Cold Dream Dawning

by A. R. Kahler

  “It’s a shame we have to kill you,” he says as his other hand traces symbols in the air. I know a few of them. Banishment runes. He’s not just going to kill me. He’s going to send me to the lowest regions of the netherworld. If I weren’t moderately worried for my life, I’d actually be impressed. Guy’s got skill. Even if he does have a rather unfortunate green buzz cut.

  But before I can twist or send a rush of power through the runes on my spine—this time for electrocution, or paralysis, or something more painful—there’s a crash, and the guy topples to the side. I roll onto my knees and grab a knife and thrust it between his ribs before he can take another breath. Without the slightest gasp, he explodes in a flurry of willow leaves.

  “I had that,” I say coldly, standing and staring down the changeling girl. She glares at me, and it’s then I realize she isn’t holding a weapon—I honestly expected her to run out with a frying pan or something. Girl can fight with her bare hands; good to know. She’s starting to look like she regrets saving me.

  “No,” she says, turning back to the kitchen, “you didn’t.”

  I sigh and look around at the remains of the carnage. The bikes are already dissolving into the earth, nothing more than clods of dirt and grass held together with glamour. So much for having a sick ride after all my troubles. Then I look to the open doorway, and the faerie still unconscious beneath the door. I walk over to him, throw the door behind me, and kneel down hard on his gut. He grunts awake. I still slap the side of his face to get his attention. At least, that’s why I tell myself I do it.

  “Assassin,” he snarls.

  I smile.

  “Obviously. Now, to business. Why the hell did Oberon send you here?”

  Now it’s his turn to smile, which looks rather demented with his teeth covered in viscous lime blood. Like his compatriots, his hair is green and shaved close, though this guy has tattoos swirled over his face. Almost tribal, but not as douchey—these are magicked for sure.

  “We are here to thank you, assassin,” he says.

  “Thank me? For killing your friends? You shouldn’t have.”

  “For showing us the way.” His eyes dart to the door. “We have been waiting for the Oracle’s appearance, and now, you have led us to her. The bitch is ours now.”

  I have a dagger to his throat before I can stop myself.

  “That’s my mother you’re talking about,” I say. I keep my words devoid of anger; I find it’s more effective when dealing with a hostage. Makes them scared. “Why are you after her?”

  “She belongs to Oberon,” he says. “And now that we’ve found her, he won’t stop until she’s his.” He laughs, or coughs, and a spray of green blood flecks my face. “Nowhere is safe, assassin. You can’t hide her any longer.”

  Then, before I can slit his vile throat, he wraps a net of glamour over himself and dissolves into the grass, sinking back into the world of Faerie.

  I look from the open door to the torn-up lawn and the street beyond, everything still sleepy and silent despite the fight. No one here knows what happened, and I don’t know if that’s usual faerie glamour at play or some defense set up by the changeling. I only know that defense is no longer enough to keep my mother safe.

  So much for today being a simple meet and greet.

  I wipe the blood off my face with the back of my hand and step inside, trying to figure out how to tell my family that it’s time for them to leave home.

  “You’re not taking them,” the changeling hisses.

  We’re up in her bedroom, and the place is just as stark as I would have imagined a faerie trapped in the mortal world would have it. A few posters on the robin’s-egg walls, a few knickknacks on the dresser. But these are all slightly out of sync with the facade she’s trying to uphold. The posters are all motivational BS you’d see in office buildings and schools—cats on branches and cyclists reaching a summit at sunset, with little quotes underneath. The decorations are kitschy ceramics that don’t quite fit together, mismatched salt and pepper shakers, a nutcracker missing its hat, a hippo bank in a tutu. Clearly, the girl didn’t do much research in this regard. And clearly it hasn’t mattered for her cover.

