Then a half-dozen more had popped in at varying intervals to say the same things all over again, and to stress that they were there to provide "aught, aught at all Mr. Black might desire."
The sixteenth had come to extract two tiny girls from Adam's lap over their wailing protests (and had stayed out of his lap herself only because Adam had hastily stood), the twenty-third and final one had been old enough to be someone's great-great-grandmother, and even she'd flitted shamelessly with the "braw Mr. Black," batting nonexistent lashes above nests of wrinkles, smoothing thin white hair with a blue-veined, age-spotted hand.
And if that hadn't been enough, the castle cat, obviously female and obviously in heat, had sashayed in, tail straight up and perkily curved at the tip, and wound her furry little self sinuously around Adam's ankles, purring herself into a state of drooling, slanty-eyed bliss.
Mr. Black, my ass, she'd wanted to snap (and she liked cats, really she did; she'd certainly never wanted to kick one before, but please— even cats?), he's a fairy and I found him, so that makes him my fairy. Back off.
But everyone seemed to have forgotten her.
Even Adam. Oh, he'd kissed her again once he'd been made corporeal, and it had been another of those toe-curling, breath-stealing, possessive kisses (and it had seemed to greatly alleviate much of the Keltar twins' bristling), but then he'd gone to sit by the fire and, shortly after that, the parade had begun and he'd hardly looked her way since.
And interspersed with the Maid Parade, Gwen and Chloe had been firing questions (bless their hearts, at least they'd seemed to recover nicely from Adam's impact; Gabby suspected this was due in large part to them being married to such extraordinarily sexy men), and Gabby had sat in silence, feeling as if she were slowly turning every bit as invisible as Adam had been. As if he'd not only cast off his curse but had somehow managed to cast it onto her.
Finally, his patience obviously fraying, Drustan had ordered the staff off to bed, firmly closed the library door, then, after a moment's pause, had locked it and leaned back against it.
Must you endure that all the time? he'd demanded incredulously of Adam.
Adam had nodded. Though there are some, he said with a glance in Gabby's direction, who bash me a good one on first sight. This said with a fine show of rubbing his lip, the one she'd split, and a faint insouciant grin.
She'd had to clench her hands into little fists to keep herself from leaping up and bashing him again. Merely for being Adam. For being so unforgivably irresistible. For being visible, damn it all. Why couldn't he have just stayed cursed? Was that so much to ask?
He'd needed her then. But no more. He could speak for himself; no longer was she a necessary intermediary. And there were dozens of other women who were clearly more than willing to supply anything he might want, at the merest seductive crook of a finger. She'd felt suddenly, inexplicably bereft.
Scowling, she'd feigned exhaustion, in no mood to deal with the feelings that watching other women fall all over him had provoked in her. In no mood to hang around and see if they might begin scaling the castle walls and breaking in through windows to get to him.
Gwen had torn herself away from the complex cosmology questions she'd been firing at Adam long enough to show her to a chamber.
Gabby'd been pleasantly surprised to find it was no outbuilding but a lovely suite of rooms on the second floor, with a stone terrace thorough French doors that overlooked a garden. After Gwen had hastened off, she'd been even more pleasantly surprised to discover a half-full decanter of wine on the bedside table.
She wasn't so happy about it this morning, however.
Nor about the fact that she'd ended up creeping out into the hall and purloining refreshments from two other "chambers" before she'd drifted off to sleep in a wine-sodden stupor.
She glanced at the bed and scowled. No wonder she felt so awful. It didn't look as if she'd done any sleeping there; it looked more like she'd done battle for what small part of the night she'd been passed out. The silky sheets were knotted, the down comforter was wadded, and two of the plush velvet bed curtains had been torn down from their hangings. She had a vague memory of being so tipsy that when she'd tried to get out of bed and go to the bathroom, she'd gotten tangled up in them and fallen.
She had another vague memory that she didn't like at all. She thought she might have cried last night. Over all kinds of stupid things: boyfriends and blown jobs and... fairies she couldn't figure out.
She'd caught herself picking up the phone, thinking of calling her mom at one point.
Right, to say what? Hi, Mom, I really need to talk to you about this fairy I met? Gram's dead and I don't have anyone else? Ha.
Come to think of it, she brooded, gingerly massaging her throbbing temples, she was afraid she might have actually managed to dial through before she hung up. She couldn't quite remember, but she'd just stepped over a phone book on the floor. And it was open to the international dialing page, and that wasn't a good sign.