Cold Dream Dawning

by A. R. Kahler

“Yes. That. She doesn’t have much time left. Not if . . .”

  “What? Not if what?”

  “They’ll attack soon,” he says. “Nothing big. Nothing we can’t fend off. But it’s starting to wear on her.”

  “That’s not allowed. Mab would never—”

  “For now, they aren’t doing anything wrong, so Mab can’t intervene. But they know we’re weakening, and Melody’s so stressed it’s wearing her thin. In a few days, she’s going to crack. Maybe not enough to let them in, but enough to let them do some damage. Viv can’t be there when that happens. We can’t let them take her.”

  “No shit,” I reply. I’m packed solid with weapons, but I grab a few daggers and walk to the sofa. I flop down beside him and grab my jacket, hiding the weapons within. The leather’s enchanted—stronger than steel and warded against most magic. It’s also studded and sexy as hell.

  He actually flinches away from me. That’s a first. Normally he’s trying to get into my pants. Or at least pretending to be.

  “But we’re going around in circles,” I say. I keep sliding daggers into various pockets. I should probably pack some Tarot cards, just in case I need the extra magic. “Viv dies, we don’t track down the Pale Queen, and Oberon says he gets the Oracle. You’re saying that no matter what, Viv’s powers won’t come back to her. So, what? It’s hopeless?” I don’t let myself consider the Pale Queen’s offer. Not with Kingston around, and not when my contract could stop the blood in my veins for thinking such treason.

  “If we had more time, maybe I could figure something out. As it is, it’s taking all my concentration to keep the show running and Viv from living in terrible pain. This is on you.”

  “Isn’t it always?”

  “If Oberon let up . . .”

  “I’ve already talked to Oberon. He’s not interested. He wants Viv dead.”

  I take to staring into the flames. Kingston needs more time. I could wait outside the circus and kill off Oberon’s army, but that would be seen as a blatant act of war, which means Oberon could attack the tent with his full force and not face any consequence. Mab’s not ready for that sort of attack. Not yet. I need to figure out how to access Viv’s powers. And if they’re buried down with her past, maybe the past is where I need to go.

  “I loved her, you know,” he says. His voice is gruff.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  He grabs my arm. Forces me to look at him. My initial response is to break his wrist, but when I see his eyes, I actually feel a pang of pity.

  He just looks so damn helpless.

  “No,” he says. “You don’t know. I know what you think. I know what you saw. Mab told me to convince your mother I loved her, but I didn’t need to pretend. I did love her, Claire. More than I’ve loved anyone in my entire life. Do you know what it’s like? To go over three hundred years trying to find someone you love enough to spend the rest of eternity with? And then to find her, and lose her. Not once, but twice. She gave everything up when she saved the show. And now, she doesn’t even know what she’s lost. Do you know how it feels to watch the woman you love fall in love with someone else? To have her look at you and not have any clue who you are? To have to feed that magic so she can never know, because it would kill her, even though it kills you every single day of your meaningless life?

  “I run a show that doesn’t change. I live a life that will never end. I can’t even kill myself because it’s against my fucking contract. The only thing keeping me together is the thought that maybe she’s happy, that maybe I can move on because she’s moved on. And now you’ve brought her back. Back to me. Back to the show. Back to being a reminder of everything I lost and can never have again.”

  He doesn’t look away through his entire monologue. When he finishes, he looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Normally, weakness is a huge turnoff. But something about this is endearing. Not that it helps his case any.

  “That castle, the place you barged into . . . that was supposed to be our retirement. She and I had dreamed the entire thing, and I built it. All for her. Started when she was in the show, but I never showed it to her. I wanted it to be a surprise. Then she . . . left. And for some reason I keep building, hoping maybe one day she’ll see it. Maybe one day, it will be so filled with her memory that it’s like she’s there.” He shakes his head as if he can’t even believe he’s telling me this. I can’t, either. He must have an angle; no henchman of Mab’s shows weakness unless it’s to get something.

  In this case, I have a feeling it goes deeper than trying to gain my trust or get my mother out of his care. I just can’t figure out what.