  “I’d love to see you try and stop me,” I reply. I pick over the objects in her room with disinterest, my back turned to her to show that I’m not at all worried about my guard being down in her presence. I almost want her to try to stop me; I feel guilty for blowing my mother’s cover, and that’s not a sensation I’m okay sitting with. Why the hell would Oberon want her? Especially since she’s no use to anyone right now?

  I look back and see the girl leaning against her desk; her fingers dig into the wood, bringing up small splinters.

  “I have kept her safe for nearly twenty years,” she growls. “While you have been away, I have been stuck here, ensuring no harm befell her. Just as Mab ordered. And now you come here and bring hell down upon this house, and you think I will just let her leave with you?”

  “Mab’s orders.”

  “Then Mab can get her herself.” The girl’s eyes narrow. “I don’t trust you. Not with her life. Not with either of their lives.”

  “She’ll be safer in Winter than—”

  “She cannot go to Winter!” She shoves away from the desk and stalks over to me, and it’s then that her glamour starts to wear off. I can see the faerie underneath, and I’m pretty certain she’s some sort of dryad, what with the coarse skin and vines twined through her hair. She grabs my arm and forces me to look in her eyes. “Don’t you see? If she could have been held there, she would have been. The magic . . . the magic that took her memory is powerful, but there are holes. If she returns to Winter, she will start to remember. And if that happens, it will be too much for her. She’ll die.”

  That’s precisely what I need to happen, I want to say. But I’ve learned many things being an assassin, and being secretive is one of the most important. The less the changeling knows of my purpose here, the less chance she has of stabbing me in the back.

  “What do you care?” I ask instead. “After all, you’re just her warden. You should be relieved—I’m here to take her off your hands. Consider yourself free to do whatever the fuck you want.”

  She bites her lip, and the glamour slams back into place. She looks like a lost girl, for a second.

  “She has grown on me,” she says, then looks to the wall. “Besides, it is against Vivienne’s contract: she is unable to enter the Winter Kingdom, under any circumstance. Mab couldn’t risk Vivienne’s magic unraveling within her own walls. The safest option for everyone was to hide her somewhere else, somewhere isolated and protected—both from her own powers, and from those who would seek them. And if she leaves here, if she goes anywhere with even a hint of magic, the powers keeping her safe will unravel. I refuse to let her die.” Her shoulders square, and she looks back at me with a newfound vigor. “I refuse to let the last eighteen years of my life be for nothing. You will not undo my hard work with your ignorance.”

  “We can’t keep her here,” I reply. I’m not even going to touch on how I feel about that last eighteen years shit. “Not if Oberon’s on her trail. He’s already broken through your defenses.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  I let her comment slide. “Which means we need to find someplace safe.”

  “But why?” she asks. “Why now? What the hell do you need her for? Hasn’t she already done enough for Winter?”

  I open my mouth, but I can’t bring myself to speak. Because she raises a damn good point: Vivienne is my mother, not this faerie bitch’s. And yet she’s the one trying to look out for Vivienne’s well-being. I’m just, what? Playing to Mab’s whims again. Hoping to use my mother like Mab used her. Which is worse in this case, since I’m technically bound to Vivienne by blood.

  “I don’t have a choice,” I finally admit. “Mab needs her. We need her. I don’t know why, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell you. And no, I’m not asking for your permission or understandin
g here. I have to keep her safe until . . . until she’s useful. And if she can’t go to Winter, I’ll take her to the next best thing. We’re going to the circus.”

  I’d briefly considered taking her to the Wildness. Oberon might not be able to find us there, but the unclaimed Fey that live within don’t take kindly to outsiders. Especially those from Winter. Safe from Oberon, sure, but I couldn’t risk Vivienne getting stabbed in the back by a rogue pixie. I needed someplace where she’d be safe from all outside Fey. And a circus where everyone is powerful and immortal and allied to Mab is about as close to that as I could get.

  She looks at me for a long moment, her eyes sharp and quizzical. She doesn’t look happy.

  “This will kill her,” she finally replies. “Your own mother. You will kill her if you go through with this. You realize that, right?”

