by Black, Regan
A bolt of panic hit him like an uppercut to the chin. If Camille wasn't dead, only contained, what would her captors do when she lost her powers?
Amy nudged him, tipping her head toward a human couple who'd gone from casual conversation to an intense liplock. Cursing his distraction, he stepped between Amy and the couple to blunt her effect. "We should keep moving," he said, grateful when the dog trotted ahead, forcing her forward.
"Did I do that?"
"Who else?"
"Maybe their mutual interest?"
He snorted. "We should go back." He was low on patience and his rolling emotions only made protecting her more difficult. For her safety, and his sanity, he needed to get her to the Matchmaker's book and find a bodyguard for her. He didn't know any elves in the area, just some lore about a tree of life. He'd asked Gilly to investigate any local resources, but it would take time.
"It's chilly here by the water," she said.
The interruption was welcome, and though it wasn't an enthused agreement, he appreciated the effort. "The lights are nice," he admitted as they crossed South Battery to head back up to Maeve's neighborhood.
She snorted. "There's a great little dessert shop over on Market."
"No," he grunted. His stomach was twisting itself inside out. "I'm losing my hold."
"What?"
But he couldn't talk and keep her protected. He kept moving, urging her forward, desperate to find safety. They passed into the bright wash of a streetlight and Amy gasped, tugging on her ear as she looked at him.
Losing the glamour that hid his distinct features was preferable to letting her power loose on the susceptible population. The streets weren't packed, but the risk was still high. They were too far away for him to tap the strength of the elderly live oaks on the Battery and the wispy crepe myrtles dotting the street were useless.
"Listen to me, Dare. Stop trying to cover me or whatever you call it. We'll just walk faster."
He shook his head. "Find a safe stop."
"I insist. Try it. Just for a block."
"N-"
"Do it."
Faced with that expression and tone, he gave in, dropping his protective shield. If they walked quickly they wouldn't impair too many lives. He hoped.
Without the strain of shield and glamour, Dare loosed his most basic instincts, searching for shelter. Following that instinct, he guided Amy down a dark side street. The scent of healthy foliage and rich earth drew him on, though he stumbled and would've fallen without Amy's support.
"Get me inside," he pleaded, slumping against a mossy stone wall. What he needed was on the other side.
~*~
Lily raced away, pushing through the crowded restaurant and down the sidewalk in a blind panic as she dodged people. She was nearly to the Battery wall when she realized her stupidity. She was running in the only direction that limited her options. The sea wall and harbor beyond served as a fine assistant for whatever Cade was fighting back at Mama Rita's.
She was such a coward, letting a little thing like a marked, pissed off werewolf drive her away from helping her brother. Except she knew Cade was right. Her meager, erratic magic could barely be classed as a skill and would only be a distraction to a warrior like Cade.
Still, it was ridiculous to bolt down the street, freaked out by a little rash on her arm while her brother picked a fight with someone he didn't like.
Of course Cade didn't like anyone much.
Thinking logically again, she slowed to a brisk pace in the quiet, cold evening, letting the wind off the bay soothe her. No creature would attack her here. Not among the cannons and trees, not along the wall.
Cade said run, the loyal little sister voice chanted in her head. Logic or panic, choice or not, she'd run. Now what?
She risked a glance behind her and saw nothing large and grouchy loping after her. Getting her breath back and dialing it down to an easy walk, she cut through White Point Gardens and took deep, even breaths under the lovely old live oaks.
"I'm a goose," she muttered aloud. She pulled out her phone, sent Cade a text assuring him she was okay, and then drank in the night. The stars were bright, glinting through the sprawling branches of the ancient trees. The limbs were like so many hands, fingers reaching and touching and tangling. Lily loved it here, loved knowing what she could see above her was reflected below as the roots grew deeper and stronger with every passing year, an earth-bound mirror of the sky-bound branches.
Such history here, the sort of history the human guides couldn't know, though the best ones tried to put a name to it.
From the shadows, she watched a passing carriage, allowing herself a quick flash of envy for the glowing couple snuggling in the seat. They oozed happiness, his arm around her shoulders, her palm on his knee. It was precisely what a couple should be doing in downtown Charleston on a winter evening. So simple. So lovely. So perfectly out of her reach.
And she didn't have time for a pity party this evening.
The trees of her father's people steadied her own magic and she gingerly reached out with her senses. The iridescent residue of powerful magic surprised her. Her first reaction was worry, but this was entirely different from the werewolf's black mood in the restaurant. Keeping alert for the werewolf or any of his pack, she followed the trail.
There were dips and hiccups in the residue as if the trail she followed was actually two people. Concern had her rushing forward, and relief washed through her as she saw the trail move to more quiet side streets. There, on the wall of the Unitarian Churchyard, was another flood of residue, but the colors had changed.
Lily took a step closer, and another, slowly progressing around to the gate. She heard soft voices and, assuming it was a ghost tour, she tucked herself into a corner of the cemetery to wait it out.
