How I wished I’d held strong last night and not let him kiss me. My mouth tasted sour, and at that moment I pretty much hated him. He’d ruined my first kiss!

I remembered how hard Kimber had tried to convince me that Ethan wasn’t good for me. She’d even told me he was attracted to my power. She’d tried her best to warn me without actually explaining what she was warning me about. Too bad she’d been busy stabbing me in the back while she’d been “helping” me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, determined to deal with my heartbreak later. I couldn’t put my faith in Ethan or Kimber anymore; I’d never even considered putting my faith in Aunt Grace; and even if I’d wanted to put my faith in my mom, she wasn’t answering the phone. There was a limit to how much faith I could put in anyone, but my father, the stranger, sounded like the best deal available.

“Can we get out of here now?” I asked, and my dad, with a look of sympathy in his eyes, agreed.

The Stone’s Throw Inn was situated relatively low on the slopes of the mountain, and I was glad Dad had brought his car, a racy little red number that I guessed was an Italian sports car of some sort. You know: the kind that wouldn’t be caught dead doing something so crass as putting the make and model where just anyone could see them. The bucket seats were so low I felt like my butt would hit the pavement if we went over a speed bump. Not that I’d seen any sign of speed bumps anywhere in Avalon, but you get the idea.

Dad laughed as he climbed in. “I know, it’s a bit excessive for use in Avalon,” he said, patting the dashboard like it was his pet dog. “I’d love to be able to drive out into the mortal world and see how fast it can really go.”

The engine purred as he started the car and pulled out of his parking space onto the steep, curving road that would take us higher up the mountain.

“I think you’d get a handful of speeding tickets before you ever found out,” I muttered, feeling the car’s quiet power as it accelerated effortlessly despite the steepness of the road.

He laughed. “Most likely.”

I didn’t know what the speed limit was in Avalon—there never seemed to be any signs—but I bet my dad was breaking it as he zipped up the road. I tried not to white-knuckle the door handle as we zoomed around the curves. In an ill-advised moment, I glanced out the side window. On this bright, clear day I could see for miles. Unfortunately, I was seeing miles and miles of deep green forest. Faerie.

I turned away without blinking. The too-fast car ride was hard enough on my stomach without adding the nausea-inducing view through the Glimmerglass. When I faced front again, I caught my dad’s sideways glance, and I fully expected him to ask me what I saw. But he didn’t, and I was relieved. I really didn’t want to talk about the whole Faeriewalker thing right now.

Dad’s house was nowhere near as quaint as Aunt Grace’s. The entire bottom floor was a two-car garage—but in the space that would hold the second car, there was a horse stall instead. It was empty at the moment, the floor clear of straw, but a faint barn scent in the air told me the stall wasn’t just for show. Did that mean Dad made frequent trips into Faerie?

We had to take a spiral staircase to get up to the second floor, where the actual living area began. Moving in and out of this place must be a nightmare. (Says the girl who’s had to go through the torture of moving enough times to know.) Even carrying a suitcase up and down those stairs would be something of a challenge.

When we emerged from the staircase, we were in a spacious living room, with a tiny kitchen tucked into one corner. The entire wall facing the street was floor-to-ceiling windows. I tried to avoid seeing the view—you know, that whole seeing into two worlds thing—though I guessed it was spectacular. Instead, I looked around the living room, trying to get a sense of the man who was my father from the look of his home.

The stereotype of the Fae is that they’re old-fashioned (mostly because the vast majority of them are about a jillion years old). Grace’s house and Kimber’s apartment had both fit the stereotype with their antiques and conservative decor. Dad’s place did not look like the kind of house a Fae should live in. Not with those big, modern windows, or the modern art on the wall, or the Danish modern furniture. I’d always hated Danish modern, but that was my mom’s favorite, and I was beginning to guess why.

“The master suite is on the second floor,” my dad said, “and there’s a guest room and small library on the third floor.” Apparently he didn’t consider the garage a floor. “Would you like to change clothes and freshen up? Then maybe we can get to know each other better.”

“That would be great,” I said, trying to sound chipper, though now that I was here I felt nervous and awkward.

“Make yourself at home,” Dad said, gesturing at a door that I’d thought was a coat closet but that turned out to be a stairway. I guess since the Fae weren’t big on coats, they didn’t need coat closets.

I stopped with my foot on the first step, turning to look at my dad over my shoulder. “You’re not going to lock me in, are you?”

He looked shocked by the suggestion. “Of course not! You’re my daughter, not my prisoner. And I am not your aunt Grace.”

I sure hoped not. I nodded and started up the stairs, though I have to admit I was very tense as I climbed. When I made it to the third floor (or fourth floor, depending on your point of view), I saw that the guest room was about as inviting as the living room had been. Sparsely furnished, everything with that plain, stripped-down look of Danish modern, and instead of a cushy bed, there was a hard futon.

I felt better about the room when I saw my suitcase and backpack sitting neatly in the corner.

Never before had I been so glad to see my own clothing. I picked out my favorite pair of cargo pants and a heavyweight sweatshirt that might be enough to counter the chill of an Avalon early summer day. And I was more than ready to change into fresh underwear, since the ones I was wearing were still damp from being washed in the sink last night.

Feeling a bit paranoid, I didn’t close the bedroom door, afraid that if I did, I’d be locked in despite Dad’s promise. However, I did close the bathroom door most of the way as I hastily changed. I kept listening hard for the terrible click of a door closing, of a lock turning, but it didn’t happen.

When I was finished changing, I brushed my hair and secured it in a ponytail, then dabbed on some clear lip gloss. A light dusting of blush on my cheeks, and I looked almost like myself again, except for the haunted expression in my eyes.

Oh, well. I had a right to look haunted.

Feeling much more comfortable in my own clothes, I headed back downstairs to face my dad once more.

He was sitting on the sofa, which faced an oversized plasma TV instead of the view, thank goodness. An ice bucket on legs stood off to the side, and there were a pair of champagne flutes on the coffee table. I must have looked as surprised as I felt, because Dad answered my question without me having to ask.

“It’s not every day a man gets to meet his long-lost daughter,” he said. “A celebration is in order, don’t you think?”

“Um, I’m only sixteen.” The excuse hadn’t worked with Kimber and her posset, and it didn’t work with Dad either.

“I guarantee we won’t be arrested by the drinking-age police. Now come join me. We have a lot to talk about.”

At this point, I didn’t much want to talk about anything. I wanted to pretend for a while that this trip had gone exactly as planned, that I’d come straight here from the airport and this was the beginning of a better life.

I took a seat on the other end of the sofa as Dad went about opening the champagne. I was tensed and ready for the pop of the cork, but that didn’t stop me from jumping anyway. The corners of Dad’s eyes crinkled, but he didn’t full-out laugh at me.