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Prologue

I'm a psychopathic, homocidal fae. I'll go ahead and say that. But, it seems I was destined to be that way. I wasn't always that way, I hope you understand. But trouble seems to follow me. When people talk to me, they get hurt. I work for the fae because I'm a half-breed--which is the ugly-but-normal-term used by fae when a fae and a human mate and have a baby. Half-breeds have two choices--when they realize their powers (even if they're small powers) they can a) die, or b) serve a fae lord or lady.
When I was six years old, I chose b.
My mother, who was a fae, never forgave me for that, because she had to leave her human husband in order to train me. She slowly went crazy. And when she became a murderess--one of the first ever fae murderesses--I was the one who took her down, on the orders of my liege and master, Lord James Barnabies.
It killed me to kill her. Literally. Her dying spell was to cause me eternal pain, but she died before she could complete it. I was in a hospital for six months--a fae infirmary, mind, because the human hospitals wouldn't understand why my blood glows in the dark and why I have two sliver-like cuts in my back, just under my shoulders--but I lived. But because of her, I can never fly again. It's my curse and my blessing. I can never fly, but I never died. It was the price I had to pay to live. My wings are still there, but they're too weak to hold me up for longer than a second, and it causes me unbearable pain. But that's what happens when your mother hates you, I suppose. Especially if she was the greatest fae in her time.
Now? I'm the half-breed of a once-powerful fae lady, and I have almost no powers whatsoever. To do more than three spells a day is to test my limits. But I'm lucky. There are those who don't have as much power as me. Those are the ones who only get choice a. They're not worth enough to be trained by a lord if they can't even use their powers. Those are the ones who die.
My name is Juliet. I'm not looking for a Romeo. I don't have time for love. I'm not looking for peace. I'm too restless and wild for that. I'm not looking for anything much in particular, except for excitement and justice.
That's my job, isn't it?
I'm the peacemaker.
I'm half human and half fae.
I have wings but I will never fly.

Chapter One:
My Life As An Invalid

I wake up screaming. Tears are running down my cheeks. I lift up a hand to wipe them away, and notice a wire full of fluids connected to my wrist, pumping the fluids into me. I look around. The wire is attached to an IV, and I'm attached to a hospital bed. I feel the blankets, then tug them away. Oh, d**n. I'm even wearing one of those stupid, duck-print-covered hospital gowns that doesn't even cover my a*s. I put a hand to my forehead, surprised by the sudden strong headache that begins pounding rhythmically in my brain.
How long have I been here?
I pull out the IV, wincing in pain, and strip off the catheter. I shudder in disgust. Stripping off the ducky gown, I throw on a pair of scrubs and walk calmly out of the room, hoping to God that no one will notice that I've left until I'm gone.
A doctor with a red ponytail and dull green eyes looks at me and asks wearily, "How's she doing?" gesturing to the room I've just escaped from.
I shrug. "Same. Nothing deadly."
She snorts. "They always act like that, when they're comatose."
Comatose? I was effing comatose?
I shrug again. "Yeah, well, whatcha gonna do? Sorry--" I peer at her nametag (she must be an intern, even I know that) "--Martha, but my shift's off, I really gotta go. My boyfriend's waiting for me at the apartment. Guess I'll catch a cab." I pat my pockets and swear. "D**n! Guess I forgot my wallet at home." I glance up at her. She's expressionless. "Hey, Martha, think you can loan me--" I think. "--maybe twenty dollars? Pay you back tomorrow, promise."
She sighs reluctantly, but nevertheless hands me a twenty. I wave her goodbye, running out of the godforsaken building of death and chemicals. I have bad memories of hospitals. Doesn't everyone? But, then, not everyone watches their best friend die of a rare brain cancer very slowly. Very painfully.
I shudder, then leave, running out and catching a yellow taxi. So stereotypical. I give him my address and make him rush home. Handing him the twenty, I burst out to see my beautiful Victorian home. Lord Barnabies made sure I had the absolute best. I did his cases, he did my bills. Even Steven, right?
Fumbling around in my scrubs pockets, and cursing myself for remembering, These aren't your clothes, idiot, they're scrubs and God knows when they took your keys--but it can't have been more than a few days ago, you were only shot a while ago...how long I wonder?, I knock on the door.
A little girl with her father's auburn hair and green-gray eyes so like my own opens the door. She looks at me, her eyes wide with horror. Is she...taller?
"Selena?" I ask tentatively, and she runs. I follow her warily--she left the door open--and find her in the living room, cowering behind her father, who's looking at me like I'm back from the dead or something. As far as I can tell, I'm not a ghost.
Richard stares at me for a minute, then whispers, "Oh my God. Juliet...is that you?"
"Richard!" I fly into his arms. "How long was I comatose? A couple of days? I'm so sorry, baby. I don't know who it was that shot me..." That's a complete and utter lie, of course, but he doesn't need to know that.
He pulls away from me, his eyes as huge as the Empire State Building. "Juliet...don't you know?"
I'm suspicious. "Don't I know...what?" I ask plainly.
He swallows, looking suddenly nervous, then gives me a sympathetic look, mixed of pity and bewilderment. And wonder that I'm okay. "Juliet..." he pauses, then starts again.
"Juliet, you were in a coma for two years."

