“Don’t worry about it,” Tyff reassured her, smiling brightly. “You also told him that you had a totally hot roommate you would introduce him to at the cast party.”
“I did?”
“Uh-huh. And you will.”
“Why?” Kelley asked.
“Why?” Tyff’s expression went a tiny bit dreamy, and she said, “Because I haven’t been kissed like that in over a thousand years. That’s why.”
Like most cast parties, this one seemed as if it would never end, and—just like always—Kelley really wished she could be in two places at once. Gentleman Jack, coffee cup in hand, finally came to her rescue. Just like always.
“You look exhausted, kiddo,” the old actor said, just loud enough for the others to hear. “Must be all that climbing about in the rigging.”
“Something like that.” Kelley grinned.
“You did a hell of a job, you know.” Jack hugged her tightly. “I’m proud of you. But . . . maybe you should get on out of here.”
“Oh, gosh, Jack”—she stifled a fake yawn—“I don’t want to miss anything. . . .”
“‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on,’ Kelley Winslow,” Jack said, quoting Prospero’s most famous line. “I imagine you’ve got at least one dream waiting out there for you tonight. Go on. I’ll cover for you. And give your old man my regards next time you see him.”
Kelley smiled her appreciation, hugged Jack once more, and slipped away.
Outside in the darkness, a shadow detached itself from the outer wall of the theater. Four long steps and she was in his arms.
“Sonny . . . ,” she sighed, and he shushed her with a kiss.
“You were wonderful tonight,” he said, gazing down at her with his beautiful silver eyes. “Don’t you want to stay at the party?”
“I don’t want to be anywhere you aren’t.”
He smiled. “I’m sorry I’m not one for crowds.”
“I don’t need a crowd. I don’t need anything but this. I don’t need anything but you.”
“Just plain old Sonny Flannery? All out of magick? Are you sure?”
Kelley nodded up at him. “Positive.”
“Good.” He took her by the hand, and together they started walking south toward the Ramble. Kelley didn’t have any reservations about being in the park at night anymore. Sonny and Carys had gathered the remaining loyal Janus Guards and combined them with those of the Lost Fae who wanted to help. Together, changelings and Fair Folk patrolled the Gate, keeping an eye on the random cracks that still appeared. The Samhain Gate, the portal to the Otherworld, would never truly be closed again.
“Now that your father is back in control in the Otherworld, sorting out the Courts,” Sonny said, “I thought you might want to see some of the places where I grew up. I could take you there. You know, sort of like a . . . a . . .”
“A guided tour?”
Sonny stopped and looked down at her. “I was going to say, ‘a date.’”
Kelley felt herself blushing to the roots of her fiery hair. She was suddenly very glad that Tyff had talked her into wearing something nice for the party. Sonny laughed at her expression and, putting his fingers to his lips, whistled a long note. There was an answering sound from the trees, and then the magnificent silver King Stag trotted into view.
“Lucky?” Kelley said, and laughed as the regal creature threw his head up and down, nodding in a familiar, unmajestic fashion. His form may have altered, but Kelley saw that the gleam of personality in his liquid brown eyes was still Lucky the kelpie, through and through. He trotted up beside them, and Sonny cupped his hands to give Kelley a leg up onto the stag’s back. She gripped the shaggy silver ruff as Sonny vaulted up behind her.
Kelley felt a shiver of excitement thrill through her veins as Sonny’s arms tightened around her waist. Together, they climbed into the sky, and over the song of the wind whistling past, Kelley heard Sonny whisper in her ear. . . .
“Magick time.”
Acknowledgments
It’s funny how this never gets old. This moment when I get to sit down at the end of a book and thank the people who have made this possible. It has been said that writing is a very solitary profession. I strenuously beg to differ. None of what you’ve just read, be it this book or the two that preceded it, was created solely in the vacuum of my skull. And for that, I roll out the gratitude and offers of goodly libations to the following: as always, Jessica Regel and Laura Arnold—my agent and my editor, two women so wonderful, I don’t even mind that they’re both taller, younger, and smarter than me. Seriously. I adore you. Thank you again to Jean Naggar and the staff of JVNLA for continuing to take excellent care of me. Thank you to the wonderful, wondrous crew at HarperCollins: my ever lovely editorial director Barbara Lalicki for her continued support; Maggie Herold, my terrific production editor, for making me seem—for the third time—as if I know what I’m doing; and Sasha Illingworth, my stellar designer, for making the whole thing look even better than it did the first and second time around (and I really didn’t think that was possible)! Thank you again to my two Melissas, publicists extraordinaire—especially Melissa Zilberberg, who has cheerfully sent me hither and yon, always making sure I got there and back again. Thanks to editor Lynne Missen and everyone at HarperCollins Canada for making me feel like part of the family. Thank you, Mark and Danielle and Racquel, for turning me into part of the family (and for random gifts of shiny things that kept my head from exploding utterly). Thank you, Cecmonster, for continuing to be my ultimate target reader (even after all these years). Thank you, Adrienne, for the friendship and kind of understanding that comes from shared experience. Thank you, Joanna, for all your hard work. Now, as ever, I send massive love and gratitude out to my family: Mom, Ward, Shelley, Janna, and Dayln—thanks for the tremendous support and continuing to think that what I do is cool. And for the third time running, thank you, John: from “What if?” to “What happens next?” to “Aha! So that’s how it all turns out!” . . . you were there with the map at every bend in the road and, just like in real life, you never ever let me get lost.
And speaking of that journey . . . the last thank you, as before, is for you, Dear Reader! Thanks for trusting me to tell this story. And thanks for believing in it alongside me as I did.
Copyright
Tempestuous
Copyright © 2011 by Lesley Livingston
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Livingston, Lesley.
Tempestuous / by Lesley Livingston. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Sequel to: Darklight.
Summary: Sonny Flannery joins a group of underground Lost Fae as he struggles to recover from his heartbreak over Kelley Winslow, while Kelley tries to uncover who is hunting Sonny’s Green Magick so that she and Sonny can be together again.
ISBN 978-0-06-174006-0 (trade bdg.)
[1. Fairies—Fiction. 2. Actors and actresses—Fiction. 3. Fantasy.] I. Title.
PZ7.L7613Te 2011 2010015902
[Fic]—dc22 CIP
AC
* * *
EPub Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780062036117
11 12 13 14 15 LP/RRDB 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
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Lesley Livingston, Tempestuous
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