Valentine

by Jodi McAlister

  ‘Let her go, you don’t want to spoil the main event,’ Jenny says, business-like.

  Kel releases me and I scramble away from him, clutching my bleeding hand to my chest. ‘Why?’ I ask, tears springing to my eyes from the pain. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not personal,’ Jenny says, examining her fingernails, which are very long and wickedly sharp. ‘The Unseelie Court wants you dead, and so we came to see to it that it happened.’

  ‘But it’s more fun if it’s personal,’ Kel says, leering at me.

  ‘You saved me from the cats once,’ I whisper.

  He laughs. ‘I command the cats, little one.’

  Of course he does.

  ‘You’d be surprised how often it works, the knight in shining armour act,’ he says. ‘I was very disappointed it seemed to have no effect on you. The first time I laid eyes on you, wearing that tiny little dress at that party . . .’

  ‘You’re disgusting,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t you dare touch her!’ Phil yells. ‘Don’t you dare!’

  ‘Sex and death are tightly linked, you know,’ Kel goes on. ‘Why don’t we start with one and then lead up to the other? I wouldn’t want you to miss the whole experience.’

  I spit in his face. He smiles and licks it away. Gross.

  ‘I didn’t come here to listen to your psychobabble,’ I say tightly. ‘And sex wasn’t part of the deal either. A life for a life. That was it.’

  ‘So it was,’ Jenny says.

  ‘No, Pearl!’ Phil screams.

  ‘What do I have to do to save her?’ I say.

  ‘Just dive in,’ Jenny says.

  ‘Pearl, don’t!’ Phil begs. ‘Go and get help! I’ll be all right! Just get away!’

  My heart is hammering in my chest. Blood is rushing in my ears. Every single cell of my body feels alert, like someone’s just turned up the temperature inside my body. I can still hear music, louder, louder. Siren song. The song of death.

  I heard somewhere that you are never more alive than in the seconds before you die.

  Slowly, I peel off my jacket, then my shoes, trackpants, jumper, until I’m standing there in nothing but my underwear and my iron pendant. Kel gives an appreciative wolf-whistle from behind me and I want to turn and kick him in the gonads, but I know it wouldn’t make any difference. I shake some salt into my hand and start smearing it all over my body, everywhere I can reach.

  ‘That’s going to wash off, you know,’ Jenny says conversationally.

  I ignore her. Any precaution I can take, anything that will give me an extra second, millisecond, anything, I’ll try.

  ‘I just want to get one thing straight,’ I say, ‘before we do this.’

  ‘Of course,’ Jenny says.

  ‘The deal was,’ I say, ‘a life for a life.’

  ‘No, Pearl!’ Phil begs. ‘Don’t – don’t!’

  Jenny smiles widely, pointed teeth glinting in the moonlight. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want your word that she’ll go free,’ I say. ‘Once I dive into this water, your claim on her is null and void. My life for her life. You let her go, you leave her alone, you never come near her again.’

  ‘That sounds fair,’ Jenny says.

  But I’ve spent enough time hanging round Finn Blacklin to recognise a dodge around the truth. ‘Say it,’ I demand. ‘I want to hear you say it. Both of you. Once I dive into the water, she goes free. You leave her alive, you let her go, you don’t come near her again. My blood for her freedom.’

  There are tears streaming down Phil’s face. ‘Pearl, no,’ she sobs. ‘No, no, no!’

  ‘Very well,’ Jenny says. ‘Once you are in the water, we will leave Philippa alive and alone.’

  ‘Kel?’

  ‘You are such a spoilsport,’ he says.

  ‘Say it!’ I snarl.

  ‘Once you are in the water, you are ours, and we will leave Philippa alive and alone,’ he says.

  ‘And Cardy?’ I ask.

  ‘Is not part of the deal,’ Jenny says. ‘Unless you wish to substitute him for Philippa.’

  I look across the creek at him, his long, lean body, his short dark hair, the dimmed light behind his eyes as he holds the struggling Phil securely. ‘No,’ I say softly. ‘My life for Phil’s. That was the deal.’

  ‘You know, we thought it was him at the beginning,’ Jenny says. ‘The changeling. The Valentine.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ I say honestly.