  “And yet,” I say, looking him dead in the eyes, “love her though you do, you still slept with her daughter.”

  He looks away then, spots of color rising in his cheeks. He lets go of my arm.

  “It was a moment of weakness,” he says.

  “Fuck you.” Just like that, all pity I might have had for him vanishes. But he isn’t in fight mode. He’s still wallowing.

  “I missed her,” he says. His eyes waver as he watches the fireplace. “So much. I’d watched her grow old. Watched you up until Mab took you away. Mab hid you from me, did you know that? She never would tell me why, but I think it’s because of this. She knew I’d fall for you. Would need you, if only to feel . . .” He shakes his head. “I’m so screwed up, Claire. I slept with you because it let me pretend I was with her again. That she still loved me. I can’t even begin to ask your forgiveness.”

  Inside, I am as cold and dead as the dagger I want to shove in his chest.

  “Good,” I say. “Because there’s no way in hell you’d get it.”

  I stand and slip back into my jacket. Now that it’s fully stocked, I feel a little less naked.

  “You need to leave,” I say. “I’ve got work to do.”

  He looks at me. Still like a lost little puppy. Still a thousand miles away from me giving a shit.

  “I can’t go back to her,” he says. It’s barely above a whisper. “I can’t keep doing this, Claire. Her pain keeps getting worse. I don’t know how much time she has left, how many more times I can take away her hurt. Especially when I know it’s just going to kill her.”

  “It’s your job,” I say through clenched teeth. “You’ll do it because you have no choice. Because it’s what you signed up for. Just like I will do my job. Now, get out so I can get on with it.”

  He stands. Looks me in the eyes.

  “I once said you took after her,” he says. “I was wrong. You take after Mab.”

  I smile, imitating the Winter Queen the best I can. I know I pull it off flawlessly.

  “That’s the first nice thing you’ve said all night. Out.” I point to the door.

  He shakes his head again. But he doesn’t walk away. He snaps his fingers and vanishes in a swirl of slate-blue smoke.

  The moment he’s gone, my smile drops. I shove my hands in my pockets and force down the weakness rising up in my throat like a sob.

  My night is just beginning.

  Twelve

  I fully expect Mab to intercept me as I leave the castle and head back into the kingdom proper. But the halls are empty and frozen, and I nearly slip on the ice twice. By the time I make it out into the cold night air, I’m ready to be back in the mortal world. Preferably somewhere with a beach and drink service.

  Just that thought is enough to take the air from my lungs. Apparently I’m not even allowed to indulge the fantasy of taking time off. I pause on the steps and take a deep breath, letting my thoughts settle back on the job.

  I try not to war with myself while I head toward the Lewd Unicorn. I know, in theory, I should be with Mom, trying to get her to remember. Trying to reignite the spark. But if I’m being completely honest with myself . . . I can’t. Being around her makes me feel vulnerable. Weak. And those aren’t things any assassin should feel. I need to stay away, focus on other things while the magic binding her memories unravels. I need to ensure Oberon doesn’t ki
ll her before that happens.

  Shivers spread across my body, and at first I assume it’s just the cold. Then I realize I’m not walking alone.

  The Pale Queen walks beside me, still in her gown of white, though it glows pale blue now. And still, I can’t see her face through the mask.

  I have a dagger out and to her throat in a heartbeat, but she takes another step and the blade passes through her as though she’s nothing but mist. I stop cold.

  “I’m not really here, dear girl,” she says. Her voice echoes in my head like wind through a conch. “You cannot kill a vision.”

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss. I look around, afraid I’m being watched. Even though the streets are empty, Mab has eyes everywhere. She knows everything that happens within her kingdom. Everything.

  “I’m not,” she repeats. She pauses and turns to me, raises an arm, and taps me on the temple. “I’m in here.”

  “I’m going insane,” I say. “I’ve finally seen too much, and I’ve blown a fuse and now I am insane.”

  “You are not insane.”

