“Or the real coward,” Evie said, trying to provoke a reaction. “You’re just going to wilt away and let a curse use you like a puppet.”
“Then tell me what you suggest I do?” He glared. “Or let me know exactly how you plan to release me from the spell?”
“I already have two pieces of the mirror. That’s two sins gone, Bran.” Evie ran a hand through her curls, frustration building like a small fire inside her. “I know people have fewer manners in the twenty-first century, but you could at least say thank you.”
A blush rose on his cheeks. “Evie, you didn’t know what was happening. Do you realise you almost died? If not for Auran…” he trailed off, and swallowed hard. “I should thank him.”
Evie swung her bag onto her back, wondering why he kept saying her name every time he spoke to her. “I suppose you can’t admit that a woman might help you out; just Auran.” She shook her head. “You know what, actually? There’s no way I could be your fiancé reborn. I would never go for a sexist coward, in this life or any other.”
She walked to the door.
“Where are you going?”
She turned back to face him, incredulous. “You’re kicking me out, right?”
He frowned; she could see his brow creasing under his long fringe. “Where will you go? You said you were having problems.”
He looked uncomfortable. She enjoyed that with a guilty satisfaction. “Well it’s dangerous here, and I’m just a weak little woman.”
He scratched his throat and rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, fidgeting. “I never said anything about you being a woman. I see I’m detestable to you because I care about you not dying for me.”
Evie started unlocking the door. “I don’t intend to die. Besides that, Auran said he was going to help.”
“You came here without him.” Bran appeared at her side, and held his hand over the next lock in the sequence.
“Well, I wanted to talk to you about what he told me. Without him there.” They were close again. She could feel his breath on her neck as he stood behind her. She turned so that her back was to the door and he was facing her, reaching over her shoulder to cover the lock. “Bran, it’s not selfless on my part. If I can help, I’ll do it. For me as well.”
He looked down at her face, meeting her eyes squarely with his own. “You look so like her. Others came too; all were supposed to be her, all failed. But you…” He touched her cheek, lightly, carefully, as if she would turn to dust and crumble away if he pressed too hard. “You look most like she did. It could almost be like six hundred years never happen. You even smell like she did.” He closed his eyes, inhaling her.
Evie’s heart was so loud it was embarrassing. She didn’t know him, she wasn’t Alison, she was Evie Edlin, a nobody schoolgirl who liked art and never in her wildest dreams could have imagined knowing a boy like Bran, having any sort of ability to help him.
But he was a hard guy to help. That was certain. She slipped out under his arm, walking to the fireside. “Bran, I can’t handle being somebody else. I’m Evie, okay?”
He redid the locks she had opened and came to stand beside her at the fire. He looked relieved that she wasn’t leaving anymore. He was hard to help, and also incredibly confusing.
“I know you are Evie,” he said gently. “Alison would never have worn such clothes.” His tone was playful. “Women wear gowns. These trousers are most unbecoming.”
Evie shrugged. She wanted to remind him that she had smacked him twice on the head the night before, and that she could have done it whether she was wearing a gown or not, but she was afraid to bring the conversation back to her being in danger from him.
“Tomorrow is the Winter Solstice. I went out of faerie for the first time on that day, travelled all the way home. Fifteen years had passed. She was a mother, she had four beautiful young children and a hard working husband who cared for her.” He was staring into the fire. Evie watched the flames dancing in his eyes, reflecting his own personal hell.
“She saw me coming, unchanged. Still the young man that had set out to make his fortune and never returned to claim her. I was no different. There were no lines of age upon me. But I had the lines of hatred.
“I felt betrayed. All the anger of being trapped and cursed, used by a faerie Queen, taken in by a foolish dream of fame and riches, it all came upon me. I opened the portal for Wrath. The damned sword formed in my hand before I could take it all back, before I could understand why and forgive her, before I could apologise.