~*~
Dare had tried to help when Amy pushed at the heavy iron gate and hauled him inside. The relief was immediate as lush vegetation took the chill out of the air and eased the worst of the pain in his stomach. She'd propped him against a tree trunk, by desperation or design, and had settled nearby on a small bench to croon over her dog.
He let the tree nurture and soothe him while he waited for his breath to return. When he could manage it, he reached for a tendril of vine arcing his way.
"Beautiful," he murmured. He glanced to the sky, but the stars were blotted out by the thick canopy of mixed foliage. "This is an old place. A good place."
"That's what I hear."
The nerves in her voice were obvious. "Cemeteries bother you?"
"My overactive imagination bothers me." She made a brittle sound that might have been laughter. "In the daylight this place is gentle and wild and incomparable. They say the Unitarians don't groom the garden –"
"From life to death and back to life again." He sighed. "I know the philosophy." It was a pleasure soaking up the gift of such wise humans. "Come sit here with me. You'll feel it."
She snorted.
"Come on. You're safe over here. Even from your imagination." He looked toward her silhouette, taking odd comfort that the darkness hid the intensity of her changed eyes. "Come rest."
She grumbled over the cold earth, but settled well enough, sharing the broad trunk with him. "This place is haunted. It doesn't bother you?"
"It bothers you?"
"I'm not afraid of the dark, per se."
He didn't push, didn't trust himself not to fill the gaps with his words when they should be hers.
"Not afraid. Wary is a better word," she continued as her dog circled and laid down beside her. "Imagination, willingness to believe, the correct term doesn't matter. But I've always wondered about the things that hover in the dark, those things that can't be seen, or don't want to be seen in the light of day.
"In daylight, this cemetery should be seen as an overgrown mess, but somehow the clutter, the plants striving for light and space, work together for a common goal that embodies peace."
Dare didn't reply, content to sim
ply absorb that peace and the strength in the quiet.
"At night, the shadows make it threatening. Or should."
"Should they?"
"Hush," she chided. "I'm having an epiphany."
He swallowed the urge to chuckle. When she recognized and accepted her power, this Matchmaker would keep the very world on its toes.
"Absence of light should be scary," she began. "The way the tour guides tell the stories makes you want to believe, to be spooked. So I guess I'm gullible in the dark. Which might actually be worse than simply being afraid of it."
He could imagine the furrow between her brows as she frowned thoughtfully. "That's your epiphany?" The chuckle shook loose. He just didn't have the strength to contain it. "It's not gullible to wonder what's lurking. It's gullible to believe what's lurking is always bad." He poked her, laughing when she jumped. "There's a strong tree at your back, a good dog at your side, and a lovely night in front of you. Just enjoy it."
He closed his eyes, embracing everything the churchyard had to offer with all of his senses. The Matchmaker was quiet for a time and the sense of rightness was a refreshing balm to his battered emotions. He couldn't know how long they sat there, but his gut settled as the steady beat of life in the tree seeped into him, shoring him up.
Unite Matchmaker and book and then he'd move on with his life. The thought startled him, but he didn't resist it. Instead, he tried to envision that new life, but it wouldn't come into focus. His future seemed to be a vast, blank sky. Without the professional identity as Camille's guard, he didn't seem to know himself any more.
After leaving his family and a choice assignment, he'd found his purpose in serving Camille and never looked back. He harbored no regrets for those decisions, only heartache that Camille was now lost.
The Elite Guard would consider him an embarrassment, unless he could provide an explanation.
His future was dark, and he was more than wary, he was flat-out afraid of it. He needed to find something, someone, some cause worth living for. He doubted either Matchmaker would be pleased if he named finding Camille that cause.
Ah, well. They didn't have to understand him, or even give their blessing. What were the Matchmakers except meddlers at heart? It was always better, he was always happier when he stepped out and lived his choices his way.
He smiled, imagining the response if he spoke that opinion aloud.
"Feeling better?"
"Yes, thanks." Bordering on melancholy but feeling relatively better.
"Great. Hold Guinness' leash, please."
She pushed it into his hand and he opened his eyes to a scene straight from one of Camille's stories.
His years in her service meant many of the nights they only had each other for conversation and they'd swapped tales of family and legends. Dare had never seen spirit magic first hand, but he recognized it now. Amy had moved from his side and stood surrounded by pale figures, translucent and lit from within.
Ghosts.
As he watched, her lips and hands moved as if she was conversing with old friends, but no sound reached his ears.
His breath backed up in his chest as the air snapped cold and brittle around him. The tree, with its sturdy, reassuring presence, the relaxed dog at his side, and his dedication to Camille kept him from melting into the bark. Escape wasn't appropriate, but neither was defense. Amy didn't seem to be in any trouble, but he wasn't sure he'd know if she were.
He shifted, became the target of a particularly intimidating ghostly gaze and decided to stay put while his mind puzzled out how to get her out of here.
Amy listened with her heart more than her ears, and ignored the cold air turning her every exhalation into a small cloud. She accepted she was talking with the dead, though this sort of communication wasn't precisely verbal.
But they were communicating.
