Rosemary and Rue od-1 Read online

  “Of course. Connor, bring her.” Luna turned, starting for a pale blue door that I hadn’t noticed before. Probably because it hadn’t been there. Knowes are like that.

  Before I could say anything, Connor had scooped me off my feet again. “Hey!”

  He grinned. “Just following orders.”

  I sighed, deciding struggling would be more trouble than it was worth, and let him carry me through the door. There was an indoor garden on the other side, looking like nothing so much as the yard of an old English country house. Cobblestone paths wound around boulders draped with moss, while rioting roses and honeysuckle did their best to obscure delicate marble statuary. Luna led us to a space between two hedges, where the ground was carpeted with clover and buttercups. “Put her down, please.”

  Connor lowered me gently into a seated position. I leaned back on my hands, digging my fingers into the clover. Luna knelt beside me.

  “I’ve never seen this garden before,” I said.

  “I planted it while you were away, as a memorial to my internment and your death. It has happier connotations now that we’ve both come home.” She fixed me with a stern eye. “You’re bleeding.”

  “I tore my scar.” I pulled the fabric of my shirt aside to show the narrow fissure through the middle of the scar on my shoulder.

  Luna frowned, reaching out to touch it with delicate fingers. “This is newer than it looks. And the wound was made with iron.”

  “You’re right on both counts.”

  “Whose idea was it to take you to the Luidaeg?”

  I froze. “How can you . . . ?”

  “I’ve seen her work a time or two. This was her, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Luna knew the Luidaeg? I suppose I should have known—they’ve both lived in the Bay Area for centuries—but somehow the idea was jarring. I couldn’t imagine what sort of a situation would have brought those two together.

  “Of course.” She produced a roll of gauze from a pocket in her skirt, passing it to me. “Wrap yourself.” Seeing my expression, she added, “You learn to carry bandages when you work with roses as much as I do.”

  “Right,” I said, and started clumsily binding my shoulder.

  Luna made no move to help, but waited until I tied off the gauze before saying, “Now. Tell me what’s happened—tell me everything. No lies. I’ll know.”

  I looked at her, then nodded and began from the beginning. This time I told the whole story, or as much of it as I felt was safe. There were still a few things I wasn’t ready to share: I left out the hope chest and my suspicions about Raysel, preferring to wait until I had more answers. I told them everything else. The phone calls, the gunshots, the Doppelganger, even the binding that Evening had buried in my bones. Everything.

  Luna’s lips were pulled back in a silent snarl by the time I finished, displaying the vulpine teeth she usually kept politely concealed. “Why didn’t you tell us this to begin with?” Even Connor was just staring at me, stunned. I wasn’t sure which was worse: the fury in Lu na’s eyes, or the bleak despair in his. Skinshifters sit on a strange edge, not changelings, but not quite purebloods. They’re weaker than most fae because their blood is so confused. He knew what the curse meant as well as I did because his blood was as thin as mine.

  “What good would it have done, Luna?” The bitterness in my tone surprised even me. “It was too late as soon as I heard her message. I finish this, or I die.”

  “You know what you have to do,” she said. “It’s obvious.”

  I frowned. “Actually, no, it’s not. What are you talking about?”

  “You have to visit the Luidaeg.” She said it like it was a perfectly reasonable idea.

  Like hell. Raising the dead would have seemed like a reasonable idea compared to visiting the Luidaeg. I stared. “I have to what?”

  “Visit the Luidaeg.”

  “This is sudden. And sort of insane.”

  “I know. But it’s what you have to do.”

  Connor turned toward her, eyes wide. Good for him. It’s not every day your mother-in-law tries to send your friends to visit a demon. “Luna—”

  “Connor, be quiet. This is October’s road to follow, not yours.”

  “And why, exactly, do you think this is a good idea? Are you trying to get me killed?”

  “No. I’m trying to save you.” Luna narrowed her eyes. “When the Luidaeg healed your wounds, she became a part of this story. She tasted your blood, Evening’s with it. She knows that binding now, how it’s built, what went into making it and catching you with it. If there’s anyone who can tell you how to get out of this, it’s the sea witch. She’s the only person strong enough, and fair enough, to do it.”

