by Gabi Moore
“Why?” Aurora asked finally.
This was obviously not what Ian was expecting. He crossed the floor, closer, closer. “Why, what?”
“Why did you kill her?” Aurora asked. Tears were glassing over her eyes. “Why did you have to kill my mother?”
Shock took up Ian’s perfect face, and he frowned. “Aurora, I didn’t kill her. I brought her here.”
They stood, looking at each other over the shined wood floor. Aurora didn’t speak, didn’t respond at all for almost a minute. She couldn’t make sense of what he’d just said. He brought her here? Where, here? As in, here, where they were right now?
“Where is she?” Aurora asked finally, confused.
“Ramona?” Ian called. “Come out! Aurora’s here!”
“Aurora?” At the sound of her name, Aurora’s heart lifted; that was her mother’s voice, or similar. It sounded younger, happier, than it had in far too long.
And then out of another door, from what looked like a spacious bedroom, out came a lovely stranger, a beautiful older black woman with her hair styled and her make-up perfect. Aurora stifled disappointment and nerves; she’d thought for sure it would be her mother who came walking out. The voice was so similar. This stranger was wearing a red evening dress, although it seemed to hang on her a little. She was terribly thin.
Aurora blinked in surprise and suddenly recognized her own mother. “Momma?”
“Aurora!” Ramona Potier swept across the room in matching red heels, a huge smile on her face. Aurora couldn’t move, couldn’t even lift her own arms to hug her mother back as Ramona enveloped her warmly. In heels, she was as tall as Aurora, although she’d always seemed shorter. She was standing up straight, now, that was it. For as long as Aurora could remember, her mother had always stooped a little, as if under a great weight.
“Isn’t it wonderful, baby?” Ramona sighed, pulling back and looking at Aurora from arm’s length. “Your daddy’s back. He’s staying with us, this time. We’ll all live together again—oh, I can’t wait! I’ve been waiting so long to have our family together again!”
Aurora’s head spun like a planet in orbit, and she looked up at Ian. Ramona had looped a red-sleeved arm through his, and they stood together in delight, both smiling madly, like a prom picture come alive.
She couldn’t stop staring at her mother. When she’d seen her yesterday morning, Ramona Potier had been an old skeleton in worn pajamas, gazing like a dream out the small window, spending late nights recalling memories and pretending they were real. She hadn’t worn make-up in years. Hell, she hadn’t even put on shoes since last spring, much less heels. Ramona Potier looked like she’d been given an Oprah makeover, but in her gut, Aurora knew it was much simpler; her mother had simply gotten what she’d been holding her life in pause for all these years. Ian was back.
Had she been lied to? Aurora looked at them, happy as could be. They wanted her to be a part of that happiness, to take her place with them so they could all be a family. Why had Madame Moreau, Mr. Cheng, Milo and Lucien, too… why had they all tried to convince her that her father was evil? The way he looked at her mother was out of a fairy tale, and Ramona hadn’t looked so alive for as long as Aurora could recall. If this was what her father wanted, why had they tried so hard to stop him?
“What… what now?” Aurora asked eventually. What else could she say? Yesterday, she’d met some people and they’d told her many frightening things. She’d seen many frightening things. And today, her parents were together and life was what it always should have been. And yet, they were all standing around, as if waiting.
Ramona looked up at Ian, still grinning, and shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. You and I will have to get used to being taken care of, Aurora.”
We’re going to take care of everything. That was what Lucien had said. You’re one of us, now. If he was lying, Lucien was the best liar Aurora had ever seen or heard of. She’d felt the truth of his words in her soul, and his great brown eyes had shone with honesty. They wanted to take care of her, too. They claimed they were family, too.
And in the other room, they were alone. She’d left them alone. Aurora swallowed and looked up at Ian, her father.
“What did you set on them?” she gestured to the door behind her. Did she sound angry? Aurora hoped not. She wasn’t even certain she was angry; but she did want to know. What could possibly make such a sound, such a guttural growl…
“Oh, that,” Ian waved his hand and laughed. “Just some of my pets. I’ve been lonely here without your mother, without you.” He sighed. “I made myself some companions to keep myself sane.”
