His smile was infectious and for the first time in my life, being on stage felt right. I smiled hugely at him and began to play. The strings were still buttery-soft from the heat outside, and the acoustics of the stage made the harp sound twenty feet tall. Luke chipped in and began to play, and the flute was low and breathy like his singing voice, full of expression and barely suppressed emotions. Together, we sounded like an orchestra, albeit it an ancient, untamed one, and when I began to sing, the auditorium became as still as a winter night.
Did I really have the voice of an angel? The voice that filled the room didn’t sound like mine—it sounded grown-up, complex, as agonized as the Faerie Girl in the lyrics.
The first verse ended and I felt the flute hesitate for the barest of moments, waiting. I began to play a counter-melody, something that had never been heard before. Only this time, I’d done it before and I knew I could wander from the melody without getting lost. This time I attacked the counter-melody with sweet savagery. It climbed up the scale, bitter and lovely, and Luke’s flute came back in, low notes that climbed with mine to an almost unbearable intensity.
Then I began to sing the last verse, the one I had just learned from Luke. Any other day, I would’ve forgotten the lyrics, but not today, with the memory of his voice singing them. The words seemed to take on new meaning as I sang them; they were real.
I was the Faerie Girl.
Fro and to in my dreams to you
To the haunting tune of the harp
For the price I paid when you died that day
I paid that day with my heart
Fro and to in my dreams to you
With the breaking of my heart
Ne’er more again will I sing this song
Ne’er more will I hear the harp.
By the time we got to the last refrain, Luke was grinning so widely he almost couldn’t play. I let my voice fade softly, vanishing with the flute’s last note, returning to wherever that amazing counter-melody had come from.
The room was completely silent.
Luke smiled a small, private smile, and then the audience leapt to its feet, clapping and whistling. Even the judges in the front seats were on their feet. I bit my lip, color flushing into my glowing face, and exchanged a look with Luke.
We let ourselves be directed offstage for the next performers and Luke seized my hand, his face shining as if from within. “Good girl!” He released my hand. “Good girl! I have to go—but I’ll be back for the reception tonight.”
“You have to what?” I repeated, but he had already disappeared into the throng of people backstage. I felt strangely lost.
two
Don’t wear something trashy,” Mom advised, shutting my bedroom door behind her.
Thanks for the hot tip, I thought, staring at the pile of clothing she’d put on my bed. I didn’t know what I was going to wear to the reception, but I already knew it wasn’t going to be any of the items she’d taken out of my closet.
I was still holding her last suggestion, a dress that made me look like a runaway from a nursing home. I chucked it on top of the pile of other too-formal dresses and pantsuits, and looked out my bedroom window. Patchy white clouds slid across the afternoon sky, taking the edge off the heat and obscuring the faint sliver of the moon—if it was even still out there.
Instead of getting dressed, I stuck a CD into my player, shoved the mound of clothing over to the other side of the bed, and crashed on top of the covers. The wild set of reels on the CD whirled through my brain, bringing back the vivid memory of playing on the stage earlier today.
Holy crap. Luke Dillon was real. I couldn’t really wrap my brain around it. People didn’t just walk out of dreams.
For a few minutes, I allowed myself the luxury of lying on the bed and remembering Luke. The careful way he spoke, delivering each word as if it were something precious. The breathy voice of his flute, whispering secrets and longing. His super-pale eyes, like glass. I could imagine him holding my hand and making me one of his secrets. I kind of felt guilty for lying around, letting myself crush on him when I should’ve been getting ready, but I hadn’t ever had a crush on a boy before.
Well, that was a lie. Back in seventh grade, I’d been in a class with Rob Martin, a slight, dark-haired guy with a face like a brooding dark angel. Or at least, that’s how I imagined it. With my superpower of invisibility, I watched him everyday at school without ever working up the courage to speak to him. I knew he was a saint of some variety, because he spoke out loudly against animal cruelty and picked all of the meat out of the cafeteria’s offerings. He once berated our teacher in front of the entire class for wearing a leather jacket. He used words like “anathema” and “pogrom.”
He was my hero.
Then, a few days before summer vacation when I was shadowing Rob during recess, invisible, I watched him take out a lunch box and eat a ham sandwich.
I hadn’t had a crush on anyone since then.
On the CD, the reels ended and the next track started, a sweet, sad ballad and one of my favorites—“If I Was a Blackbird.” As I hummed along, a sudden, familiar phrase stuck out like a sore thumb. Oh. So much for magical improvisation. My counter-melody wasn’t exactly like the one the band was playing now, but it was close. I listened hard as they repeated the verse. Okay, not that part. But there—wait—those few notes? And maybe those? Oh yeah. It was painfully obvious to me where my inspiration had come from.