She couldn't label the act, couldn't point to the time when she'd learned how to do whatever it was she was doing. At the moment she just listened, which seemed to be the primary concern of the ghosts surrounding her.
They knew they were dead, a fact which busted a great many myths Hollywood purported. Three out of the four ghosts didn't even mind the current suspended existence. The last one to join the conversation was most irritable with his family for ignoring his demise.
She wasn't sure what she could possibly do to help him, so she let him rant for a bit before another member of the group cut him off.
"That is enough. I must speak!" The female ghost was elegantly attired and her eyes were direct and a bit disapproving. Her statement earned her no respect.
"It's always about you," the others grumbled unanimously as they drifted their separate ways.
But in Amy's heart, the source of her connection to them, she felt such sudden, deep longing she clutched her chest. She saw it all, the woman alive and so in love, then crushed and devastated when her husband was lost to her.
"He should be here," the woman said. "He should be here with me."
The woman's loneliness was a tangible force winding through the air, raising goose bumps on Amy's skin. Instinctively, she reached out, but something bumped her legs – Guinness – and Dare hooked her with an around her waist.
"No!" Amy struggled, but couldn't twist free. She knew what the ghost needed. She could help if Dare would just let her do it.
With a look of utter contempt, the ghost moved away, skirts swirling behind her as she moved through headstones, iron, and air with equal ease.
Amy slumped, lurching free when Dare's arm went slack.
"Here!" It took her longer as she was flesh and blood, but she navigated the obstacles in the dark, stopping near the obelisk where the elegant ghost had disappeared. She extended her hand once more. "I can show you where he waits."
She heard Dare's footsteps on the path and willed the ghost to act quickly.
Her ears buzzed as ghostly fingertips brushed her own in an ethereal touch totally absent of heat. In that odd connection, she spoke with images more than words, so the two could be united at last. An immense love buoyed her heart as the tiniest bit of relief rippled out of her like a pebble dropped in a pond.
"Godspeed," she whispered into the peaceful stillness in the air.
Dare felt something too. Something closer to rage than peace, but he couldn't put it into words. The warmth and comfort he'd enjoyed in this churchyard had turned to cold ash. She'd endangered herself, endangered an entire balancing force of the non-human realms. For what? A ghost?
"What was that?" he demanded, his brutal voice shattering the quiet around her.
"Helping." Amy sighed and turned, snapping her fingers for the greyhound's attention. Her expression: part satisfaction, part serenity, and all wistful, took the leading edge off his anger.
"You can't help all of them. It's best to stick with the ones still living. She had a place here."
"The wrong place. She and her love, her husband were an odd, but perfect match. She came South with him, to a life as foreign to her as another country. He left, had to leave her for some business.
"They died on the same day. The same day, Dare! I'm not sure how I know, but they were so close, so perfect together. They were two halves of one whole that neither could live – literally – without the other. Here, alone, she was heartbroken. I could fix it."
"They had their chance in life."
"So they don't deserve a blissful eternity in death?" She tsked at him. "His body has never been returned here to the family plot. I know that much from the tour guides. But as the 'Matchmaker'," she used air quotes, "I felt how he pines for her too.
"I could fix it, Dare," she repeated, winding down. "They were the perfect love match. Isn't that what the Matchmaker's all about?"
Not even close. "Amy." How could he make her understand? He wasn't sure he understood it himself, but he could see what fixing it had cost her. Shifting to the more immediate issue, he asked, "How did you know?"
Her head tipped up and he followed her
gaze to bare sliver of moon visible through the trees. It was pale as the ghosts who'd approached her. More solid, but just as real.
"Back home, there's always a big Fourth of July display over the lake. I remember one year, I was probably four or five. It was hot and muggy like any other Midwestern summer. The air was heavier with spent gunpowder after the fireworks, but there was a cinnamon scent too. Like warm rolls fresh from the oven. It was lovely."
He watched her inhale as if she were living it all over.
"I was tired, but the smell drew me, made me all awake again. I wandered off – just a little – I could still see my family headed toward the car, but I went toward the smell. She was lovely and sad and not much older than me."
"A ghost."
"Yes. We only had a minute, but I felt her here." She tapped her fingers over her heart. "The girl watched the fireworks and the people every year. She probably still does, but I only saw her that once."
"You spoke to her." She nodded. "How long have you known you've had this magic?"
"What magic is there in communing with the dead? I've had a moment or two through the years, but this was the first I'd felt compelled to do something about it."
"This is the first I've seen spirit magic in action." It unnerved him that she didn't understand the danger. "That was a foolish risk. You could've been hurt." Or more likely captured in a murky limbo. He could almost hear the separate factions celebrating and mourning in equal measures.
"But I wasn't hurt. Tonight was much the same as that long ago Fourth of July." But she shivered as she said it. The need to protect and guard was as much a part of him as his pointed ears and he reached out, tugging her coat closed.
"There's more to you now, a bigger purpose." He lowered his voice. "As Matchmaker, your power and any inherent gifts will be a beacon to others."