No Quest For The Wicked (Enchanted, Inc. #6)

No Quest For The Wicked (Enchanted, Inc. #6) Page 79

“Distract yourself,” Owen suggested. “Think about baseball statistics or sing commercial jingles to yourself.”

“I’ll give it a shot.” He combined the solutions and sang “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” at the top of his lungs. If the singing elves and fairies hadn’t drawn attention, then that was sure to.

“Do the police not patrol the park at night?” I asked, glancing around. “I’d think they’d be drawn to this thing along with everyone else, and they’ve got guns.”

“There’s at least one patrolman in your entourage, but he’s currently dancing with a fairy,” Owen said. Then he suddenly spun me around into a dance hold and waltzed a few steps. “Why let them have all the fun?” he said. “Enjoy your moment to be queen.”

“Well, no one is currently trying to kill me,” I admitted. So far, the fairies and elves were willing to merely bask in my glory—well, the glory of the Eye—and their presence seemed to be keeping the power lusts of others somewhat at bay. Earl and the other elves from Sylvester’s crew were following me instead of chasing me, and even Rod seemed to relax once he got into the spirit of things.

I wasn’t a great dancer, but Owen, who had been brought up by the kind of old-fashioned people who would have made sure he knew what to do at a formal ball, was a good leader, and soon I was almost able to forget the imminent danger long enough to enjoy the fact that I, Katie Chandler, a woman who was so ordinary that it came back around to extraordinary, was waltzing through Central Park at night with a handsome man while a horde of adoring followers serenaded me, pledging their undying devotion.

It was too magical to last. So, of course, it didn’t.

Earl emerged from the crowd, his eyes showing the same kind of madness that Sylvester had. Instead of being lulled or distracted by the singing, he seemed to have decided that he wanted these people to follow him the way they followed me. “Listen to me!” he called out, raising his voice above the song. “You’re following a mortal woman, a woman with no magic! It’s the Eye of the Moon you follow, not the woman.”

Someone in the crowd laughed, and that laugh gave me shivers. “We knew that. Did you think we were so foolish as to follow an ordinary girl? We follow the stone. She rules us.”

I looked up at Owen as we stopped dancing. I knew they weren’t really following me, but it stung to realize that they knew it, too. More alarming was the fact that they had pledged their loyalty to a stone. That meant they’d willingly follow whomever held it.

Earl figured that out pretty quickly, himself. “You should follow one of your own,” he said, and then he rushed at me. “Give it to me. It isn’t yours!”

“It’s not yours, either,” I replied, moving out of the way. Then I played dirty. “Who do you think you are, Sylvester?” I asked with a sneer. “Are you that hungry for power that you’d do exactly what he tried to do? You’re even letting it affect you the same way.”

He froze, then shook his head. “I’m not like him! I’m not!” Then he turned to Granny. “Please, help me! I can’t stop listening to it, and it’s telling me that if I had it, people would hear me, for once. They’d do what I told them. They’d let me finish sentences.” He was pleading now, and I saw tears glistening on his cheeks. “I don’t want to be like Sylvester.”

“Come here, boy,” she said, her voice gentle. “Bend down. You’re such a beanpole I can’t reach you.” He went to her and leaned over. She reached up and touched the middle of his forehead with one finger. “Sleep now,” she ordered. His eyes closed, and then he slowly crumpled to the ground, where he curled up on his side. All the muscles in his body relaxed as he gave a little sigh.

“They’re so cute when they’re asleep,” Granny remarked as she watched him. “Now, we’d better get away from here before that stone proves more powerful than my spell. He doesn’t seem as far gone as the other one, but it’s best not to take any chances.”

We were near the edge of the park now. The traffic noises from Fifth Avenue almost drowned out the unearthly singing behind us. My—make that the stone’s—entourage had thinned somewhat as the less civilized park denizens withdrew. I noticed that there were fewer animals following us, too.

“Do we really need to leave the park?” I asked Owen. “These people are creepy, but they don’t seem to be going after the brooch, and, who knows, maybe they’d do something to protect it if someone else tried to take it.”