Queen's Gambit

by Karen Chance

  “Was it . . . painful?” he finally asked.

  I shook my head. “Not the separation, no. But I did not understand what had happened. It felt like being in a prison cell, a dark, echoing space from which I could not escape. I thought I had gone mad for the longest time. And when I finally understood—”

  “Wait. It took years?” He sounded appalled, having seen the truth in my mind.

  “It . . . came in pieces, over time. I began to see things, slowly, here and there. I was conscious when Dory was not, but I did not know that at first—”

  Ray frowned. “How could you not know you were conscious?”

  I blinked at him. “Her eyes were closed.”

  He swore and took a drink.

  He had apparently decided that there were better uses for the wine than the one I had found, and I agreed. He handed me the canteen and I had a small sip. Fey wine smelled like herbs and burned like flame, but I found that I did not mind so much tonight.

  “But during the in between times, when the mind is neither asleep nor awake, I began to get glimpses,” I explained. “Enough to understand that I was somehow still moving about, was living in the same house, in the same room. There were sketches on the walls that came and went, which I did not recognize, but that looked like my work. And, eventually, a fine oil painting of a dog chewing up his master’s slipper. I recognized the brushstrokes, yet I had not done them . . .”

  “Jesus.”

  I nodded, remembering the surreal feeling of being an exile in my own body. “I slowly began to understand that my power grew at night. When the body I no longer controlled slept, I would awaken, although for a long time, I didn’t understand that I could go anywhere. I looked at things from under her lashes for weeks, perhaps months, before I learned that I could move about spiritually.”

  “How’d you find out?”

  “By accident. Horatiu came to rouse Dory one morning and startled me. I sat up but my body did not. Before I could figure out what had happened, Dory was awake and I lost consciousness. But the next night—”

  “Freedom,” Ray guessed, his expression lightening.

  “Not . . . quite.”

  I gazed out at the water. The fire was sending orange ripples over the dark waves and gilding the rocks. It looked the way the Grand Canal had the next evening, when I’d gone exploring in my spirit form. I had been left shaking and amazed at the sights of handsome people laughing from gondolas, light splashing out of the fronts of palazzos, torches blowing in the wind. It had been the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and the most confusing.

  It was only when I tried to speak to someone that I realized: they couldn’t see me. I didn’t know why that had so surprised me; I had flown over the city like a great black bird, seeing it from a completely new angle. Had I really thought that a creature who could do that would be visible? Or that people would react well to it if it was?

  My only excuse was that I didn’t think. I had been so alone for so long that I was giddy with all the sights and sounds, the smells and colors . . . I felt almost drunk on them. Until I realized: I could look, but nothing more. I couldn’t interact with anyone.

  No one heard me when I spoke or saw me when I passed by. It was like being a ghost, yet I hadn’t died! I went back home and there I was, asleep in my bed. I was perfectly fine—

  “Except you weren’t,” Ray said, following the conversation I was having in my head.

  “Except I wasn’t.” I hesitated, not sure that I wanted to share this next part, but nothing would make sense without it. “The following night, I tried to talk to Mircea.”

  “Not that night? Because I’da wanted some goddamned answers!”

  I shook my head. “Free flight—what I do outside of a body—cannot be sustained for long. It drains me terribly, to the point that I almost did not make it back to the house. I was panicked and exhausted, and could not think properly when I returned. But later . . . I thought he would help.”

  “Let me guess,” Ray said cynically, and took the canteen.

  “He did not hear me, either, when I spoke, but we share mental gifts. I thought I would talk to him that way, mind to mind, but . . . it did not go well.”

  “How bad is not well?”

  I didn’t answer.

  I had entered father’s mind, expecting a reaction, but . . . not the one I received. He had thrown me out, as viciously as if I was a demon he was trying to exorcise. And when I stubbornly returned, he tore up the front room of the house, yelling and throwing things, and waking everyone—including Dory.