“You made…?”
“Not a difficult thing to do, really.” Aurora’s father patted Ramona’s hand, looking at Aurora, unblinking. He started to lead Ramona over to the window; Aurora followed, not really knowing what else to do. “I’ll have to show you, sometime. You’ll have to give my magic back first—I don’t know if I have the strength to make any more creatures with all my power that’s flown to you. Easy to fix.”
Aurora tried not to let the cold feeling in her gut show on her face. “Powers?”
“I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Ian shrugged. “That funny sight you have now, the energy song and dance. Maybe you’ve been poking around in some mind tricks. It’s not a big deal, and I’m not angry. It’ll be easy to reverse that, give my magic back so we can live together. We’ll live here, and you won’t even have to work anymore. You’ll have everything you could ever need.”
Shakily, Aurora set a hand on the table running in front of the window. She looked out over New York. This view was fully unfamiliar to her. Being at the top looking down was not something she had ever experienced, not once in her life. Usually it was the other way around.
Could this really be her new life? Somehow, all she’d heard since she stepped into this room had seemed more surreal than anything else that had happened over the past days.
There was one more thing that she had to ask. “What happened at Witching Hour? Why were Amy and Katrina attacked?”
The lights seemed to dim a little; Aurora tried to ignore it. That wasn’t possible. But she couldn’t deny the stiffness in Ian’s smile. And she certainly couldn’t ignore the look Ramona shot her way… oh no. That look, of shock, of fear, seared into Aurora’s heart and would never leave again.
“That was Kemandry,” Ian said finally. He turned back to the room and whistled. “Kem! Here, girl!”
Girl? Aurora frowned and turned back into the interior of the room. Her stomach turned.
How had she possibly missed it? Aurora must have walked directly past the thing. She had stood just beside that wall—how had it never made a noise? It was too—too big not to make some sort of sound coming and going!
And what a thing! It had four limbs like dog, but its legs ended in hands—all four. Long, thin, grayish, clawed hands. Kemandry was a ghoulish conglomerate of things Aurora couldn’t quite name, with pieces that didn’t look quite right. Its—her—body was elongated and supple. Even now, she was curled in the corner of wall and ceiling like a dog curled up on the floor. A miasma of shadow seemed to cling close. Her head was long and skeletal like a horse skull, with eyes that shone white, like a ghost moon.
How had it gotten there without Aurora noticing?
And then it vanished.
Aurora jumped and shrieked. The creature appeared just to her right, crouched like a goblin, peering up at Aurora with those spectral eyes. If it stood upright, Kemandry would be taller than Aurora, but the thing didn’t seem inclined to do that. It sat on its haunches—her haunches, Aurora had to remind herself—and surveyed the newcomer curiously.
“Kemandry is one of the creatures I’ve made to keep me company,” Ian explained. He reached around Aurora, and the thing butt her head against his hand affectionately. “There are a few other like her, but she’s the most developed. She’s my special one—the others are… entertaining the guests in the sitting room.”
&nb
sp; All this time, Aurora hadn’t heard a sound from the den. It was not a good sign.
“I’m afraid she has a taste for… eyeballs,” Ian sighed. “Some pets just like to chew shoes. Go on, Kem,” Ian told the thing in a high, friendly voice. A voice used for golden retrievers and beagles, the sort of pets for which chewing shoes was the epitome of bad behavior. “Go back and guard your friend. Go keep Ylessa company.”
And Kemandry vanished. Aurora tried to still her thumping heart, but that was a tall order. “Where’s she going?” Aurora asked. Her voice even managed to sound calm, which was certainly not accurate.
Ian turned back to the window. “One of my former comrades, Ylessa, sleeps in the other room. Kemandry guards her—she’s much too fragile to be left without protection. She’s in a coma, you see… I take care of her here.”
Aurora kept her face placid as she looked out over New York. What had Lucien and Milo said? They’d claimed that Ian kidnapped Ylessa. They hadn’t mentioned her being in a coma, although if they were being fair, how much did Aurora remember? She’s been upset and overwrought continually. Surely, the others—Cheng, Moreau, Milo, even Lucien and even Lester—were the mad ones. They were the ones talking about killing people, about killing her father.
