****
Lance Graymark climbed the endless stair behind his lady. How long had it been? Time passed
oddly, here under the hill. Days were twilit, moving dreamlike. No one seemed to sleep except him, and
he might be summoned at any time to play. He clutched his flute in cold fingers. At least he'd improved
his music already. Days of endless practice, and a seat at the feet of some of the best bards in the land,
had been good for that.
Where are we going, my queen? he asked finally. They'd been climbing for hours.
You'll see, pet.
Finally they reached the top of the stair. It was a dank landing, smelling oddly of dirt and mold, and
dying vegetation. Mab gestured, and the wall ahead of them cleared. Outside there was a waiting
darkness. Step through, mortal. Her voice was cold.
Lance had learned to fear that, both the tone and being called mortal. Have I offended you, lady?
No. She turned and smiled thinly at him, her expression fierce in the faint light. Step through.
He did so. He found himself on a low hilltop. Around him, scrubby grasslands merged into woods
of poplar and pine. A wind brushed his face, smelling faintly of... of chemicals, of soot, of gasoline. Of
things solid and mortal, soiled and damaged and real. This is...
The mortal world. Yes. Hast not kept count, pet? It's been seven years.
Lance dropped to his knees as if shot. The hard lumpy perfectly-imperfect earth hurt his knees. It
was glorious. His breath whistled in his chest, as if trying to escape. Joe! He didn't think he'd said it
aloud, but Mab laughed.
He's not here, is he, pet? I told you, he felt not for you, what you did for him. Seven years gone in
the mortal world, and him a young virile man all that time? He'll have had a dozen lovers by now. A
score.
Lance shook his head. How long until...?
Until midnight? Ten minutes, pet. And not a sign of him. But never fear. You'll always have a
place with me. She ran a hand over his hair.
Lance shuddered with the mix of blinding desire and revulsion that she always gave him. She was
Mab, perfect and beautiful and desirable. She was... He made an effort to drop the terms of the fairy
court. She was sex on a stick, that's what. She was the hottest woman who'd ever touched him, and she
could make him so blind with desire... so hot for her that he couldn't see anything else. But she couldn't
make him love her.
But where was Joe? For all the days or centuries or whatever it had been that he'd spent underhill,
he'd never let himself say Joe's name. But he'd never stopped thinking it, and hoping, and believing.
Seven minutes, Mab said. She examined the perfect ovals of her fingernails. I think I'll have a
collar made for you. Silver, perhaps, like that flute. Won't that be nice, pet?
But Lance barely heard her. Somewhere down the hill was the sound of someone running. Maybe
more than one someone. He'd have called out, but a gesture from Mab robbed him of breath. He
swayed on his knees, waiting.
A voice called up the hill, Lance? Are you here?
Joe's voice was deeper and rougher than Lance remembered, but still oh so familiar. He battled to
answer, but his lady's will still held him silent. The scrambling noise got louder, and then Joe burst out
of the trees, with a dog at his heels. Lance drank in the sight of him. Bigger, more muscular, with his
hair cropped even shorter but unmistakably Joe. He was dressed in jeans and a dark T-shirt that clung to
a truly-sculpted body. He came fast up the hill and stopped in front of them, the dog dropping to a seat
at his side, her tongue lolling out. Joe gasped for breath, but he glanced at his watch and managed to
say, Two minutes... to midnight..., Queen Mab. Here I am. Now keep... your side of the bargain.
Where's Lance?
Lance blinked and waved a hand, but Joe didn't even glance his way. Lance gritted his teeth. The
games of the fae. He was fed up to his eyeballs with games.
He might have chosen not to come, Mab said in a cool, sweet voice. Perhaps he finds life as my
musician sweet and has forgotten you.
Lance groaned silently. The fae do not lie, but they are masters, and mistresses, of the truth that
sounds like a lie.
Then he can... say so to my face, Joe panted. He took a few slower, steadying breaths.
Perhaps he does not wish to face you, after so long. Life underhill is beautiful in a way the mortal
world can never match. Mab took an ostentatious breath and wrinkled her perfect little nose. The
very air here is foul.
But mortal, same as we are. And he gets to choose. On your word, Mab. Where is he?
She pouted prettily. You could at least go to him. Come underhill. See the wonders of my realm.
Meet with your friend there, and ask if he is not content. Shall we? She gestured behind her.
Lance wanted to scream at Joe not to do it. Change a bargain with the fae, and it's ended. One step
underhill by Joe, and Mab's promise to bring Lance out to him would be over.
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