  “This is impossible,” I say. Not because I don’t believe in visions, but because I don’t believe they could happen here. Mab’s disconnected this place from any and all magic. There’s no way the Pale Queen could be projecting herself here, into my thoughts and vision.

  To think she could means . . .

  Well, it would mean she has powers not even Mab can imagine.

  She laughs.

  “That would be correct,” she says.

  I don’t acknowledge her statement.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Because you want to distract the Summer King.”

  “I—”

  “I can hear every thought in your head,” she interrupts. “I know what you think, what you desire. You wish to save your mother. I wish to destroy the kingdoms. Perhaps we can work together.”

  Pain shoots through my chest and I fall to my knees. I barely feel the ice that scrapes under my fingernails as I claw at the cobbled street, trying to keep myself upright.

  “I will never . . . work with you,” I manage. The pain subsides immediately. It takes all my self-control not to roll over into a fetal position and rock; the ache isn’t there, but the memory of it lingers. Instead of showing any more weakness, I push myself to standing and glare at the figment of my imagination.

  “Be that as it may,” she says, completely glossing over the fact that I just buckled, “the Summer King may soon find himself . . . preoccupied. I will help you. Again.”

  “You know I’m bound to kill you, right? Why the hell would you help me?” Her proposition from before floats through my mind, bringing with it the sense of nails dragging across my skin. I can’t let myself consider it. Any of this. She is the enemy. No matter what, the Pale Queen is the one I must kill.

  “All things change.”

  “Not this.”

  “Even this.”

  “You’re not getting anything in exchange,” I say. “This isn’t a deal.”

  “All conversations are deals, Claire. The sooner you learn this, the better. The key is whether or not you fulfill your end of the bargain. And I always fulfill my bargains.”

  Before I can ask her what she means, a gust of wind filters down the street. She vanishes like snow the moment the wind touches her.

  “Shit.”

  I glance around again. No one there. No eyes in the windows or sneers in the shadows. No one to see me talking to myself. I should go tell Mab that this happened. I turn to go, but then stop myself. If I tell Mab, she’ll dig out every scrap of truth. She’ll learn that the Pale Queen is offering sanctuary for my mother and me. That alone would give her reason enough to kill me on the spot. And if she learns I unwittingly made a deal with the enemy . . .

  What the hell did I just do?

  “Nothing,” I say, trying to convince myself. “You did nothing. She’s just playing with your head.”

  Something I’ve found astral creatures to be quite good at. Speaking of . . .

  I pull my coat closer around me and continue on my way, forcing down the Pale Queen’s offer and what was basically her assurance that she would attack Oberon. For me. Eli is waiting. And drinking on my tab.

  “Did you decide to take a nap?”

  I sidle up beside Eli at the bar. He doesn’t look up from the five empty tumblers in front of him.

  “No,” I answer. “Christ, man. How much have you had?”

  He shrugs. He doesn’t seem the slightest bit intoxicated. I don’t think he actually can get intoxicated, come to think of it. Not even from Dream. “You can afford it. Where were you?”

  “I had company. Kingston.” I’m not going to mention the Pale Queen. I don’t need him thinking I’m any crazier than he already does.

  “Ah, the magician. Why don’t you just sleep with him again and get it over with?”

  In answer, I punch him in the shoulder and look around the bar. The place is empty. And I don’t mean that in the metaphorical only-the-regulars empty. I mean we are literally the only two people in the bar. Even the bartender is missing. For once, my sanctuary feels less like a home and more like a, well, bad dive bar.

  “Does Celeste know you’ve had all those?” I ask.

  “I’d hope so. She poured them after all.”

  “Then where is she?”

  He shrugs again. “Don’t know. But I’m already thirsty.” He looks at me then. Even behind his sunglasses, I can see the blue of his eyes. He doesn’t look happy; he looks tired. “I’m going to have to ask you to pay up soon. There were more than just wards in those cells. Half of those sigils are designed to drain the life out of their captives. I’m surprised you’re able to walk.”

  “I’m tough,” I reply. I know where this is going. “We’ll get you a meal later.”

