Late Eclipses od-4 Read online

  She had an easier time making it out of the impromptu bower than I did; she was lower to the ground, and could duck under branches that slapped me straight across the face. I was swearing under my breath by the time I pushed the last spray of gauzy white irises aside, stepped into the open, and froze, the profanity dying on my lips. I knew this place. Oh, sweet Titania, I knew it.

  Amandine’s tower stood tall and proud ahead of us, white stone glowing faintly against the twilit Summerlands sky. It always glowed like that, a lighthouse that never needed to be lit. Stone walls that matched the tower circled the gardens, delineating the borders without doing a thing to defend the place. Amandine never seemed to feel she needed defending, and when I was living with her, I was still too young to realize what a strange attitude that was in Faerie.

  “Karen,” I said, slowly, forcing myself to breathe, “what are we doing here?”

  “Just watch,” she said.

  So I watched.

  Dream time isn’t like real time. I don’t know how long we stood in my mother’s garden, but being there, even in a dream, made my chest ache. I spent half my childhood in that garden, trying to be something I wasn’t. It’s grown wild since Amandine abandoned her tower, and I’m glad. It’s the only reason I can bear to go there at all.

  “There,” Karen whispered, taking my hand. “Look.”

  The eastern gate opened; someone was making her way down the garden path. I narrowed my eyes, squinting at the woman walking toward us. Black hair, golden skin, pointed ears, and eyes the bruised shade of the sky between stars. Oleander de Merelands. I stiffened, trying to push Karen behind me. “Damn,” I hissed. “Karen, get down.”

  “This is a dream, Auntie Birdie,” she said calmly. “Just watch.”

  Thrumming with tension, I stayed where I was, watching Oleander like a mouse watches a snake. Not a bad comparison. Oleander de Merelands was half-Peri, half-Tuatha de Dannan, and all hazardous to your health. She was there when Simon Torquill turned me into a fish; she laughed. Even knowing the things they say about her—the rumors of assassinations, the fondness for poisons, the trafficking in dark magic and darker services—that’s the thing I can never seem to forget. She laughed.

  Fae never get old, but most grown purebloods look like adults. Oleander barely looked sixteen, with a dancer’s build and straight black hair that fell unchecked to her narrow hips. It was easy to see why no one took her seriously … at least until the stories about her started getting around. A velvet scarf with weighted edges circled her waist: barbs glittered in the fringe. Anything’s a weapon if you know how to use it.

  She walked straight past us. I relaxed slightly. This was a dream; she couldn’t see what wasn’t really there. She stopped at the tower door, where she raised her hand and knocked, calmly as you please. A minute or so later, the door opened, and my mother stepped out onto the tower steps.

  My breath caught again, this time for an entirely different reason. I haven’t seen my mother in years—not really. The real Amandine slipped away while I was in the pond. I wasn’t prepared for the sight of her in her prime. It was easy to forget how beautiful she was, to assume I was romanticizing her, making her into some impossible ideal. I wasn’t.

  Karen’s hair was white-blonde and looked faintly bleached. Amandine’s hair was white-gold, the simple, natural color of some unknown precious metal. She wore it twisted into an elegant braid that trailed down the back of her wine-colored gown to her waist. Her eyes were the same smoky gray-blue as morning fog. They widened when she saw Oleander, before narrowing in outrage.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “You are not welcome. I grant you no hospitalities, nor the warmth of my hearth.”

  “Why, Amy, aren’t you the high-nosed bitch these days.” Oleander’s own voice was thick with loathing. “He sent me. Someone thought he should know you’d come home again, and now he’s wondering after your welfare.”

  Amandine pursed her lips. Finally, dismissively, she asked, “Is this what you’re reduced to? Playing messenger girl for the Daoine Sidhe? I thought you held yourself better than this.”

  “At least I didn’t whore myself to the mortal world for a replacement,” Oleander spat. “Has he even seen your little imitation, Amy? I can take her to see him, if you still think you’re too good for social calls. Or are you afraid she’ll realize what she is? Are you afraid—”

  I winced even before Amandine started to move. Oleander didn’t know her like I did, and didn’t recognize the tension in her posture until it was too late. Amandine lunged, wrapping one hand around Oleander’s throat and the other around her wrist before the other woman had a chance to react.