“Could I see her?” Aurora asked. “They mentioned that she was a—a fairy. I’ve never seen one.”
“Of course.” Ramona still on his arm, Ian turned and indicated the room in the back, the room Ramona had come out of. The door stood ajar; something soft yellow-green glowed within. “Go on back. Don’t mind Kemandry, she won’t bother you.”
He didn’t make a move to stop her, or go with her. Aurora waited for a moment, and then crossed the room alone, glancing back to see if her parents followed. They didn’t. In an eerily still pose, they stood together and watched her cross to the other door, and into the far room, keeping an eye out for her father’s pet all the while.
Kemandry was easy to spot, this time. She lurked on the ceiling over a small bed posed in an alcove. It was a child’s bed, with fresh white sheets and a big down comforter. Even the demon hanging above couldn’t distract Aurora completely from what she saw lying there.
The glow came from her. Ylessa’s skin was pale, but the exact color was impossible to tell because it was also translucent and emanating an earthly light, green and golden at once, like sunset through forest leaves. She was no bigger than a child, and looked much like one, if you didn’t count the glowing. Someone had dressed her in a frilly nightgown, the kind girls wore in the 1890’s.
And she had wings.
They were fibrous and yet still delicate; veined, bony frames supported soft membranous panels of vermillion and green. Stunned, Aurora reached out and caressed one gently. Kemandry chittered overhead. It was a terrible sound, like when your nose is stuffed and you try to breathe through it anyway, or some sort of twisted horse whinnying. But Aurora’s father was right. She didn’t move to intervene.
Still… Aurora looked up and met Kemandry’s gleaming white eyes. Somehow, Aurora knew that everything Kem saw, Ian saw. She looked back down at Ylessa.
That was why he didn’t need to be in here. Because Kem was watching over things.
Yet another chill ran down Aurora’s spine, and she knelt by Ylessa’s bed. From the floor, she looked up at Kemandry.
Curious, Aurora slipped into the second sight, and saw the world in gray, with floating motes of life dotted about. But not on Kemandry. Nor did specks of black, or death, flit back and forth from her. Her form was solid black, like a splotch of ink, with her two white-moon eyes still watching.
Ylessa was the polar opposite; Aurora had to squint when she looked down at the fairy, lying on her clean white sheets with her eyes shut. Light stuck to her like a magnet, and she resembled a little sun, laying there on her bed.
Aurora let her vision sink back to normal, and sat back on her heels. What was she supposed to do now?
Ylessa’s tiny hands rested, folded over her chest as she slept. For some reason, Aurora reached out and set her large hand over the fairy’s miniature ones.
It’s good you’ve come, Aurora.
Aurora froze, more because Kemandry became agitated all of the sudden than anything else. The voice in her head was clear and honey-sweet, and could only have belonged to Ylessa. It was too fae to belong to any human. But whether Kemandry heard the voice or simply sensed something amiss, she scuttled down the wall and hovered over the bed across from Aurora. Her long snout snuffled Ylessa’s feathery brown hair, and Aurora watched in dread.
Do not fear her, Ylessa’s voice spoke in her head. Kemandry is a good monster. Her master gives her too much leeway, but she has taken good care of me, and has a good heart.
Aurora stared in disbelief as the creature chittered her eerie sound and retreated a little out of the fairy’s light, her white eyes a-gleam.
But there are more important things. You must listen. Ian is the liar, do not doubt. I heard what he said to you, and it is false. Your mother is ensorcelled—she cannot help you.
Aurora didn’t dare reply out loud. Good or not, Kemandry was giving Ian an ear into the room, and probably eyes, too. Aurora tried to appear indifferent, or fascinated by the strange fairy creature. What she was feeling more than any of these things was fear, pure fear, but it wouldn’t do for her father to see that now. His game was becoming clear, much though she hated to see it.
He keeps me in this state, Ylessa continued softly. In her sleep, her child’s face seemed sad. Maybe it was just an effect of the light. This body is frail, and he keeps me locked within it. But he is overconfident, and has obviously forgotten what I can do.