“Most times, when the sins are in control, I just go to sleep or something. I usually remember what happened later, it comes back like I’m remembering a horrible dream. But Wrath made me watch. I was there when he pierced her through. I saw every moment of it, felt the resistance of her flesh against the blade and heard the awful sound as it found its mark in her chest, slid right through the heart that I had cast away for a few pieces of glamour-gold.”
Evie could think of nothing to say. She saw the scene as he told it, and wondered stupidly if Alison had been wearing the green gown when it had happened. She reached out and placed a hand on Bran’s shoulder. He was shaking, but there weren’t any tears on his face. Maybe a person eventually ran out of tears.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Sorry all that happened, but if she was as caring and smart as you say, she would want you to be free of it, free of the curse that killed her, Bran.”
He looked down at her, his face void of all colour, ashen white. “I murdered you.”
Evie shuddered, allowing herself to imagine being Alison, to imagine her long lost love appearing like a ghost after fifteen years, imagine having four children and a husband. It was impossible. She was Evie, breathing, drawing, hoping to pass her exams, waiting to turn seventeen.
“I’m not dead,” she said, letting her hand slide off his shoulder.
He smiled suddenly. It was mysterious and unexpected, like the moon escaping from the clouds in the sky. “No, I suppose you are not dead.”
It should have disturbed her. Had it been so easy to coax a real smile out of his gloom? Had he been regarding her as a dead girl every time she appeared in his shop?
He lifted her rucksack, destroying the sullen air entirely and walking to the counter. “Would you like a bath? You could probably do with relaxing a little. Auran will probably show up soon.” He said Auran like he might have said the word ‘disease.’
Evie rolled her eyes, but she allowed herself to believe he was jealous.
Chapter Eighteen
Evie stepped out of the bath, steam rolling off her skin as it touched the cool bathroom air. She wrapped herself in the red towel Bran had left for her and went out into the hallway, leaving wet footprints all the way to his bedroom. She had spread her change of clothes out over the bed so that the creases might fall out of it while she was bathing.
She dried off, wriggling into the black jeans, and pulling the red Goth-sleeved top over her head as fast as she could, afraid that Bran would come back into his room to get something and see her naked. She laughed at herself. He said he would finish off his painting while he was waiting for her.
She scrunched her wet hair with her fingers, drying it as best she could. She examined his room as she did. It was frugal, soldier neat and mostly without decoration.
There were three wooden shelves nailed to the wall above his headboard. She read the titles of the small collection of books on them. Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales stuck out. She smiled to herself. Bran liked naughty stuff.
She thought about her English assignment that was due after Christmas. If she wasn’t too busy breaking curses, she could have asked Bran for his help, see if he’d read the Wife of Bath’s Tale. Her English teacher would probably tie Bran to a chair and question him mercilessly about the reception Chaucer had received from his contemporary audience. She laughed to herself as she put her socks on and went into the hall.
She made her way to the living area to find that Bran had lit a fir
e in the grate. He stood up when she came in, and pulled a chair to the fireside for her. “Your hair will dry quicker.”
She smiled, and settled into the chair, peering down at his painting, which was pinned to the floor with coffee cups. He had a source set out before him. She recognised it with a start. It was the painting of the girl in the glass coffin, with the six objects. He was copying it in watercolour, making it his own. His strokes were softer, making the colours blur on the page, light and faded as if the painting wasn’t there at all and was just a figment of her imagination.
Bran knelt back down, and took his brush from a jar of water. “I’m making you a copy. Kind of like an assignment map.”
Evie smiled, a warm glow spreading through her, one that didn’t come from the fire. He was going to let her try.
She held out her feet, wriggling her toes towards the fire, trying to heat up her socks. It also allowed her to do a silly little dance of excitement that Bran wouldn’t notice.
He was adding the finishing touches to the painting. She watched as he dabbed his brush into the black paint and made two bold strokes on the page. One through the goblet, the other along the side of the coffin. There was another difference. Snow White was no longer trapped. The top of the coffin was gone and she was in the midst of climbing out. All by herself.