  That had put me back to sleep, and the next night, I hadn’t dared to try again. But I had gone exploring. And had slowly discovered through trial and error what I could do.

  Not everyone reacted like Mircea. I learned that the vampires often did, seeing me as an invading spirit, but the humans scarcely seemed to notice my presence at all. I found that I could suggest things to them, and they often took my suggestions. I could go anywhere . . .

  Just not as myself.

  But being inside a body, any body, renewed my strength. And allowed me to move about the city once again, as I had once done. Although only when the person I was starting to think of as a separate person from me, as a sister, slept.

  Ray drank fey wine and scowled. “Okay, so, what you’re telling me is that your father didn’t explain anything to you before the separation? He didn’t tell you what he was trying to do or ask you what you thought or anything?”

  I shook my head. “I was asleep and then I was alone.”

  “Motherfucker!”

  “He was afraid that I would fight him, if he gave me any warning. I wasn’t as strong then, but neither was he. And it was an experiment, a last-ditch effort to spare his daughter’s life—”

  “His daughters. He has two daughters,” Ray said angrily.

  “He does not see it that way.” My mind went to another memory, a far more recent one, before I could stop it.

  “What? He wanted to lock you away again?”

  I shifted uncomfortably. I had not intended to show him that. “He did not plan for the barrier he put in our mind to fall,” I said awkwardly. “He always refused to remove it, afraid that I would take over completely and that he would lose Dory. She is all he has left of our mother—”

  “She is not all he has left! He has you!”

  I did not answer immediately, wondering how to explain mine and Dory’s childhood, the bright, sunny days and the screaming, terror-filled nights. The nights were when the fits had come that had threatened to tear our mind apart, and when Mircea had fought battles with me for his daughter’s sanity, for her very life. I did not have the words.

  Just as I did not have them to explain what came after.

  “Ten of the sardele,” Mircea said, surveying the afternoon’s catch. “The same of the moeche. And . . .”

  He paused and I saw him eye the mackerel, their black and steel blue stripes gleaming in the last rays of the afternoon sun. Their basket took pride of place on the slanted table top that showed off the fishmonger’s wares. More baskets sat around, although many were empty. It was nearing the end of day.

  He decided against the mackerel. “Do you have any mussels?”

  “No, but some nice eels came in today.” The rotund little stall owner gestured at another table with an arm full of cheap bangles. “Make a fine bisato su l’are.”

  Mircea shook his head. He was not fond of eels. I had known that, and had suggested them deliberately, trying to buy time.

  It wasn’t helping.

  He walked to another table, scrutinizing the available offerings. He was dressed in a conservative, dark blue brocade that set off his shoulder length, dark brown hair and piercing dark eyes. It was understated, yet almost screamed quality, as did the sapphire signet ring set in heavy gold on his right hand. Anywhere else in the world, he would have looked a little odd perusing a table full of fish.

  But this was Venice, where the men of t
he house typically did the shopping, including for groceries. Even wealthy men, including senators, could be seen in the marketplace, trailed by servants who were there only as human pack animals, to take the foodstuffs selected by their masters back home. Trade was the heartbeat of the city, and it could not be left in servants’ hands—or in women’s. Only men, it was thought, could judge quality.

  Of course, Mircea flouted conventions regularly, but he had learned to enjoy picking out his own dinner when he was poorer, and often still did so. And Dory had taken a late afternoon nap, knowing that we were having guests tonight, and that she might be up late. I had been waiting for just such a chance for a very long time.

  And yet, here I was, ruining it!

  “Canocie?” he asked, talking about the sweet little shrimp that went so well in so many dishes.

  “What you see is what we have . . . Mircea.”

  Father’s head came up at that, startled. He had come here before, but there was no reason for the vendor to know his name. They had spoken about fish, nothing more.

  I waited patiently as his eyes went over the body I was using.