  “Fair?”

  “She follows the rules. Whether she wants to or not, she follows them. If you go through her, there’s a chance you’ll come out alive on the other side.” Luna sighed. “You’re too much like your mother. It’s difficult to believe that you’ve managed to live this long.”

  “Luck,” I said, voice flat. I didn’t like her bringing my mother into this. It felt like dirty pool.

  Luna shook her head. “I don’t think this is a good idea, or a wise one, but it’s the only one I have. She may be able to help you. I can’t.”

  I looked at her for a moment, and then slowly rose, bracing myself against the hedge. “I understand, Your Grace.”

  “Do you?”

  “I think so.” I sighed. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

  “Yes, you should have,” she said, standing. “It’s too late for that now. You have to get help, Toby. Please.”

  “Do you really think the Luidaeg will help me?”

  Connor had fallen silent, staring at us in dismay.

  “I don’t think you have any other options,” Luna said.

  “Right.” I raked my hair back with one hand. “Can . . . I hate to ask this, but can Manuel and Dare stay here until I get back?” The question was bigger than it seemed. I wasn’t just asking if they could wait for me; I was asking, if the Luidaeg didn’t let me come back, whether Luna would take care of them. Dare asked me to get them out. I couldn’t get them far, but I could get them to Shadowed Hills, and Sylvester wouldn’t let Devin take them if they didn’t want to go. They could be safe here, if they were willing to be.

  Luna nodded. “Of course. They’re eating and harassing Quentin now; I’ll speak to them after you’ve gone.” She cocked her head to the side, listening to something. “It sounds like they’ve decided to teach him a new form of poker. Poor dear.”

  “That’s my kids for you.” I grinned.

  “Quite. Your kids, indeed. Do you know how to find the Luidaeg?”

  I paused. “No. I never needed to.”

  “I didn’t think so.” She snapped her fingers. A thorny face appeared in the bushes. “Hello, dear. Toby needs an escort.” The rose goblin rattled its thorns as it padded out to sit in front of her, turning vivid yellow eyes toward me.

  “Hey, you,” I said, pleased. “It’s nice to see you again.” It opened its mouth and chirped, apparently pleased as well. It’s always nice to be remembered.

  “It will lead you where you need to go,” Luna said, stepping back. “Trust it, but don’t let it out of your sight until you’ve reached your destination.”

  “What if I do?”

  “You’ll regret it.” She smiled, sadly. “Just come back, all right? We mourned you once. I’d rather not do it again.”

  “It’s not on my list of goals either, Your Grace.” I straightened, getting my balance back, and looked to the rose goblin. “Any time.”

  It sneezed and took off at a run, heading for the garden’s edge. There wasn’t time for pauses or good-byes: I launched myself after it, somehow finding the strength to run. Behind me, Luna called, “Trust the goblin!” just as it leaped and vanished through the stone of the wall.

  Luna had never led me astray. She could be imperious and vague at the same time, but she’d never lied
to me, and so I kept running, jumping after it without pause.

  The wall parted like mist, opening on a long tunnel. The goblin was a slash of moving green in the dark ten feet ahead. I kept my eyes on its back, ignoring the stitch in my side as I pounded after it. It leaped for another wall, vanishing again, and I followed, landing on a swaying theater catwalk. The goblin paused, looking back over its shoulder to see that I was still behind it. Then it stepped to the edge of the catwalk, and launched itself into the darkness.

  In for a penny, in for a pound. I jumped after it, managing not to stumble when my feet hit solid ground. The goblin kept running, and I followed, into the dark.

  TWENTY-THREE

  THE LAST LEAP LEFT US STANDING at the mouth of an alley in a part of town I’d never seen before. Seagulls shrieked overhead, and the air stank of garbage mixed with the windblown smell of rotten fish and motor oil. We had to be near the docks, and not in one of the nicer areas. It was water-hag territory . . . and whatever else the Luidaeg may be, she’s definitely a water-hag.