Evie also noticed her dark eyes, the fact that she wasn’t wearing a gown anymore, just regular blue jeans and a red winter jumper.
Bran removed the coffee cups and lifted the painting, holding it out towards the fire to help it dry. “Every time you get a piece of the glass you can block it out of the painting.”
Evie grinned. “Good idea. Though the black strokes are ruining a perfectly good painting.”
He shrugged. “Mediocre at best.” He set it on the floor beside her. “I understand you are an artist also.”
“Well, I try. I’m doing an art exam actually.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I guess working here is almost like an examination. An extremely dangerous one, most of my customers come for a permanent marking and then change their minds halfway through. The Fair Folk can be very flippant beings, among other things.”
Evie nodded, thinking of some of the things she had seen in the Candle and Rose. She didn’t fancy putting needles into any of them. She pulled her lacy sleeve up and ran a finger over the smooth skin of her inner wrist. Her pen-sketch of the raven was gone, long since rubbed away. It was what had provoked the old woman to send her to Bran.
“I really want a tattoo. One I drew myself.”
Bran shook his head. “Why would you want to mar your perfectly nice skin?”
Evie fought a stupid blush. “Well you’re the tattoo artist. You tell me why?”
He laughed gently. “I like sticking sharp things into faeries. Faeries like art and designs. It was but a logical conclusion.”
He was joking, but there was an edge to his voice.
She was silent, wondering what she could say to him about it. The sound of loud rapping, and a bell ringing from down in the shop saved her.
Bran’s eyes narrowed, and Evie watched him open a drawer in the cabinet beside the fireplace. He took the small black gun out and slid it into his belt again.
“Bran, that’s probably a really bad idea,” Evie cautioned.
He grabbed a long black coat from the cloak stand and put it on, covering the gun. “It makes him afraid doesn’t it?”
Evie sighed. “We‘re working with him now, you have to try and get along.”
Bran didn’t look convinced. “He is working with you. I am sworn off Unseelie Royalty. You wait here, I suppose I shall bring him in.” He sounded like he was agreeing to let the Black Plague back into London.
He went out into the hall and Evie heard him opening the door to the shop. Within seconds she could hear the muffled sounds of men arguing. It got louder and more discernible as they moved into the hall, and walked to the living room.
“-You should have sent her home. After last night, one would think you might have gained some sense.” The voice was Auran’s, already she knew his strange lilt, the accent she could never place because it didn’t belong to this world.
“What I do is none of your business, and will remain as such.” Bran’s eyes were full of unmasked hatred as he came into the room. Auran came close on his heels, staring around with unabashed curiosity. It faded when he saw Evie, turning swiftly to dark disapproval.
“Ah, the girl with the death wish.” He glared at her. “I told you to stay at home until I came for you.”
Evie stood up from her chair and walked to the sofa, sinking down into it. “You aren’t my keeper, Auran. I wanted to talk to Bran about some stuff.”
Auran sat down on the sofa beside her, making himself comfortable. “Well I suppose you paved the way for my own arrival.” He looked at Bran. “I take it you are willing to co-operate with me now.”
Bran’s arms were folded across his chest. “I do not, and will never trust you, but since you will not give Evie a choice in the matter I will make the best of the situation. I want to be free as much as the next man, possibly more.”
“Excellent.” Auran flashed a brilliant smile, then stood up and went to the fireside, reaching down and picking up Bran’s painting. “What is this?” His eyes were bright, as if the paper was sparkling treasure reflecting in them. “The drawing you were talking about,” he answered his own question, walking to the low coffee table in front of the sofa. He lowered onto his knees and spread the painting over the surface, then patted the ground beside him. “Let’s work it out.”
Evie slid off the sofa and shuffled to his side. “It’s hardly rocket science.”
