Richelle Mead - Iron Crowned

I smiled. That one was out of my reach. “Sometimes I would too when I’m here.”

“How’d it go with that Linden lady? Is she going to help us beat up Katrice?” Jasmine’s moping face suddenly turned fierce. She had powers similar to mine, and while not as strong, they could still cause a lot of damage. If I’d let her loose, Jasmine would probably march right over to the Rowan Land and try to bring the castle down.

“I don’t know. I’m not getting my hopes up.”

Jasmine’s gray eyes turned calculating, making her seem wiser than her fifteen years should be capable of. “As long as you and Dorian stay together, you’re the badasses around here—especially you.” Surprisingly, there was no sneer as she said this. “But you’ve gotta make sure Maiwenn doesn’t join Katrice. You know she’s thinking about it.”

Yes, despite her often pouty and childish attitude, Jasmine was smart. “You’re right,” I said. “But thinking and doing are two different things. You said it yourself: Dorian and I are badasses. I don’t think she’s going to want to mess with us.”

There was something comfortable about being able to have a discussion with someone not using the gentry’s formal language construction.

“Probably not. But she’s scared to death you’re going to have our father’s heir.” Jasmine eyed me carefully. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you? You and Dorian certainly do it enough.”

“That’s none of your business,” I said, wondering if that servant had already talked about what she’d seen in bed.

“Tell that to Dorian. He brags about it all the time.”

I groaned, knowing it was true. “Well, regardless, I’m not having kids anytime soon.”

“You should,” Jasmine said. “Or let me. Katrice would totally back off.”

“And then Maiwenn really would come after us.” Maiwenn ruled the Willow Land and was very much against Storm King’s prophecy coming true. She also had a few other reasons for not liking my alliance with Dorian—or rather, her associates did.

“Yeah,” said Jasmine. “But you could still kick her ass.”

I rose and scooped up the iPod, putting it in my satchel. “Let’s stick to one ass-kicking at a time.”

An awkward silence fell. How odd that we’d just had a civil conversation. I’d grown up an only child, sometimes wishing I had a sister. The one I’d ended up with was hardly what I’d expected, but maybe I should be grateful for even this.

“Well,” I said at last. “I’ll see you soon.”

She nodded and picked up the velvet, scowling at it as though it had given her personal offense. I was almost at the door when she suddenly said, “Eugenie?”

I glanced back. “Yeah?”

“Will you bring me some Twinkies?”

I smiled. “Sure.”

She didn’t look up from her embroidery, but I was almost certain she smiled too.

I might have come to accept being queen of the Thorn Land, and it was hard not to grow attached to a place you had a spiritual connection to. Nonetheless, nothing the Otherworld offered would ever take the place of my home in Tucson. It was a small house, but in a nice neighborhood, near the Catalina Mountains north of the city. Gateways between the worlds existed all over, facilitating travel, but I had an “anchor” in my home, meaning once I shifted out of the Thorn Land’s gate, I was able to materialize directly in my bedroom. An anchor could be any object tied to your essence.

My roommate Tim, who hadn’t seen me in a few days, was understandably shocked when I came strolling into the kitchen.

“Jesus Christ, Eug!” he exclaimed. He’d been flipping pancakes at the stove. “We’ve got to put a bell around your neck or something.”

I grinned and had an inexplicable urge to hug him—though I knew that would freak him out even more. After all the craziness in the Otherworld, his normality was a welcome sight. Well, “normality” might have been an exaggeration. Tim—with his tall, dark, and handsome looks—had taken to impersonating Native Americans (badly) in order to score chicks and make money selling his awful poetry. He rotated through various tribes, and last I knew, he’d been passing himself off as Tlingit, seeing as the locals got a little less pissed off by him donning the clothes of a tribe living hundreds of miles away. He lived in my house rent-free in exchange for cooking and housework, and I was glad to see him dressed in an ordinary jeans and T-shirt ensemble today.

“Are you making enough for two?” I asked, heading straight for the full coffeepot.

“I always make enough for two. But most of it goes to waste.” That last part came out as a grumble. He’d once complained about being my “slave” but missed my being around now.

“Messages?”

“Usual place.”

When in the Otherworld, I left my cell phone with Tim. It forced him to play secretary, something he resented since I actually already employed one. Indeed, most of the messages he’d scrawled on the refrigerator’s white board were from her.

Tue.—11 AM — Lara: two job offers

Tue.—2:30 PM—Lara: one possible client needs ASAP help

Tue.—5:15 PM—Lara: still wants to talk to you

Tue.—5:20 PM — Lara: needs you to finish tax paperwork

Tue.—10:30 PM — Lara: won’t stop calling

Wed. — 8 AM—Lara: who calls this early?

Wed.—11:15 AM—Bitch

Wed.—11:30 AM—Sam’s Home Improvement: interested in vinyl siding?

I admired his detailed message taking—frustration with Lara aside—but my heart sank when I saw who was conspicuously missing. Every time I came home, I secretly hoped I’d see their names up there. Sometimes, on the sly, my mom would check on me. But my stepdad, Roland? He never called anymore, not after finding out about my allegiance to the Otherworld.

Tim, preoccupied with his cooking, didn’t see my face. “I don’t get why she keeps calling. She knows you can’t get any of her messages. Why does she need more than one? It’s not like a billion of them are magically going to get through to you.”

“It’s just her way,” I said. “She’s efficient.”

“That’s not efficient,” he declared. “It’s borderline neurotic.”

I sighed, wondering not for the first time if I should just let messages go to voice mail. Despite having never met, Tim and Lara were mortal phone enemies. Hearing them bitch about each other was wearying. Nonetheless, staring at her string of calls already made me feel tired. I’d once had a brisk trade as a freelance shaman, kicking out ghosts and other annoying supernatural creatures who harassed humans. Now that I moonlighted as a fairy queen, I’d had to become much more selective with clientele. I could no longer keep up with the demand around here and felt bad about that. I suspected Roland was picking up my slack but didn’t know for sure.

I waited until after breakfast before dealing with Lara. Pancakes, sausage, and coffee gave me the strength to deal with this latest batch of requests. Undoubtedly seeing my number on her caller ID, Lara didn’t bother with formalities when I finally called.

“About time,” she exclaimed. “Has he been giving you my messages?”

“He just did. I’ve been gone for three days. You know you don’t need to keep bugging him about it.”

“I want to make sure he tells you I called.”

“He writes them down, every one. Besides, my phone’s log also tells me you’ve called … a lot.”

“Hmphf.” She let it go. “Well, you’re getting a lot of requests lately. I’ve thinned them out, but you’ve still got to choose.”