Chapter 1

"Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
Will we sing and bless this place."

So saying, I led the lord Oberon into a lively waltz, musing for at least the twenty-fourth time on the irony of having been cast as Titania in a regional production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. I was, arguably, uniquely qualified for the part--and had received very good notices from Portland's two leading theater critics--but no one in the cast or crew had any idea that their faerie queen was, in fact, one of the legendary Sidhe.

Ten minutes later, we had finished our curtain calls and I was backstage, removing makeup and reaching for the box in which I kept my stage-wig between shows. Our director had decided that my own fire-red hair was too bright compared to the rest of the cast. "Where will you be for Thanksgiving, Juliet?" asked the show's Helena, Amy Becket, who was sitting at the vanity table next to mine and brushing powder out of her red-blonde curls.

"Right here, I expect," I said. "I'm told that Atwater's lays an excellent table." This was a restaurant--just down the street and thirty-odd floors up from the theater--whose cuisine I had been awaiting a special occasion to sample.

"What? Surely you're not going to be all by yourself?"

"It appears so." I deposited the wig in its box and shook out my natural hair to its usual shoulder length.

"No family or relatives to spend the holiday with?" Amy persisted, still disbelieving. Then she stopped in mid-breath. "I'm sorry, I'm being pushy."

I smiled at her. "No harm done." It was, I belatedly realized, a logical question. "As for family--suffice to say that I disapproved of their plans for my life."

"So you ran away and joined the circus," Amy said, nodding. "Parents can be like that."

"Indeed," I said. "I gather yours are more supportive."

Amy's expression turned serious. "Well, they were. They were killed in a car crash last year. Now there's just my brother..." Her face suddenly brightened. "I know! Why don't you come and spend Thanksgiving with us? There's lots of room."

I considered. Living among mortals without betraying one's origins is no small challenge; doing so under a relative stranger's roof would be more difficult still. And yet the invitation was tempting, more so than Amy could have guessed. After all, the Sidhe have their own long-standing traditions of feasting and entertaining guests, and it had been a very long time since I had sat at a proper banquet-table.

"If you're sure...." I said, cautiously polite. "I wouldn't wish to impose."

Amy swallowed. "Absolutely," she said. "The house is enormous; there'll be room to spare, and probably enough turkey to feed a marching band. And...I'd appreciate the company. It's going to be strange not having Mom and Dad there. Please?" Though she tried to conceal it, I could hear the slightly desperate note in her voice.

"Very well, then," I said. "I'd be honored."

"Oh, wonderful!" said Amy, almost too cheerfully. "I'll call Rich tonight and let him know."

I should have remembered the other rule that applies to guests at High Court gatherings: one need not sing for one's supper, but one must frequently do so in order to leave the banquet hall afterward.

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