I sighed heavily, but some part of me was a little relieved. If there was a plausible explanation for my sudden ability to improvise, then there was probably one for Luke, too. Because the fact of it was, people didn’t just walk out of dreams. I was recognizing him from somewhere—heck, the way he’d played the flute, maybe he even had a band that I’d heard before. I didn’t know anything about him except that he was cute, played music, and was interested in me.
Did anything else matter?
Well, he did just show up in the bathroom—
“Deirdre!” Mom shouted. “Have you picked something?”
I stood up and looked at the CD player for a long moment before shutting it off. “Yeah!” I shouted back. “I’ve just decided.”
By the time we got to the reception, I was pleased that I hadn’t given in to any of Mom’s suggestions. Nobody was wearing jeans, but nobody was wearing anything worthy of the little-black-dress numbers she’d put in my hands. My light blue sundress and strappy white sandals fit the dress code perfectly, and the halter top on my dress showed off my neck and shoulders in case Luke really did come back for the reception.
“I hate when they hold these things outside,” Delia said loudly as she stepped off the sidewalk and her pointy heels sank two inches into the turf. “Thank God they at least have chamber music. I was afraid they’d have something awful, like that bagpiping earlier.”
I disagreed entirely. Nothing was worse than being shut in a room that smelled like carpet cleaner with one hundred strangers. Instead, I saw students, parents, teachers, and judges roaming between large white tents set up for food and the quartet that provided the music. The food smelled great and reminded me of Saturday nights at home. And the hot summer air had given way to a cool breeze as the sun slipped down toward the treeline.
“What is that smell?” Delia demanded. She was just being nasty, of course. She knew darn well that Mom’s catering company was here tonight. Dad always called Delia “my least favorite sister-in-law.” He was being funny, of course, since Delia was Mom’s only sister. But I agreed. Delia was an overbearing cake with condescending frosting, and frankly, I was on a diet.
“Dee, you survived!” James sauntered up and paused half a step when he saw Delia. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were busy.”
Delia surveyed his kilt, his unkempt hair, and his hands scrawled with various messages to himself.
“You’re the piper, aren’t you?” she asked coldly.
James smiled firmly. He had already identified her as a piper-hater. “Yes, but I do it against my will. The aliens won’t let me stop.”
Delia’s smile was iron. Not amused.
I said, “This is James, Delia. He’s the number two piper in the state of Virginia this year.”
“Soon to be number one,” James said with a charming smile. “I hired a hit man.”
Delia’s face remained exactly the same.
James exchanged a look with me. “Well, it was nice to meet you. I’d better find out if the food’s lonely.”
I gave a little wave as he retreated, mouthing later, and Delia frowned deeply. “What strange people always come to these events. We’d better find your parents.”
“I’ll catch up to you.” I edged away from her. “I think I see some of my friends.” I wasn’t a very good liar, but Delia wasn’t a very good listener, so we parted amicably, her toward the tents and me definitely away from them. I glanced quickly toward the food tent crowds but didn’t see any sign of Luke, so I headed around the side of the chamber group’s tent.
Here, the sun came slantwise through the trees across the road and made long gold stripes of light across the grass. I walked along one of the gold stripes, watching my incredibly tall shadow walking before me. I hadn’t gotten far along the stripes when I smelled herbs.
The scent was so strong and came on so quickly that I checked the ground under my sandals to see if I had crushed something. There was nothing but clover beneath my feet. But the leaves caught my eye, and I crouched. Sure enough, there was a bunch of four-leaf clovers, a few among many three-leaf. I picked one and straightened up, looking at it. For luck.
“I heard you play.”
I blinked and focused beyond the clover. Unnoticed by me, a young man with ginger hair had approached. His face was a riot of freckles, but he was still amazingly handsome—like a magazine ad. He had the beautiful, cared-for look of kids with trust funds.
I wasn’t sure how to reply, so I just said, “You did?”
He ducked around me in a circle, as if studying me. “Yes.” He circled again; I spun to keep my eyes on him. “Very impressive. Quite better than I expected.”
Better than he expected for what? For a girl? For a student? For a harpist? For me?
“Thanks,” I said, voice guarded. He circled again, a smile on his face. I got another whiff of the herbal scent, and I had an idea that it must be him. Something he was wearing.
“Quite impressive altogether.”
I asked politely, “Did you play?”
He grinned. “Do I ever stop?”
He kept circling, ceaselessly moving, and then his smile changed in some subtle way that made my stomach drop to my feet. “You smell good.”
A familiar voice made me spin the other direction. “Deirdre.”
Luke grabbed my hand abruptly, knocking the clover out of it as he did. Relieved to be rescued, I said, “I’m glad you’re here. This guy—” I turned to look at the weirdo, but there was nothing there, only the lingering scent of rosemary or thyme. There were a dozen places he could’ve hidden as soon as my back was turned. It only meant that he really had been up to no good. Why else would he hide? “There was a guy right here.”