  I swallow down the bile and push past her, taking this as her admission of defeat.

  “She’s not my mother,” I say, keeping my voice flat, even though saying it is like a dagger to my heart. It hurts because I know it’s true. “You made sure of that.”

  “We’re leaving,” I say the moment I’m back in the kitchen.

  “Who was out there, dear?” Vivienne asks. But she’s not asking me. She’s looking at the changeling with a completely placid expression. I’m wondering if she or Austin even heard the fight, or if their magic-addled brains just think it was some early Jehovah’s Witness or something. If she heard my statement, she doesn’t acknowledge it.

  “Wrong address,” the changeling replies. I roll my eyes. It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, but Viv and Austin seem to take it in stride. At least I think that until I look at my father. He may be nodding, but his eyes don’t leave me.

  “What do you mean, leaving?” he asks.

  “Did you miss all of what happened out there?” I ask, gesturing to the broken-down door. “You guys are in danger.”

  “There’s no danger,” says Vivienne. I actually stand there with my mouth agape. That’s a line fed directly from the changeling if I’ve ever heard one. “This is home. There’s no danger when you’re at home.”

  “Mom is right,” the changeling says. Her expression is smooth, but I catch the glint of vehemence in her eyes when she looks at me. “There’s nothing out there. But . . .”

  “But?” I ask, fully ready to beat this bitch to a pulp if she dares try to keep them here. Vivienne is mine. My charge, I mean.

  “But it would be good to go for a little vacation, don’t you think?”

  Austin’s eyes narrow. I like this guy. His mind may be mush from all the magic used against him, but he’s like one of those old guys with dementia—when clarity kicks in, it’s sharp and to the throat.

  “Where would we go? We haven’t gone anywhere besides Grandma and Grandpa’s for years. And—no offense—I don’t think they’d enjoy having extra company.” He looks pointedly at me while he says this.

  “No offense taken,” I say. I grin. I definitely know where I got my wit. “I was thinking we could go to the cir—”

  “We’re still figuring that out,” the changeling interrupts. She actually swats my shoulder when she says it. Try that again, bitch, and you’ll be missing an arm—at least. “But Melody’s family has a time-share down south. I thought maybe we could stay there a few days.”

  She doesn’t specify my pretend time-share, and I’m suddenly acutely aware that I’m not certain where in America I even am; all of suburbia looks pretty much the same.

  “Don’t worry,” she continues. I notice the subtle wave of her fingers at her side. Magic doesn’t require movement, but sometimes the motions help. “We took this week off for a vacation anyway, remember? We just thought we’d have it here at home. All we need to do is pack.”

  I glance at her, because that’s seriously the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. My parents, however, swallow it up like Communion.

  “Okay then,” Vivienne says. The ghost of a smile plays on her lips. “Looks like we should go and pack, hon. Isn’t it exciting? A real vacation!”

  I want to vomit.

  Partly because she considers a trip with her housebound daughter and a stranger to be a vacation, and partly because this is far from a friendly trip.

  I give them some time to pack their things, heading to the front porch, coffee and breakfast in hand. Turns out Mom is a good cook. The thought sends a pang through me, but I force it down. No, I’m not going to think about all the mornings she could have cooked for me. I’m not going to try to remember any breakfasts like this. I’m positive I don’t remember anything from my early childhood because Mab erased my memory. A part of me wonders if Kingston or some other witch could undo it. The rest of me doesn’t want to open that door.

  “Melody, eh?”

  I turn around to Austin’s voice. He’s standing there in the doorway, and if he registers that the door is currently lying in the churned-up yard, he doesn’t show it. His eyes don’t leave me, and I won’t lie, it’s a little creepy, this dynamic. Him looking at me the way most guys look at me. Especially since he seems to know more than he’s letting on. That’s the worst part about memory magic—everything becomes a minefield.