Chapter Three:
My Car, My Rules

After debating on whether or not to wake up, I shuffle to the door of my apartment, flinging it open. I'd woken to the sound of squire-what's-his-name yelling at me. Da*n, he must've broken my silence charm. I throw open the door, giving him my glare. He shrinks back a little, not visibly, and throws back a matching glare.
Well, he may be a pureblood, but he seems pretty tough.
"I insist that you come with me," he says through clenched teeth. "Lord Barnabies insisted to drag you if I had to. He told me to give you this, but you slammed the door before I could give it to you." He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and gives it to me. Hesitantly, I unfold it and read it.

Juliet,

I hope that you'll forgive me. I was foolish to send you on that mission--he was far too strong for you. Professionals were sent as backup, but by then it was too late. You had been shot and been put in a magically-induced coma by the time we arrived. We didn't know how long the spell would last--we could only wait. I pretended to be your "office manager"--honestly, where do you come up with these things?--for your husband and daughter, and claimed to know nothing, and, quite honestly? I was scared out of my mind. I've lost a daughter before to that Russian man. I lost a wife, too, and I'll never regain her, either. Now, I've only got a niece and my little squires to call family.
It was a family that used to include you.
I hope you'll reconsider your idea to abandon us. We need you, Julie. We've always needed you. No matter what, we will always need you. You are brave, and strong, and kind, and, frankly, you don't give a da*n about the consequences concerning yourself as long as people are helped.
That's why I chose you from all of those other pureblooded squires. I sensed your spirit and determination. You were horrible to be trained--being around your insane mother hadn't helped, I'm sure--but it was all worth it.
I hope you'll come back to us.
We need you, Julie.

--James.

I swallowed. I knew my decision. "How did you get here?"
"Taxi." He smirked.
"Fine. My car. My rules. You don't get shotgun. You wear a car seat. And have to listen to 80's blues music, or you get kicked out and I head straight back home."
"I'm 16, and you'll make me wear a car seat?"
That was how a normal teen should sound. And he was...most definitely not normal. He had tipped ears, for heaven's sakes! His eyes were slanted pupils, even with his illusionment charms on. He looked exotic and strange.
"Yes, I will. I hope you like Volkswagen Bugs."