  I shouldn’t have been able to hear what came next. We were too far away, and she was speaking too softly. But this was a dream, and I was going to hear what Karen wanted me to hear.

  “If you come near my daughter, if you touch her, if you look at her, I will know, and I will make you pay.” Amandine’s tone was light. She would have sounded almost reasonable, if not for the fury in her expression … and the fear in Oleander’s. Oak and ash, one of the scariest women in Faerie was looking at my mother like she was the monster in the closet. “Do you understand me, Oleander? I will make you pay in ways you can barely comprehend. I will make it hurt, and the pain won’t stop just because I do. Do you understand?”

  “Bitch,” hissed Oleander.

  Amandine narrowed her eyes. The smell of her magic—blood and roses—suddenly filled the formerly scentless garden, and Oleander screamed. Her own magic rose in response, acid and oleanders, and was almost immediately buried under Mother’s blood and roses. Amandine didn’t move, but she must have been doing something, because Oleander kept screaming, a high, keening sound that wasn’t meant to come from any human-shaped throat.

  The smell of blood and roses faded. Oleander slumped in Amandine’s hands. My mother looked down at her dispassionately, not letting go.

  “How much of who you are is what you are?” Amandine asked. Her voice was still soft. That was possibly the worst part. “How much do you think it would change? Would you like to find out?”

  “No,” whispered Oleander.

  “I’m afraid I can’t hear you. What was that you said?”

  Oleander licked her lips. “I said I wouldn’t go near your daughter. I’ll leave. I’ll say you don’t want to be disturbed.”

  “Ah, good.” Amandine released her, looking satisfied. Oleander dropped to her knees, gasping, as Amandine stepped back to her original position. “That’s what I hoped you said. Your visit has been most enlightening, Oleander. I trust it won’t be repeated.”

  Oleander staggered to her feet, glaring daggers at my mother as she stumbled backward, out of reach. “It won’t. I won’t come here again.”

  “Not even if he sends you?”

  “There are some things I won’t risk for anyone.” Oleander took another step back, keeping her eyes on Amandine the whole time. “Keep your little half-breed bitch. The two of you can rot for all I care.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement,” said Amandine. Turning her back on Oleander, she walked back into the tower and closed the door.

  Oleander stayed where she was for a brief second, glaring daggers at my mother’s wake. Then she turned, storming down the path and out the gate, into the fields beyond the tower grounds.

  I turned to Karen. “Why did you show me that?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged helplessly. “I’m still not very good at this. I just sort of do what the dreams tell me I have to. But I didn’t show it to you.”

  “What?” I frowned. “Of course you did. I just saw it.”

  “No.” She looked past me, into the bower of whiteon-white flowers where the dream began. “I didn’t show you. I just reminded you that you knew it.”

  It took me a moment to realize what she was saying. Slowly, I turned, and saw myself—my much smaller, much younger self, still new to the Summerlands, still so daze
d by the wonders of Faerie that I hadn’t started looking for the dangers—crawling out from underneath the branches.

  “See?” said Karen. “You already knew.”

  “I … I don’t remember this.”

  “You do now.” I felt her hand on my arm, as light as the flower petals still drifting in the air around us. “It’s time to wake up, Auntie Birdie.”

  So I did.

  SEVEN

  LATE AFTERNOON SUN STREAMED through the bedroom window, hitting me full in the face. I opened my eyes, trying to blink and squint against the glare at the same time. Not a good combination. Sunlight. I was only supposed to sit down for a few minutes before calling Sylvester. But then I’d fallen into Karen’s dreamscape, and that meant I’d been asleep. And it hadn’t even been dawn yet when I got home.

  “Crap!” I sat bolt upright. The cat that had been curled in the middle of my chest went tumbling to the bed, her purr turning into an irritated yowl.

