I freed my fingers and stroked his cheek, running my thumb over the smooth, pale skin. For a moment, he closed his eyes and leaned into my hand before brushing a kiss to my palm and standing up. “I’m going to find Puck,” he announced. “There must be something we’re missing, something we’re overlooking. There has to be an easier way.”
“Well, if you find it, that would be great. I’m sick of being…sick…every time I make a flower grow.” I tried for a grateful smile, but think I just grimaced at him. Ash placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezed gently, and left the room. Sighing, I wandered over to the kitchen table, curious to see what Dad was working on so vigorously. He didn’t look up this time, so I perched on the edge beside him. The table was covered with sheets of paper, scribbled with lines and black dots. Looking closer, I saw they were hand-drawn sheet music.
“Hey, Dad.” I spoke softly, not wanting to distract or startle him. “What are you doing?”
“Composing a song,” he replied, glancing at me briefly and smiling. “It just hit me this morning, and I knew I had to write it down quickly before I lost it. I used to write songs all the time for…for your mother.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I watched the pencil move, scribbling dots along five simple black lines. It didn’t look like music to me, but Dad would stop and close his eyes, swaying the pencil to an invisible tune, before adding more dots to the lines.
My vision went fuzzy for a moment, and the dots seemed to move on the paper. For just a second, the entire song shimmered with glamour. The strict, straight lines gleamed like metal wires, while the various notes, once black and solid, sparkled like drops of water held up to light. Startled, I blinked, and the scribbles became normal again.
“Weird,” I muttered.
“What’s weird?” Paul asked, looking up.
“Um.” Quickly, I searched for a safer topic. Dad didn’t have a high regard for glamour, seeing it as nothing more than faery tricks and deception. With everything he’d gone through, I couldn’t blame him. “Um,” I said again. “I was just wondering…what all those little dots and lines are for. I mean, it doesn’t look like music to me.”
Paul smiled, eager to talk about his favorite subject, and pulled a full sheet of paper from a stack. “They’re measures,” he explained, placing the sheet between us. “See these lines? Each line represents a musical pitch. Every note on a scale is represented by its position on the line or in the spaces between. The higher the note is on the lines, the higher the pitch. Follow me so far?”
“Ummm…”
“Now, notice the different dots, or notes,” Dad went on, as if I understood anything he just said. “An open dot plays longer than a closed dot. The little stems and flags you see cut the time in half, and in half again. The appearance of the notes tells the player how long to hold them, and what note to play. Everything is measured by time, pitch, and scale, written in perfect harmony. One note or measure in the wrong place will throw off the entire song.”
“Sounds very complicated,” I offered, trying to keep up with his explanation.
“It can be. Music and math have always been tied closely together. It’s all about formulas and fractions and such.” Paul stood abruptly with the sheet of music and walked over to the piano. I trailed behind him and perched on the couch. “But then, you put it all together, and it sounds like this.”
And he played a song so beautiful it caught in my throat, making me want to smile and laugh and cry all at the same time. I’d heard his music before, but this was different, as if he’d put his entire heart and soul into it, and it had grown a life of its own. Glamour flared and swirled around him, a vortex of the most gorgeous colors I’d ever seen. No wonder the fey were attracted to talented mortals. No wonder Leanansidhe had been so reluctant to let him go. The piece was short and ended abruptly, as if Paul just ran out of notes.
“Well, it’s not finished yet,” he murmured, lowering his hands, “but you get the idea.”
“What’s it called?” I whispered, the echo of the song still ebbing through me. Paul smiled.
“Memories of Meghan.”
Before I could say anything, the door banged open and Ash stepped through with Puck close behind him. I jumped up as Ash crossed the room, his face tight and severe, and Puck stood in front of the door with his arms crossed, glaring out the window.
“What’s going on?” I asked as Ash drew close, looking like he wanted to sweep me up and rush out the door. I glanced at my dad to see how this was affecting him, relieved to see he looked wary and alarmed but not crazy. Ash took my arm and drew me away.
“The Seelie and Unseelie Courts,” he muttered, low enough that my father couldn’t hear. “They’re here, and they’re looking for you.”
CHAPTER NINE
A KNIGHT’S VOW
I blinked at Ash, and my stomach squirmed weirdly, both in excitement and fear. “Both of them?” I whispered, glancing at my dad, who had wandered back to the table and was hunched over his music again. He tended to ignore the faeries whenever they were in the room, never speaking to them, barely looking their way, and the boys were content to return the favor. It made for some awkward evenings, but I think Paul was terrified that if he drew their attention, he would go mad once more.
Ash shrugged. “They wouldn’t talk to me or Puck, except to say that Leanansidhe already gave them permission to come here. They want to speak with you. They’re in the clearing now.”