Squire Salem Sage (a total tongue-twister, I wonder how he says it continuously) leaves me at the door, claiming, "I must go train." I let him; he looks itching for a fight, and I know the feeling. Might as well indulge in him.
I reach the ballroom by myself. My hands trace the patterns on the walls by memory; I've danced in this ballroom many times before. Before Richie and I met; before Selena was born; before the shooting and the coma and the unofficial resignation...
...and I miss it.
I approach him--there's Jamie and his niece, Karyn, and a male squire who is tenderly kissing her as though he doesn't even love her. And then I notice the identical, matching engagement rings (or are they wedding rings?) on both of their left hands. Karyn has light blond hair (it was originally brunette; she dyed it?) and her blue eyes are bluer than ever and shining with adoration. The squire, who I've never met before, seems grim but determined to be with Karyn; he has sea-green eyes that match my own (which I've always been told are the color of the sea) and light brown hair that flops into his eyes like a stereotypical surfer's.
Jamie seems different. He no longer looks like the Lord James Barnabies that I remember; his black hair is now salt-and-peppered with gray and white flecks. Have I caused him so much grief and pain? I shudder. His eyes are still a calm, serious gray, but they have pain and determination in them now amid the gray.
He sees me, and I think tears are in his eyes--or is that just the light from the chandelier? I can't tell--and runs to me. I'm glad I changed--using magic, I changed from jeans and a t-shirt to a silk blue gown fit for the fae court, which hugs my body and ends just below my shoulders, without straps or sleeves. I love these dresses. They're so comfortable and pretty.
"Juliet!" he cries, wrapping me in a bear hug embrace. "I thought I'd never see you again."
"I'm like a bad penny," I joke, "I always turn up."
He laughs, but doesn't pull back, and wipes at his eyes so that I can't see him crying. To avoid it (I'm not good with touchy-touchy, feely-feely moments) I look at Karyn, only to regret it. She's blathering, crying hysterically, her globs of ruined mascara trailing down her face due to unsuppressed tears. Her shoulders are bouncing theatrically, and she's sobbing so much I can't tell if she's hyperventilating or not. Probably not. She never liked me much; she's just too much of an actress.
The squire looks at me, does a double-take, then avoids my eye and comforts Karyn without pity or sympathy in his eyes. He probably doesn't like her much, either. Even if they are engaged. Not many people like Karyn. She's too dramatic. Only Jamie can't see that. Only Jamie would take her in and keep her as one of his own.
"Oh, God, I need to go lie down," Karyn sighs, once she's stopped blubbering. "Justin, sweetie, go get me some aspirin, would you? I'll be in my bedroom."
Her bedroom.
So they're not married.
He walks in one direction, while she walks in another, practically tripping in the heels that make her three inches taller, and sniffling like a two year old who has thrown his candy to the ground and regretted it. Her hair is bounced up and down in pretty ringlets that make her another inch taller--she looks sort of like Sandy from Grease, at the very end, but dressed differently, in an obviously-royalty-here way: a silk green gown that compliments her well, definitely made my magic, as it glitters with red sequin-like dots that is definitely the effect of a light charm.
Jamie pulls himself away from me. "Juliet...oh my...g--" he can't say it. "Would you care to walk with me in the garden?"
Tears sting my eyes. Da*n those tears.
The garden was the last place in their house that his wife walked in before she was murdered by that Russian guy who nearly killed me. He shot her in the lung, too, but he killed her, while he didn't knock me six feet under just yet. It gets you wondering--who will? I'm the type to die kicking and screaming instead of a peaceful, quiet death at the age of ninety-three.
"Sure."


Jamie shows me the glass roses. "Justin can show you the rest. I need to go." Go cry his eyes out where I can't see, he means, but I don't mind--neither of us are very emotional when we can help it, and I won't exactly complain if he doesn't want to cry in front of me. He claps his hands three times, and the squire from earlier appears with a pop!, like the fairy godmother from Cinderella. Except he's a guy and doesn't seem so nice. His eyes have a hard, guarded look about them, as if he doesn't trust anyone, and he has the sparkle and flair that means independence and feistiness.
God, I love them feisty. I can't help it.
I smile as soon as Jamie walks away. "I cause lots of emotion. " I roll my eyes. "I'm a magnet for that. And for trouble," I add, and he laughs. I stick out my hand in a greeting. "I'm Juliet. Juliet Toma--" I'm still not used to the fact that Richard and I aren't married anymore; he divorced me officially just after I got out of the coma; he fell in love with another woman, some news broadcaster named Susan Something-Or-Other, and married her and kept my Selena. "Juliet Grey," I replace with my maiden name. I'm not crazy about my maiden name--as I want to be known as the daughter of that crazy fae lady--but there's not really anything else to say.
"Squire Justin Stone," he replies, and shakes my hand. "Nice to meet you." He looks at my left hand not-so-subtly. "You're not married?"
"I used to be."
"What happened?"
I shrug. "I got shot, I was in a coma for two years due to a sleeping spell, I woke up, and he divorced me for reasons I don't understand."
He blushes. "Oh." His face becomes even redder. "I'm engaged to Karyn. Arranged marriages and all that."
"An arranged marriage?" I'm shocked. There are only a couple of pureblood families that still practice arranged marriages. "Jamie's making you marry her?"
"My parents want me to marry a better," he says, blushing even harder; his face looks like a freaking tomato now, or how Gettysburg must've looked. "And Sir Barnabies has no objections. In fact...he just wants me to love her."
"I'm confused. Do you?" I ask.
"...No," he replies.
Before I even know what just happened, I'm kissing him and we're rolling around in the garden, like we've been dating or married for years and have done this every day for most of our lives, even though I only met him five minutes ago. I don't break away; I breathe through my nose to avoid letting go; I kiss him, let him French kiss me back, let him grab my upper back tightly so I can't pull away; he seems to be enjoying this unexpected kiss as I much as I am.
Well, so much for a normal reunion.

((I have officially killed this prose. If you've read it and loved it, sorry. If you hated it, rejoice. If you MUST read more, PM me and I'll send you the short ending. Less than a page of stuff. Hope you enjoyed it while it lasted. *sigh* I know I did.))