  She was a sweet old woman, with sixteen grandchildren, a half gray topknot perched precariously on her head, and a pleasant, wrinkled face. She wore a black shawl around her shoulders, knitted by one of her many granddaughters, far too much cheap jewelry, and a pair of red Moroccan slippers. She was a puzzle, and I saw Mircea’s brow knit.

  “The octopus, then. Two of the larger ones—with the ink, grasie.”

  I packaged up his fish.

  He handed me the coins, and I slipped them into a pocket in the old woman’s dress. I gave him his purchase, but held onto it until he looked up, and our eyes met. “I need to talk to you.”

  “About?” It was courteous. He still didn’t understand.

  “About . . .” I stopped, all of my carefully prepared speeches leaving my mind, all at once. “About Dory,” I blurted out. “I never meant—I wasn’t trying to hurt her. I didn’t know—”

  I stopped again, but this time, it was because he did understand. He’d always been quick, and a second later the package was gone and so was he. I stared at the empty spot where he’d been, then threw my mind outward, leaving the old woman behind, a little befuddled, but unharmed. And took flight.

  I spotted him near the water’s edge, about to take a gondola. I waited until they had pushed off, then settled onto the gondolier. He was distracted; he had problems with his woman, who he suspected of cheating. It was easy to redirect his thoughts while I borrowed his tongue for a time.

  “Mircea—”

  “Is this what you do now?” he demanded furiously, looking up from his seat. “Take over the lives of others—”

  “You left me none of my own! Why do you not release me?”

  “You do this and you ask why?”

  “I’m not dangerous—”

  “You’re the most dangerous creature I know!”

  And with that, he was gone again, leaping to the embankment before I could stop him, not that I knew how. I only knew how to follow, so I did, flying up into the sky, searching the crowds while a pink and orange sunset made the whole city blush. It was busy; it was always busy. But I caught up with him again nonetheless, in a narrow street notorious for its prostitutes.

  Here it was already as dark as night, with the overhanging upper floors of the houses forming a long, dim corridor. Only the rectangular doorways of the brothels provided any light at all, throwing elongated yellow squares over the cobblestones. A matrone sat on a stool beside one of them, calling out to passersby, telling them that her girls were the best: young, clean, and enthusiastic. She did not call to Mircea, nor see him. He was a shadow, having gone dim to try to elude me.

  I did not know why. Did he think I didn’t know about the fine house he had now, in a fashionable part of town? I lived there! But I wanted to do this away from prying ears, so that he could speak freely. Why would he not talk to me?

  The girl I chose looked young, but she was not clean and definitely not enthusiastic. Pale, dyed blonde tresses fell in greasy clumps around her face, and pox scars marred one side of her face. But she was different from the others on this street, and when her hands latched onto him and pulled him out of shadow, he found her grip to be like steel.

  “You see?” he demanded, glaring at me. “You can take a vampire. How long can you hold her? What can you make her do?”

  “Nothing, I just want to talk,” I said, and smelled the stale blood on her breath that had him rearing back, looking revolted.

  She needed to feed. She had come here to do so easily and quickly. But her hunger left her vulnerable, and I had taken her.

  But Mircea was a master now, and no longer caught off guard. He threw us against the brick wall and left, his power sparking off the walls, as if a thunderstorm had been trapped inside. I let him go.

  Hours later, I tried again. But this time, it was at his stylish home. Dory’s rooms were down the hall, a beautifully appointed suite suitable for a wealthy young lady. Our uncle Radu lived on the floor below, in a bright yellow apartment that hurt the eyes. But Mircea’s own chambers were here, a quiet oasis away from the hustle and bustle of a sleepless city, full of dark woods, plush green fabrics, and fine oil paintings, many of which were his own.

  He was sitting by the window, a glass of red wine in his hand. I could only identify it by the smell, as I could barely see. I had acquired another body, but this time, it wasn’t stolen. This time, I had been invited in.