  “Afternoon, Sleeping Beauty,” said May. I turned to see her standing in the doorway, a coffee mug in one hand. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

  “What time is it?” I demanded, raking my hair back with both hands. It was tangled into hopeless knots, matted stiff with sea salt. Crossing the city on a yarrow broom probably hadn’t helped. The cat—Cagney—stalked stiff-legged to the foot of the bed where she settled, her back to me. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

  “You didn’t tell me to,” she replied matter-of-factly. Expression turning solemn, she continued, “Also, you didn’t twitch when I opened your curtains half an hour ago, so I figured you needed the sleep. It’s almost sunset. Marcia’s been calling every two hours; there’s been no change in Lily’s condition.”

  “She filled you in?” I let my hands drop to my lap.

  May nodded. “Yeah. Now get up, get something into your stomach, and get dressed before we’re late.”

  “Late? For what?” Cagney stood again, arching her back into a furry mirror of the moon bridge, before strolling across the bed and smacking her sister awake. Lacey responded by biting her. I sympathized.

  “I repeat, it’s almost sunset. On the first of May. That means what?”

  “Oh, no.” I groaned, falling backward on the bed. “May, I can’t. Karen was in my head last night. She showed me this screwed-up … I don’t know if it was a memory or what, but it had Mom in it, and Oleander. I need to call and find out what the hell she was getting at.”

  “Cry me a river. The Torquills expect you to attend the Beltane Ball, and you’re attending. You can explain the situation when we get there.”

  “I hate you sometimes.”

  “That’s fine. We’re still going.”

  The Beltane Ball at Shadowed Hills is one of the Duchy’s biggest social events, and has been for centuries. It’s a night of dancing, drinking, and welcoming the summer. In short, May’s sort of party. My sort of party involves less of a crowd, and a lot more physical violence. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “It’s not,” she agreed. “But you can’t become Countess of Goldengreen, run out of the Queen’s Court like your ass is on fire, and then miss the big party. Not if you want to keep the Queen from figuring something’s up.”

  “Crap,” I said, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Basically.” I heard her sip her coffee. “You okay?”

  I laughed bitterly. “I’m peachy.”

  “There’s the manic-depressive sweetheart we all know and love. Get up. You’ll feel better after you’ve had a shower.”

  “Look, can’t you just call Sylvester and tell him I’m not coming?” I threw an arm over my face to block the light. “Tell him I’m busy saving the world. Better yet, how about you just be me for the night? You look the part.”

  “Uh, one, no way. Two, I might look like you, but the jig would be up the minute I opened my mouth.” She walked over and kicked the bed. “Get up before I get the ice water. You’re trying to wallow in your misery, and I’m not putting up with it.”

  I moved my arm to glare at her. “I hate you.”

  “I know. Now come on. We’ll go to the Ball, and you can meet my date.”

  That was news. I sat up, blinking. “You have a date?”

  “I do. See, unlike some people, I know a good thing when I see it.”

  “I’m going to leave that alone,” I said, scooting to the edge of the bed. My skirt snarled around me, hampering my movement. “I’m up. See? I’m up.”

  “Good girl. Just for that, you can have a hot shower.”

  “Don’t make me kick your ass.”

  “You can try. Now come on: breakfast, coffee, shower, clothes.” She stepped out into the hall, whistling. I flung a pillow after her. It bounced off the doorframe.

  May was in her room with the door shut when I emerged, clearly having chosen retreat as the better part of valor. Smart girl. I made a beeline for the phone in the hall, only to find a cup of coffee sitting next to it. I had to smile a little at that. It’s weirdly reassuring to live with someone who knows me better than anyone else does, even if she is the living portent of my inevitable, probably messy, demise.

  I leaned against the wall, dialing the number for the Tea Gardens. The phone rang enough times that I was giving serious thought to panic when Marcia picked up, saying, “Japanese Tea Gardens. How may I help you?”

  “It’s me, Marcia. How is she?”

  “Toby!” Her voice was naked with relief. “I’m so glad you called.”

  “I would have called earlier, but I just woke up.” I sipped my coffee, scalding my lip. The pain wasn’t enough to stop me from sipping again. “May gave me a status report. Has anything changed?”

  “No. Lily isn’t any worse. That’s good, right?”