  “That’s my name,” I say. He steps over and sits beside me. A little too closely.

  “I knew another Melody, I think,” he muses over his coffee. His eyes take on a distant look as he stares out at the lawn. Again, no sign that there’s anything amiss beyond a bit of nostalgia. “Ages ago. But I can’t quite remember her. Definitely wasn’t you, though.”

  He looks over to me quickly, before looking back to the world.

  “You look familiar,” he says.

  “So do you. But I hear I have one of those familiar faces. Lots of people said Claire and I could be sisters.”

  “I don’t think that’s it,” he says. Again, the look that asks more questions than his words. “Where are we going?”

  You’re not going anywhere, I want to say. Because as far as I’m concerned, this guy is just getting in the way. It feels like he knows too much, and that might be dangerous. I need my mother’s powers. Not someone asking too many questions about my past. Not until he becomes useful.

  I really am no better than Mab.

  Before I have to figure out an answer, the changeling comes out and sits down beside us.

  “Are you bothering Melody, Dad?”

  She says it jokingly, but I can tell from the look in her eyes that she, like me, isn’t comfortable with his prying. Maybe everyone’s been so focused on keeping Viv in the dark that Austin’s been able to keep a few memories.

  “Nah,” he says, immediately slipping from conspiratorial tones to Cool Dad crap. “Was just asking where we are going. I mean, I figure Melody’s got some great connections. She seems like she’d have friends in strange places.”

  I exchange another look with the changeling.

  “I don’t know if you should be coming along, Dad,” she says.

  “What? Why wouldn’t I come along?”

  She sighs.

  Then she places a hand on his shoulder, leans in, and whispers something in his ear. I don’t catch the words, but I do catch the way his eyes glaze over.

  “You better go back to bed, Dad,” she says. “Stay there for a few days. We’re going on vacation and don’t know when or if we’ll be back. And you won’t care either way.”

  He nods and stands, turning back to the hallway without even looking at me.

  “The hell was that?” I ask when he disappears up the stairs.

  “Memory magic.”

  “I didn’t feel anything.”

  “It’s a trigger phrase,” she says, looking at me. “They both have one. Makes them fully believe whatever I tell them.”

  “What is it?”

  “Like I’d tell you,” she says. She looks back up the stairs. “I hate using it. It doesn’t seem right.”

  “You’ve gone soft,” I say. “Too much time in the mortal world?
”

  “Rich. I could say the same, but reversed.” She pauses. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because Mab ordered it.”

  “But why? I have spent so long protecting her. You know what will happen if she visits the circus. The magic holding her memories together will begin to unravel—there are too many triggers there. She can’t know about her past.”

  I shrug, grab a dagger, and begin scratching symbols in the porch step. Nothing particularly powerful, but it keeps my antsy fingers busy and gives my mind something to focus on.

  “All this time, wasted,” she mutters, fully sounding like a spoiled little brat.

  I glance at her. Yes, it sucks that her entire mission has been to keep Viv safe. But hey, missions change.

  “She’ll be fine,” I say. I lower my voice. “She’s my mother. I’m not going to let her get hurt.”

  “You mortals. You lie without even knowing it. If you take her to the circus, if her memories come back . . . it will kill her. That is why I have guarded her so many years. It wasn’t just to keep Oberon off her trail. It was to keep her from dying. I was Mab’s final gift.”

  “And what a gift this is,” I say as sarcastically as possible, gesturing to the house. “A shitty cardboard cutout house and a daughter that doesn’t really love them. Their life is straight from the TV shows you’ve been watching. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if you fully scripted them. And hey, why is Oberon after her anyway?”

  She shrugs and looks away. “That information is not mine to tell.”

  “Then I’ll be sure to bring it up with Oberon next time I see him, since Mab has her hands full.” Internally, I remind myself that I should go meet with the Summer King. See if he knows anything about the Pale Queen. But mostly just to see what the hell he wants with my mother.