  ‘But then he turned out to be so terribly mundane,’ Jenny goes on. ‘That must have tormented you. The one person you truly wanted was the only person who was indifferent to you. People love you, people hate you, but indifference? That must have hurt. You could inspire strong emotion in people as hopelessly dull as your friend Philippa there, but in him? Nothing but a sort of tepid affection.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter any more,’ I say.

  ‘And don’t think your death will change that,’ Jenny says. ‘His mind is mine now. Your beloved Cardy, the one you love . . . he will barely remember you, Pearl Linford – and I think that will kill you more surely than I ever will.’

  I look into her eyes, and even though the last seconds of my life are counting down, even though I’m going to die horribly, I feel strangely light-hearted, filled with a bizarre sense of victory.

  They’re going to kill me.

  But they never figured me out.

  I look over my shoulder. The water horse stands where Kel was. It paws the ground with its hoof, baring its needle-sharp teeth.

  They never got my mind.

  It is my turn to smile. The last smile I will ever smile.

  I walk to the edge of the water. The music seems very close now, like an orchestra pounding in my ears. But I’m not scared. I have reached the quiet place at the end of hope, where all that is left is my tiny triumph.

  ‘No, no, no, NO, NO, NO, NO!’ Phil screams.

  ‘I love you, Phil,’ I say. ‘Don’t forget that. Don’t forget me.’

  And dive.

  Darkness.

  Cold.

  Her long cruel fingers surround my neck, choking, strangling. She drags me down, down, down.

  Their faces flash before my eyes – Disey Shad Phil Cardy Finn. DiseyShadDiseyShadPhilPhilFinn. She forces the air out of my lungs. Little bubbles drift upwards like pearls.

  I close my eyes. I do not want to see my own blood in the water.

  The world drifts away. The pain, the agony, the teeth in my flesh, the sadness, it all departs. Under here, there is only cold and darkness and their faces, receding into the night.

  I dream my way into death.

  I am alone, drifting, floating. I turn my face to the sun and everything is white, the dazzling brightness enveloping me, pouring down my skin, silver and gold. There is no time, only beauty. There is no pain, only peace.

  Pearl.

  There are no words.

  Hey, Pearl.

  There is brightness and beauty and –

  Come on, Pearl, please.

  Peace and pleasure and –

  Wake up, please, please! I need you.

  And –

  I need you.

  And . . .

  . . . and . . .

  . . . and . . .

  ‘Did you seriously just wake me with a kiss?’ I ask.

  ‘Coffee?’ Disey says, putting a styrofoam cup into my hand.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say.

  She takes a sip of her own and splutters. ‘Ugh, that is seriously bad.’

  ‘That’s hospital coffee for you,’ I reply. ‘Don’t you remember? I know me being in a coma was probably the worst part of the last time we were hospital regulars, but the coffee has to run a close second.’

  She takes the plastic chair next to mine. ‘How’s she doing?’ she asks.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say honestly.

  ‘Still sleeping, huh?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I loo
k down at my best friend in the hospital bed, hair matted and knotted, the faintest of blue tinges under her skin, her chest rising and falling evenly as she breathes. I reach over and brush some hair out of her eyes.

  Phil doesn’t stir.

  This is better than those first long few nights, when she didn’t sleep at all.

  They didn’t want to let me stay but there was no way they were getting me out of there without actually physically dragging me out. I sat by her bedside, planning what I was going to say. How I was going to tell her the truth.

  ‘Phil?’ I say.

  She does not answer. Her eyes are open, unblinking. She is staring at the ceiling. There is no expression in her face.

  ‘Phil, can you hear me?’

  No response.

  ‘I know this is all really horrible,’ I try again, ‘but I can explain.’

  No response.

  ‘Phil?’

  Nothing.

  All I can do is hold her hand.

  They told me later it was some kind of extreme post-traumatic stress thing. ‘People process things in different ways,’ someone explained to me. ‘You’ve both been through a horrifying ordeal. It’s normal for a mind to shut down and recover.’