  I wanted to reassure her. I couldn’t do it. “I don’t know. Has there been any progress in finding her pearl?”

  “Not yet. Everybody’s looking.”

  “Keep looking, and make sure that whoever you have watching Lily knows to ask about it if she wakes up. I have to go to Shadowed Hills and make an appearance at the Beltane Ball before I can come. Call there if you need anything.”

  “Okay.” She sniffled. “I will.”

  There was nothing to say after that. We exchanged a few vague reassurances before I hung up, still unsettled. Attending a Ball while Lily was sick felt too much like Nero fiddling while Rome burned, but May was right; I didn’t have much of a choice, especially not the day after I’d been elevated to Countess. Playing by the political rules was suddenly a lot more important.

  I took another large gulp of coffee before dialing Mitch and Stacy’s. “Almost sunset” meant everyone would be up; fae kids may be nocturnal, but that doesn’t make them immune to the allure of afternoon TV.

  “Brown residence,” said the solemn, almost toomature voice of Anthony, the older of the two Brown boys. He was ten on his last birthday.

  “Hey, kiddo,” I said, relaxing a bit against the wall. “Is your sister up yet?”

  “Auntie Birdie!” he crowed, sounding delighted. Then he sobered, the moment of exuberance fading as he said, “Karen went back to bed, but she told everybody that if you called, we should say you know everything she knows, and she doesn’t know why it’s important. Did she dream with you last night?”

  “Yeah, she did,” I said, resisting the urge to start swearing. “Look, when she wakes up, tell her to call if she thinks of anything, okay? And tell your mom I’ll try to come over soon.”

  “Promise?”

  “Double-promise. I miss you guys.” The Browns are some of my favorite people in the world. It just seems like there’s never time for the good parts of life these days, like hanging out with my old friends and their kids. It’s been one emergency after the other, practically since I got out of the pond.

  “We miss you, too, Auntie Birdie,” said Anthony gravely.

  Much as I wanted to stay on the line and ask him to tell me what he was studying, what
his brother and sisters were doing, all the things a good aunt would ask, there wasn’t time. I repeated my promise to visit soon and hung up, realizing as I did that I was hungry. Apparently the coffee had been enough to wake up my stomach.

  I went to the kitchen and filled a bowl with Lucky Charms and coffee. Cliff used to make gagging noises and pretend to choke when I did that, but it’s how I’ve always liked my cereal. I paused with the spoon halfway to my mouth as I realized that, for the first time in a long time, the thought of Cliff didn’t hurt. It made me sad, sure—he wasn’t just my lover and the father of my child; he was one of my best friends, and losing friends is never fun—but it was only sadness. No pain. No longing.

  Maybe I was starting to move on.

  I did feel better after eating, and a shower would probably make me feel almost normal. I left my empty bowl on the counter, fighting with my dress all the way to the bathroom. I’ve worn enough formal gowns to know how to move in them, but they were almost all illusionary, making changing out of them nothing more than a matter of dropping the spell. This dress was heavy, dirty, and all too real. Getting it off felt almost like a moral victory.

  The apartment has excellent water pressure. I turned the taps all the way up before stepping into the shower, letting the spray sting my arms and face. I stayed there long after I was clean, breathing in the steam. There’s something reassuring about standing in the shower; as long as you’re there, you can’t get dirty.

  May was waiting on the couch when I came out of the bathroom. She looked me up and down before asking, “Feel better?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “Told you so. Now get dressed.”

  I flipped her off amiably. Her laughter followed me down the hall to my bedroom, where Cagney and Lacey curled up on the bed in the remains of the sunbeam. Lacey lifted her head, eyeing me.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re the lucky ones. You get to stay home.” I started for the dresser, pausing with one hand stretched toward the top drawer.

  The Queen’s habit of transforming my clothes is incredibly irritating, especially since I lack the magical oomph to change them back. There are only a few bloodlines in Faerie talented at transforming the inanimate; the Daoine Sidhe aren’t among them, which is why we depend on illusions and chicanery to enhance our wardrobes. But if I happened to have a dress formal enough for the occasion …