  “I know it’s you,” Mircea said, when I approached. He slurred his words slightly, as if drunk. I knew he couldn’t be, but his eyes were bleary when he turned them up to me. “What do you want?”

  “To understand.”

  I lowered Horatiu’s body, vampire now, but badly made, into a chair. Mircea had almost waited too long to perform the Change, and the old man would never be right. Horatiu had waffled back and forth, one day resolute, the next unsure again, and only made the commitment on his death bed. I was surprised that the transformation had taken at all.

  Mircea swallowed the rest of the contents of his glass and let it fall to the floor. It was heavy; it did not break. Horatiu picked it up of his own volition, and put it on a table, quietly judging his old charge as he did so.

  Mircea laughed, suddenly. “You have better things to judge me for, old man.”

  “As does she.”

  Horatiu had let me borrow his body; he had never said he was going to be quiet.

  “I am not a monster,” I said, and Mircea’s head came up.

  “Then what are you?”

  “A dhampir, like Dory—”

  “You are nothing like her!”

  “I am exactly like her. We are the same person; you know that better than anyone—”

  “No!” And, suddenly, he was in my face.

  For a long moment, he searched the rheumy old eyes. I only had Horatiu’s sight to work with, but Mircea was so close that I could clearly make out the handsome features. The ones that suddenly looked like they smelled something bad.

  “I’ve met dhampirs,” he told me harshly. “And spoken to others who met more, as I searched for a way to save her. They go mad, I was told. Their human and vampire natures rip themselves apart, I was told.

  “I was never told about you.”

  I stared at him, uncomprehending. It did not last long. I had asked for the truth, and I was getting it, but every word felt like a heart blow.

  “I do not know what you are, but you are not dhampir. Dory is, and she has and will suffer for it, all her life. But you—I fought you. I was an adult and a vampire, already rising in power, yet I barely overcame you. You almost killed me, as well as her. You invaded my mind, as easily as you do that of all your puppets. You used advanced mental combat techniques against me, and you supposedly just a child. A child!”

  He laughed, and slumped back into his seat.

  “No child of mine.”


  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Dorina, Faerie

  “Fuck,” Ray whispered, because I supposed he had seen.

  I didn’t say anything. The golden glow that the wine had given me was gone, and instead I felt something like I had that night: cold, frozen, disbelieving. Had I been in my body during that conversation, I might have fainted. As it was, I had just sat there, dizzy and blank, while Horatiu berated his old charge.

  “As he damned well should have!” I looked up to see Ray incandescent. “What the hell?”

  “Mircea saw—sees—me as a threat,” I said. “A demon or worse—”

  “Why?”

  I waved a helpless hand. “Dory was growing, as all children do, but that tortured me. It is why dhampirs go mad. Vampires are supposed to be immutable, always the same. But she was human and ever changing, ripping my mind apart whenever a growth spurt hit.”

  “Damn.”

  “I lashed out in pain, in terror, not understanding what was happening. I wanted to be in charge, in order to stop the changes, to end the suffering. But had I succeeded, I would have killed us both, as children cannot simply stop growing—”

  “You were a child, too! You didn’t understand!”

  “And neither did Mircea. He only understood that I was threatening his daughter, and that I must be contained.”

  “You were his daughter,” Ray repeated stubbornly.

  “No.”

  I left Horatiu, still arguing. I couldn’t listen anymore. I fled down the hallway to Dory’s rooms, stunned, confused, and heartbroken.

  And then I stopped and stared about, wondering why I’d come. I looked with blank eyes at the prettily appointed rooms, blue and white and soft gold. Serene, like a Venetian morning.

  Like her, when I was gone.

  She was asleep, her long, dark hair spreading over a pillow and dropping off the side of the bed. It flowed below her waist whenever she stood, a smooth, silky fall that her maid would insist on doing up in one of the intricate styles that Venetian ladies loved and Dory hated whenever we had company. There were still a few small braids in place, weaving through the unbound mass, ones she’d been too impatient to undo before bed.