  I feel an ache in the pit of my stomach every time I look at her. It’s not so bad when she’s sleeping – I can pretend that she’s just resting, healing, and when she wakes up she’ll be herself again. But when she’s awake, staring into space, not seeing, not hearing . . .

  Even if I could pretend she was all right, I’m not that good at lying any more. Not even to myself.

  ‘Did you go to your appointment this morning?’ Disey asks.

  ‘Yep,’ I reply, sipping my burnt coffee.

  ‘How was it?’

  ‘The psychologist said I was doing fine.’

  This is not a lie. The Pearl that fronts up to the shrink is aggressively fine. She’s coping well with her nightmarish experience with the terrifying cannibal killers. And she’s terribly, terribly brave as well – going after her best friend like that. Apparently she’s going to be presented with some kind of award. As is her terribly, terribly brave companion Finn Blacklin.

  Pity the aggressively fine Pearl Linford hasn’t seen her terribly, terribly brave companion Finn Blacklin for a week.

  ‘Are you awake?’ he says, clutching me to his chest. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Did you seriously just wake me with a kiss?’ I ask.

  ‘We don’t have time to talk about this now,’ he says. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘My legs,’ I gasp. ‘I can’t feel my legs.’

  He puts his hands over the mangled mess of meat that used to be my legs and something happens, something magical, and suddenly I can feel them, feel them way too much. They hurt like hell.

  ‘Healing hands,’ someone says approvingly. ‘You are special, Valentine.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he says to me, ignoring them. ‘I can’t – I don’t really know how to fix them properly. But –’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘It’s – I’ll be okay. What happened?’

  ‘I’ll explain later. Come on, we have to get out of here.’

  ‘But Phil –’ I protest.

  ‘I’ve got it covered,’ he says.

  I look up for a split second and nearly fall unconscious again until Finn covers my eyes with his hand. ‘Don’t look,’ he says. ‘Can you walk?’

  ‘I think so.’

  He helps me up. ‘Come on.’

  I keep my eyes firmly ahead of me, focusing on the agony in my legs to keep me anchored to the world. If I look back, I’ll see them again . . . the two people carrying Phil and Cardy, the two people too beautiful to possibly exist.

  Fairies.

  ‘Stop here,’ Finn says after we’ve been walking for a while, a second, a year. ‘We’re close –’

  ‘You need not go on,’ one of the fairies says. It’s a woman, I think, but it’s hard to tell. Her voice is like silver bells and it overwhelms me. ‘Return with us now.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere until I know she’s safe,’ Finn says.

  ‘There is nothing to stop you,’ the other fairy – a man? – says. ‘You are the lost child. You are the changeling. You are the Valentine. She is nothing. You need not wait. You can come home.’

  ‘This is my home,’ Finn says.

  He takes Phil from one of the fairies. I have to shut my eyes to keep my balance. ‘You cannot escape us,’ the man says.

  ‘You cannot deny who you are,’ the woman says.

  ‘Please,’ I interject, ‘can you all stop talking? You’re making me woozy.’

  The woman laughs and I sway on my feet. I can feel blood trickling slowly down my legs. ‘The disappointment speaks,’ she says.

  ‘Don’t you dare call her that,’ Finn snarls. I’m too light-headed to protest. ‘Pearl, are you okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ I say firmly. I have defeated so much more than this. I can deal with blood loss.

  ‘Can you support Cardy? Just a little way?’

  ‘I think so.’

  The female fairy drapes Cardy’s arm around my shoulders. My skin tingles where her flesh brushes against mine and I struggle to keep my breathing regular. ‘Thanks,’ I say shortly.

  ‘You showed so much promise, disappointment,’ she says in her silvery voice.

  ‘It is not my fault,’ I say, with as much venom as I can muster, ‘that I am not your Valentine.’

  They both laugh and I can feel my knees beginning to buckle. I close my eyes against their shining beauty and force myself to remain upright, willpower the only thing I have left. Cardy’s weight is crushing across my shoulders. ‘I think you should go now,’ I say sharply. ‘Thank you for the help. I’m grateful. Now go.’

  ‘Grateful?’ the man says. ‘You are in our debt, dis­appoint­ment.’

