We make one more stop on the way back from Malibu. The driver waits at the curb while I run into the library under the guise of needing a new book to read out by the pool.
I log onto a computer and check my email. There’s a new one from Carter—a few lines saying he’s looking forward to my return, which is nice. And then I see the one I’m hoping for. It’s from Professor Gould.
My finger trembles as I tap the key to open it.
Dear Ms. Hart,
I received your portfolio and application and passed them along to our head of school, Mrs. Moser. I am pleased to inform you that you have been admitted and may be eligible for some scholarship money as well. Please have your parents fill out the attached financial forms and send them to this address—”
The email goes on, ending with a big congratulations and official welcome to the Dowrey school, but I’m basically skimming at this point.
I got in! I’m going to art school!
I want to jump up and dance in the library but somehow manage to restrain myself. And now I’m dying to see Carter, too. Because he’s the only person—aside from Ava—that I can really share my excitement with.
Grabbing the first book I see, I toss it on the counter, take out a new library card first, and then check out the book to support my cover story. I force myself not to skip on the way to the car, but inside I’m celebrating because now I know for sure what my future looks like, and it does not include marriage at eighteen to a stranger.
In a few days I’ll be under Pappa’s roof—and under his thumb—in Atlanta again. But come fall, I’ll be back here and living life on my own terms. I just have to figure out the right time and the best way to inform the leader of the Dark Elves that I’m going to defy him.
* * *
By the time my plane lands in Atlanta, I’ve almost decided to just go ahead and tell Pappa about the art school and the scholarship. Maybe he’ll be proud of me, especially when I tell him that I’ll continue modeling as well. Anyway, it’s my life, and I’m nearly a legal adult. He can’t actually force me into this marriage if I outright refuse, right? We may be Elves, but this is America.
He didn’t pick me up as I thought he might. Instead, he sent his driver to the airport to get me. Once home, I step through the door and call out, “Pappa?” Surely he didn’t go to bed without seeing me first?
“Pappa,” I continue to call, walking down the hallway to his home office.
The light is on, shining under the door onto the marble hallway floor. Must be working late. I rap on the door lightly then open it and peek in. He’s sitting at his desk, talking on the phone, but gestures me in with two fingers.
Silently, I cross the floor and flop into the plush chair facing his desk, offering him a tired smile. We’ve never spent an entire week apart since the day I came to live with him, and I’ve actually missed him.
Yes, he’s demanding and less than affectionate, but he’s still the most constant presence in my life, and he’s taken care of all my needs for the past five years. Our relationship might not be like the one I shared with my mom and dad, but he’s the only “parent” I’ve got left.
Hanging up the phone, Pappa asks in a low, calm voice, “How was your trip?”
Something’s wrong.
His tone is off. The question feels like a baited trap, and my heart becomes a hummingbird thrashing against a plate glass window.
All thoughts of coming clean flee my brain. This—this is why I felt the need to hide my activities in the first place. There’s something about Pappa that’s a little frightening, even when he’s smiling as he’s doing now.
I force a carefree tone I don’t feel. “It was great. I think my modeling jobs went well—the clients seemed happy. And I had a good time with Ava. I enjoyed meeting her roommates.”
Pappa’s smile remains, but his eyes harden into the same predatory scrutiny he usually reserves for humans. “Apparently that’s not all you enjoyed.”
My pulse throbs so hard I’m afraid my eyeballs are bulging in and out in time with its rhythm. “What do you mean?”
One heavy, dark brow lifts. “It looks like you enjoyed your freedom as well.”
He tosses some papers onto the desktop between us where they land with a smack. Trying to control my quaking hands, I reach for the pages and pull them into my lap, and all the air leaves my lungs at once.
Print-outs of my emails from the library. The two with Carter. The two between myself and Professor Gould. How did he get these? How did he know?
I look up at his face, and I’m sure he can read the terror in mine. But he smiles again. This time there’s no mistaking the malevolence in the expression.
“After all I’ve done for you, Vancia, I must say—this hurts me.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I just want to live my life. How did you...”
Leaning forward across the desk, he drills me into my seat back with his stare. “As I’ve told you before, dear daughter, we all have a role to play—a job to do for the greater good of our people. Your new friend Ava did her job.”
“Ava?” A pang of betrayal squeezes my heart. “She told you. Was her job... to spy on me?”
“She was instructed to look out for you, and that’s exactly what she’s done. Don’t look so offended.” He laughs, relaxing into the high leather back of his desk chair. “It’s not as if keeping a watch on you was unnecessary, is it? It’s a good thing she was faithful to her task. Your... dallying could have ruined everything for all of us.”
He stands now, coming around to the front of the desk and towering over my seated position. “There will be no art school. And there will be no more communication with this human boy. If you care about his... welfare at all, you’ll obey me in this.”
I spring up from my chair to face him. “You leave Carter alone. If anything happens to him—”
Pappa’s head drops back and he laughs loudly. “You’re threatening me? What will you do? Hmmm? This plan is not only mine, but the High Council’s. Do you know how embarrassing it will be for me to face them again after what you’ve done? By now, Thora has informed them all about your extracurricular activities. I never dreamed my own daughter would shame me before my subjects.”
Anger burns my gut like ghost pepper sauce. Anger toward Ava for deceiving me. Toward the Council and their schemes. But mostly toward Pappa, for bringing up the idea of hurting my friend. For caring more about what the Council thinks than about what I might want. And for laughing at my feelings and hopes and dreams.
My voice is a low scrape in the quiet of his luxurious office. “You’re not my real father. My parents were Calder and Eira. And they’re dead.”
All amusement slides from Pappa’s face. “Yes. They are.” He leans in close enough for me to feel his hot breath strike my cheek. “And unless you’d like to join them in Alfheim, you’ll do as you’re told and remain useful to me. Never forget—you’re not my real daughter, either.”