  Every child in Faerie grows up knowing about the Luidaeg. She is more of a bogey than Oleander, whose stories are only a few centuries old; the Luidaeg has been one of Faerie’s childhood terrors since Faerie began. My conviction that this was a bad idea just kept growing.

  The rose goblin sat down, yawning. I eyed it. “Is this it? Are we there?” It rattled its thorns in satisfaction. Apparently so. Frowning, I turned to study the alley.

  Piles of trash were shoved up against the walls, and puddles of stagnant water had formed wherever the asphalt was cracked or pitted. A single door was set into the right-hand wall a few feet from where we stood, the wood stained with salt, the hinges caked with rust. I looked at it, stomach sinking. Someday I’ll figure out why everything in Faerie seems to end up in San Francisco. Rumor said the Luidaeg had been in the city for almost seventy years. They said she could give you anything you wanted, for a price. There were things I wanted, sure, but the cost always seemed like it would just be too high for me to pay.

  If Luna didn’t know what she was doing, I was in trouble.

  The rose goblin had moved to sit on my foot, grooming the space between its toes. “Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to be?” It looked up, offering a rusty purr. I sighed. “Right, great. Nice neighborhood.”

  “Thanks,” said a voice behind me. “Personally, I think it sucks. But it’s home, and the rent’s lower than the property values.”

  I whirled, dislodging the goblin. The woman behind me smiled sardonically, tucking her groceries up under one arm. I hadn’t heard her approaching. The rose goblin flattened its thorns and hissed: not the best sign. “Uh. Hi.”

  “Hi, yourself. Nice vermin.” She gave the goblin a thoughtful look. I frowned.

  “Don’t I know you?”

  “Maybe,” she said, and smirked. “You never did give me my receipt, honey.” She looked human, with curly, ponytailed black hair and freckles sprinkled over darkly tanned cheeks, where they almost hid her fading acne scars. She was wearing greasy overalls, heavy work boots, and a faded flannel shirt, placing her squarely in the category of local.

  I blinked. “Oh. You.” She’d seen the rose goblin. A human couldn’t have done that. “I tried, but you were gone too fast. Look, I’m looking for someone. Do you live around here?”

  “Guess so.” She shifted the bag to her other arm, the contents rattling. “Don’t you know where you’re going?”

  “Like I said, I’m looking for someone.”

  “Right. Nice ears, by the way. Oberon’s bastards always did breed like rats.” She knelt to chuck the rose goblin under the chin. It hissed again and darted behind my legs. Smirking, she looked up, pupils narrowing to slits. “I think you’re looking for me.”

  I was expecting something like that, and managed not to jump. Barely. “Are you . . . ?”

  “The Luidaeg, yes. You’re a good guesser. Of course, you’re standing on my doorstep, so maybe it’s not such a guess. How’d you find me, anyway?” She sniffed the air, still crouching, and gave me a thoughtful look. “You stink of the Rose Roads. Not just one strain of roses, either—I can smell the Winterrose on you, and Luna’s line, as well as your own. Old roses and new roses . . .” She paused. “Maybe you’d better come inside.”

  “I . . .”

  “Look, if you’re not here to see me, you can stay out here. Whatever stupid quest you think you’re on can go unfulfilled; you haven’t made it my problem yet.” She straightened and dug a key out of her pocket. “But I’m going in before my ice cream melts.” Pushing open the door, she stepped into the darkness.

  I stared after her until she stuck her head back out, asking, “Well? Are you coming?”

  What was I supposed to say to the sea witch, terror of faerie children everywhere? No?

  The apartment was dark, furnished with rejects from a hundred different thrift stores. Things moved in the shadows. I didn’t want to know what they were, anymore than I wanted to know the nature of the things crunching under my feet as I walked down the cluttered hallway. The rose goblin crept behind me, staying pressed against my ankles. I glanced down. It whined.

  The Luidaeg pushed past, heading for the kitchen. “By the root and fucking branch, pick that thing up. It’ll start squalling like a baby if you don’t.”

  I knelt, scooping the goblin into my arms. It made a cheeping noise and subsided, clinging. “How did you . . . ?”