  ‘No,’ Finn says. ‘I am in your debt. This has nothing to do with her. Go away.’

  ‘As you wish, Valentine,’ the woman says. ‘But do not forget your duty.’

  ‘You must uphold your end of our bargain,’ the man says.

  ‘I know. Leave. Please.’

  Silence.

  Finn exhales. ‘You can open your eyes now,’ he says. ‘They’re gone.’

  I open my eyes and look up at him, holding Phil in his arms. ‘What did you promise them?’

  ‘Not now, Pearl.’

  ‘No,’ I insist. ‘What did you promise them, Finn? What’s the bargain?’

  He looks at me with an unbearable tenderness in his eyes. ‘You’re alive,’ he whispers, ‘so it’s not important.’

  We must have looked like such a sight, staggering out of the bush onto the highway. Me, soaked and bloody, supporting nearly all of Cardy’s weight. Phil, catatonic in Finn’s arms. And Finn, standing tall and dignified, like a prince.

  Like a hero.

  ‘Visiting hours are over,’ a nurse says, bustling into Phil’s room. ‘Come on, now.’

  ‘Come on, Pearlie,’ Disey says. ‘Time to go. You should get your dressings changed anyway.’

  I nod and follow her out of the room. She drapes her arm around my shoulders, protective, claiming me. My family. Mine.

  I was in the hospital getting the worst of my bloody wounds stitched up when I first heard Disey again.

  ‘Miss, you can’t go in there.’

  ‘Get out of my way!’

  ‘Miss –’

  ‘Where is my sister? Pearl Linford – where is she?’

  ‘I’m going to have to ask you to sit down. There’s a waiting room –’

  ‘WHERE IS SHE?!’

  I assume the nurse or whoever it was Disey threatened merely pointed, too frightened to speak, because the next thing I know the curtains around my bed are being flung open and Disey and Shad burst through. ‘Pearlie!’ Disey says, flinging her arms around my neck.

  ‘Ow ow ow ow ow!’

  ‘If you could please restrain yourself,’ the doctor s
titching me up says dryly, ‘I’m rather busy here.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ Disey says, leaping back. ‘What – what – there’s so much blood –’

  ‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ the doctor says. ‘The wounds are mainly superficial, but they look like they’ve been made by teeth –’

  ‘Teeth?!’ Disey and Shad exclaim at the same time.

  ‘We’ll have to give her a couple of injections to make sure she hasn’t contracted anything,’ the doctor says, ‘but she’s going to be fine.’

  Disey closes her eyes and breathes in and out slowly a few times. ‘Pearlie,’ she says, choked, ‘oh God, Pearlie – you’re safe – you’re safe!’

  Shad puts his arms around her as she bursts into tears. He’s crying too and that sets me off as well, because I have never, ever, ever been so happy to see anyone in my whole life. Shad. Disey.

  Family.

  They kept me one night in the hospital for observation, and that was the last I saw of Finn. They made me sit in a wheelchair even though I insisted I could walk and as they wheeled me out of casualty, I saw him sitting on the edge of another bed, talking earnestly to a doctor.

  ‘No, look, I’m fine. I don’t want to stay overnight.’

  ‘Finn!’ I call out.

  He looks up. ‘Hey. Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine. I have to stay the night. Come and see me later?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ he says.

  I knew the second that dodge around the truth left his lips that he wouldn’t come.

  I waited anyway. I guess there’s some part of me that never learns.

  ‘These seem to be coming along quite nicely,’ the doctor says, examining the week-old wounds. ‘You’re a fast healer, Miss Linford.’

  ‘How long till I can get the stitches out?’

  ‘They can come out soon,’ the doctor promises.

  I’ll have scars, even despite whatever magic Finn pulled to heal me. They told me this when they stitched me up. I think they expected me to be upset, but I found it difficult to care. Maybe in the future it will be hard to look at my body and see reminders of the creek, of Jenny, of Kel. But a few lines on my skin are the least of my concerns right now.

  A week. A week and nothing.

  My phone is in my pocket. It never leaves me. It’s on silent, but I live for the moments when it vibrates against my hip, hoping against hope that it will be him, but it never is.