Auran looked puzzled. Evie reasoned that if he didn’t know what plastic was, he didn’t know about rockets either.
She pointed at the coffin, then the goblet. “We got those already, right?”
Auran nodded, pointing at the girl in the coffin. “Look, it is you.” He sounded delighted.
Bran stormed across the room towards them. “Do not touch it you fool, it is not yet dry.”
Auran drew his hand back. “I was not touching it!” he snapped, but Evie saw the very slight smudge under the girl’s eye in the painting, as if her mascara was running. Auran casually tapped his finger on the table, trying to remove all evidence.
Evie ignored the bickering. “So, we need the chain, the rose, the ring and the sword.” She scrutinised the rest of the painting. There were seven fragments in the story, and seven deadly sins. She counted again; coffin, goblet, chain, ring, sword. “There are only six objects here.”
Bran answered her, a little too fast; “There are only six faces.”
Evie felt Auran’s eyes on her, and looked up at him. He slid his gaze away again. “So what represents which face?” He leaned closer to Evie, brushing his hand against hers as he indicated the sword.
Evie drew back a little from him, but he only moved closer, right into her personal space.
Bran was behind them instantly, lowering onto his knees and coming between them to regard the painting. He pushed Auran’s hand away, but Evie didn’t know if it was to save the painting or to stop Auran from touching her.
“The sword is Wrath.” He swallowed after he said the name, Evie could see his throat moving with the effort.
Auran smiled, and winked at Evie conspiratorially when she looked at him. She raised an eyebrow, but as soon as Bran looked up from the painting, Auran’s face expression changed. He stared at Evie almost lovingly.
She wanted to ask him what the hell he was playing at, but he broke contact with her, turning his attention back to the painting.
Bran took in a deep breath as if to recover his patience. “The rose is Lust.”
Auran smiled. “Roses are supposed to signify true love, are they not?”
“Red roses are, yes.” Bran’s voice was quiet. He didn’t look away from the painting, staring at it without blinking. “But the thorns on this rose a
re almost as big as the petals. There is nothing of love in him, as with anything in Faerie. Gifts are just glamoured mud, and money made of leaves. Kisses too are games, and you are as like to get your lips bitten off and spat upon the ground as anything else.” He looked up at Auran. “Love is something beyond comprehension to your people.”
Auran sat back, his shoulders stiffening. “I beg to differ, and I find it hard to accept a lecture on the nature of love from you, truly hard.”
Evie spoke before Bran could retort. “So, the rose is lust. What about the ring?”
“Greed.” His tone was clipped, his mind clearly holding on to the argument with Auran.
“The chain?”
“Envy.” Bran rolled the painting as he said it, handing it to Evie decisively. “Like you said, it is not the science of rocks.”
Evie took it gratefully, fighting a creeping smile at his words. She really hoped he never got the opportunity to fire his gun. He ought to stick to ancient weaponry.
Auran stood up from the floor, and stretched like a spoilt cat, reaching his hands into the air above him. “Well, now we need only provoke the faces into showing themselves. I dare say Lust would be the easiest.” He looked even more like a cat, his eyes bright with mischief. A wicked smile curved his lips.
Bran’s hand went to the gun at his belt. Evie hit his arm gently, and he stretched his fingers out wide, as if fighting a perfectly natural reflex that involved him pulling a trigger in Auran’s grinning face. He rubbed the hand on his coat and then relaxed a little.
“You have proven my previous point, faeries are a heartless, capricious folk.” He stood up, so that they were facing each other.
Auran cocked his head. “Actually, I do not recall my sense of humour being discussed.”
“On the-”
“For God’s sake, why don’t you two get a room before you start kissing in front of me!” Evie stood, putting her hands on her hips. Trix would have told them the sexual tension in the room was choking her, but Evie’s bravado had disappeared with her outburst. “Well everyone knows arguing is the first sign of attraction,” she finished weakly.
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