The others are in great danger. I am useless as I am. We are all in your hands, Aurora. I’ve waited a long time to wake up—the time is here.
Keeping her face still was not easy, but Aurora managed; it was the practice learned through years of customer service that even made it possible. She squeezed Ylessa’s hand, but the fairy didn’t give any further instructions, any further prodding. It wasn’t necessary. Aurora already knew what she had to do.
Kemandry had disappeared and reappeared over the alcove, and watched Aurora with baleful eyes as Aurora walked out of Ylessa’s room, back into the throne room with her parents.
Ian was sitting on the wooden chair, Ramona perched on his lap.
“So that’s a fairy,” Aurora commented as she joined them. “It’s amazing. I never imagined all this… all these things that existed right in front of me.”
Ian and Ramona laughed congenially. “There’s so much to show you,” Ramona told her daughter. She was ensorcelled. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for years, baby. But those others wouldn’t let me. They told me it had to be a secret.”
“Estelle Moreau and Liu-Fen Cheng have forcing me to leave you in poverty all these years,” Ian hissed, displeased. “Where I come from, a man takes care of his family. They prevented me from even doing that.” He kissed Ramona on the cheek. “Not anymore.”
“It’s so wonderful to be back,” Aurora’s mother giggled.
And yet, Aurora wondered. How hard did Ian have to work to enchant poor Ramona? Aurora’s mother, who had been dreaming he’d return for half her life?
“There’s one thing, though,” Aurora reminded Ian. Her pulse was beating in her mouth, and her knees were weak, anxious. “I-I need to give you your magic back.”
Ramona froze, staring at Aurora. Ian looked over in surprise, one arm around Ramona’s waist. “Already? I’m surprised you’re so eager. I figured you might want to keep some of it. It gets a little addicting, I’ll admit.”
His eyes—the eyes he’d passed on to Aurora—were sharp. Aurora swallowed dryly. “I thought I should give them back sooner, then. It’ll be harder to let them go if I get used to having them, and the magic belongs to you, right?” She smiled brightly. At least, Aurora put on her best sincere smile, the one she could force for a customer when what she really wanted was to walk away
and never come back. It was harder with her mother sitting there like a statue, her face fixed in surprise and alarm.
Why did her mother look so alarmed?
Meanwhile, Ian had a look of thoughtfulness on his pale features. “I was thinking of waiting a little while before taking them back…”
Unexpectedly there was a loud boom, a thunderclap crash against the wall behind Aurora, back from the direction of Lucien and the others. It sounded like someone had tried to punch a hole through it. How long had they been in there? A half hour? Aurora kept her thoughts off her face.
“Maybe we could still wait,” Ramona suggested. She smiled breathlessly. “There’s time for business later.”
But Ian, whose eyes had jumped to the wall at the crash, no longer looked as calm and cool as when Aurora had first walked in. Not at all. In fact, he looked rather nervous. Ramona was still sitting on his lap, but he seemed to have forgotten her, because he didn’t react to her suggestion.
He held out a hand to Aurora and forced a smile. “Let’s get it done with, then.”
From alarmed, Aurora’s mother had seemed to grow nearly frantic. Aurora might not know why, but she took note. To Ian, she reached out her own hand, trying to act natural, to smile, to look trusting. To look inconspicuous.
But she was remembering Milo, when she’d taken too much energy from him. He’d instantly aged ten years and several sleepless nights, and all she had had to do was will it. Ian had been doing this much longer than Aurora. And in her second sight he swelled like a nova, not at all like Kemandry, who was black and static. Ian swirled with darkness and light, light he had taken from others, and darkness that grew inside him, like it did Aurora.
“Please,” Ramona murmured to no one; no one was paying attention to her. “Please… just wait. Just wait a little…”
Ian and Aurora’s hands touched.
There was no sound; Aurora felt like she’d suddenly been sucked underwater into a vacuum. The room was the same, and she was still staring into Ian’s greenish hazel eyes. But when she took his hand, the air crackled with energy.