  “Not much later,” he says, looking back to his empty tumblers. “And I’ll need more than a single meal. I want a couple. A couple very much in love.”

  “Jesus, Eli, really?”

  “Really. And if you keep complaining, I’ll get more specific.”

  I shake my head. I keep expecting Celeste to flitter out of nowhere and pour me some bourbon; if she doesn’t show soon, I’m going to have to do it myself. I eye the rows of bottles behind the bar, the contents glowing in a multitude of delicious colors. Distilled Dream. The stuff is like honey to the Fey, but to me, it’s more like a short LSD trip. Totally potent, totally addicting. And seriously deadly, both in the case of overdose and in the more probable case of trying to jump off a building because you downed too much flight Dream.

  “When?” I ask.

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to go after Oberon before he has a chance to realize we’ve escaped.”

  Eli doesn’t answer at first. Instead, he slowly takes off his sunglasses, folds them up, and places them in the breast pocket of his jacket. Then he turns to me, and those blue eyes are scathing.

  “What the hell is your problem?” he asks.

  “Uh, what? What the hell is your problem, Eli?”

  But before he can answer, I’m made aware of the bartender’s arrival by a slight purple glow reflecting off the white of Eli’s suit and the clink of glass. There’s a tumbler of bourbon sliding toward me before I even turn to our hostess.

  “I was wondering if you’d be in,” Celeste says.

  Celeste is a wisp—a tiny glowing ball of purple light—but despite the fact that she has no limbs or lips, her skills as a bartender are legendary. I’ve seen her man the entire bar when slammed with pixie rock groups and angry sprites and satyrs on the edge of bacchanalia. She hovers behind the bar, her voice echoing within my head.

  Can’t keep me away, I think back.

  I love this place. It’s the one part of Winter where Mab almost never goes. But it also means I have to keep my thoughts controlled—Celeste can read me like a book. One with very big fonts.

  Which means I shouldn’
t be here for long, or under any sort of influence. My brain is not a stable place right now. What is Eli’s problem?

  “I’ve been wondering,” Eli muses to his refilled glass. The liquid glows a sultry red. Whatever Dream Celeste is feeding him, it’s definitely more . . . earthly delights. And his voice has a dangerous edge. I know that tone. It’s his innocent, shit-starting tone.

  “Yes?” Celeste responds. Her glow dims just a little bit as she addresses both of us. Probably because she wants me as backup.

  “Dream.” He raises his glass and swirls the liquid around. Then he tilts the glass and lets a stream of it slowly trickle to the bar. “You make such a fuss over it. Say it’s what feeds you. And yet . . . you don’t keep it for yourself. You work so hard pulling this from mortals, only to give it up for your queen. So you can then barter it back.”

  “What are you asking?” Celeste asks.

  “I don’t understand it,” he responds. He watches the Dream, and whether it’s his magic or the elixir, I swear I see shapes and bodies writhing in the flow. “You have no money. Just Dream. You give up your Dream to be sold a little bit less of the Dream you earned. You pay for Dream with Dream. You work to sell the very thing you buy. Why?”

  “Because that is the way things are done.” Celeste’s response is quick, rote. I’ve heard it before, from other Fey. Not that I questioned the system too deeply. Mab didn’t like it when I stuck my nose into her affairs. And for her, the Dream Trade was a very personal affair.

  “And?” he asks. “In the beginning—because there has to have been a beginning—why? Why did Mab and Oberon take control? And why do they get the bulk of what you work an eternity for?”

  Celeste doesn’t answer. Not for a while. The empty tumblers on the table levitate up and are tossed in a bin beneath the counter, shattering when they hit. Eli drops his now-empty glass to the table, but Celeste catches it before it hits. Then she tosses that, too, into the bin with a crash. For a moment, I think she’s cussing out Eli in private. And maybe she is. It’s only when a rag appears from under the bar that she addresses us both.

  “In the beginning, there was chaos. Chaos between the Fey, chaos on earth. There was no balance, no order. We nearly killed ourselves in that confusion.”