  “I’ve dealt with the little bastards before. They were an accident on the part of a niece of mine.” She reappeared in the kitchen door, a Diet Coke in one hand. “They’re all predictable—goblins and Oberon’s bastards. What do you want?”

  “What?” I wasn’t keeping up. This whole thing had me off my guard.

  “Want. What do you want? I mean, I’ve been expecting you, I just didn’t expect to see you so soon.” She popped the can open and took a swig. “It’s cool if you don’t want to say. I just hope you like my company, since we’re stuck here until you spill it.”

  “How do you know I want something? Maybe I’m here because I’m grateful for the way you saved my life.” That was dangerously close to saying thank you—but she’d thanked me earlier. Maybe she was old enough that the restrictions didn’t apply.

  Her laugh was bitter. “Like hell. The last time one of you thin-blooded bastards was grateful, I wound up getting chased halfway across the Summerlands by jerks with torches who said I’d enchanted the kid to make him serve me. I don’t need that shit. I don’t look for gratitude, and I don’t get it. If you’re here, you want something. What is it?”

  The goblin in my arms whined. I resisted the urge to do the same. She laughed again. “Let me guess. I’m not what you were expecting, am I?”

  “You’re a little more normal than I thought you’d be,” I admitted. I don’t lie to the Queen. Somehow, I thought the Luidaeg deserved the same courtesy.

  “Of course I am.” She walked toward me until we were nearly nose-to-nose. “You came here looking for a monster, right? Well, I hate to disappoint. You’re Amandine’s daughter, aren’t you?” I nodded, and she smirked. “You’re more like your mama than she wanted you to be, and I bet you can roll the balance of the blood on your tongue like wine. Well, go ahead, baby doll. Give me a taste.”

  Her eyes widened to fill the world, pupils expanding into endless darkness. Almost against my will I did as she commanded, looking deep to see what she was and what roads her blood had traveled. Deep, so deep . . .

  . . . water and fire, blood and burning. She and her sisters were goddesses then, she and Black Annis and Gentle Annie, tending the younger children, roaming the bogs and rivers of the world. Maeve’s Firstborn, pulled from her in blood and screaming while Oberon walked far, far away. But they died one by one at the hands of men and fae, by iron and ash and rowan and fire they died, until the Luidaeg was the last, running, always running, called monster and demon because her blood was so much older and wilder than the
ir own . . .

  I ripped myself free of her eyes with a gasp, staggering backward. A final thought lashed across my vision, burning: . . . did we lose it all for the roses? Oh, Mother, you fool . . .

  My grip tightened on the goblin, and it hissed, raising its thorns just enough to prick my skin. Shuddering, I forced myself to calm down and relax my hold, still staring at the Luidaeg.

  She looked at me, one brow arched. “Well?” she asked. “Know what I am yet?”

  “I . . . you . . .” The answer was there, written in blood and ashes and Maeve’s despairing cries as she knelt on the graves of her daughters.The legends said the Luidaeg was a monster. They hadn’t warned me about why.

  “Oberon was nowhere to be seen when my sisters and I were born. The year had turned; he was off tryst ing with his pretty Summer Queen. And neither of them raised a hand when their children, their perfect, pretty children, started hunting us down like dogs. We were my mother’s daughters, not Titania’s. They couldn’t be bothered.” Her smile was thin and bitter. “His law came down too late for us.”

  “You’re Maeve’s daughter.” She was one of the Firstborn, the oldest denizens of Faerie, our foundations and beginnings. They’re all supposed to be dead or in hiding, not drinking Diet Coke in low-rent apartments in my hometown.

  The Luidaeg smiled thinly. “And you’re Amandine’s. I was wondering how long it would take for a member of that line to bother tracking me down—although I’ll admit, your blood’s a bit thinner than I expected. Tried to fix matters on her own, did she? She always was brainless. Runs in the family.” She sipped her soda again. “Now you know what I am.”

  “You’re no monster.”

  “I was close enough for fairy tales.” The Luidaeg shook her head, and I realized I’d looked more deeply than she expected. Interesting. “I’m tired of this. What do you want? Tell me or get out.”

  “You healed me.”

  “And?”

  “I know it wasn’t out of the goodness of your heart.”