Under a Winter Sky

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Lady Beatrice will join you in the courtyard,” a well-dressed, once-human girl said. She was young in appearance, maybe fifteen upon her death, and she was dressed as if we were at an expensive Renaissance festival.

  She’d flowed in the way of most draugr. She, I would presume, had been at the door, but now she was at my side.

  “The house is . . . unusual,” I murmured as we approached what appeared to be a small castle. As far as unusual Southern homes went, this might be the winner for ostentatiousness. It was vaguely modernized—no drawbridge—but there was a long stone bridge between parking and the massive front doors.

  As we were walking toward it, I could see that that the bridge was over a moat. Under the moat were resting alligators.

  “The Lady Beatrice had a canal put in. That way the bayou waters come closer and the water dragons can swim around her home.”

  “Dragons?” Eli echoed.

  The girl pointed toward the one enormous alligator. “We didn’t have these in the forest at home. Sir George is always here. The others come and go, but Sir George is my lady’s pet.”

  “Of course she has a pet alligator.”

  “Do you mean the dragon?” the girl asked.

  Eli motioned us forward. “Are there more dragons in the courtyard?”

  The girl giggled and led us to the main doors. Wide enough to walk an elephant into the castle, and tall enough to allow a giraffe with minor stooping. Wooden. Medieval. The doors opened with minimal noise at our approach, as if by magic, but in reality, there were two women there. One had obviously pulled each door open, and when we stepped into the foyer, they marched the doors shut.

  No one else was visible.

  To the foolish, the house would seem to be the possession of an eccentric and her all-woman staff. The two very muscular women at the door were human. The draugr escort spoke so clearly she had to be at least two centuries old. Young draugr were never so articulate. They were all Caucasian, female, and I was glad to see that the Southern tendency toward racism in staffing was not at play here. There were plenty of places in the South where things had begun to change in the years before the cities put up walls. New Orleans was a leader in that change.

  But New Orleans was a city that had a rich history of finding its own path, so no one who knew the city was surprised when we led the way.

  “Are there any men here?” I asked as we crossed the foyer to exit into a small passageway that was stone-lined and lit by honest-to-Pete sconces.

  Our guide gave a smile that was disturbing on such a young face. “If we have use of them, we send out for them.”

  Eli laughed, but all he said was, “As I was summoned, I am glad I chose to bring my fiancé with me tonight, then. I have no desire to be besieged.”

  “You are a fine specimen.” The girl nodded at me, though, not him as she opened another door. This door was average-sized, although there was a salt line across it.

  The girl met my gaze. “If you must keep a man, the fae are a good choice.”

  Before I could ask what in the name of duck dongles that meant, she was gone. Her giggles echoed in the hallway, but Eli and I were alone. A part of me, a surly not-interested-in-bullshit part of me that was typically my largest deciding factor, wanted to flow after her and demand answers. The less reasonable sort wanted to simply leave.

  “Candy apple,” Eli began, his hand already reaching for mine as if he knew that I might bolt. “We are here to meet with Beatrice.”

  I sighed. “I know. No beheading the hostess’ staff.”

  It pained me to admit, but this was not a new conversation. Sometimes clients for my job—which was typically only beheading draugr or summoning dead relatives to answer a few lingering questions—were about as charming as angry weasels. My witchy genetics should lend me calm, but I guess that was countered by the draugr side.

  “Is she coming outside or intending to chase after Eleanor?” Beatrice’s voice rang out, sounding amused.

  “Geneviève?” Eli prompted.

  “I am here,” I murmured.

  I stepped out before Eli did so, bracing myself for something wretched. Instead I was met with the only other witch-draugr I’d known of. I didn’t know if she had been born draugr and witch, or if she’d been made so.

  Right now, she was standing beside two feral pigs.

  “Son of Stonecroft,” Beatrice said with a moderately deep bow in Eli’s direction. Then she met my gaze. “You have been avoiding me, Geneviève.”

  I shrugged.

  Beatrice looked at the pigs and made a sweeping gesture. I could swear they bowed their heads before leaving.

  “Are those regular pigs?” I asked.

  “What else would they be?” Beatrice was dressed in the most normal thing I’d seen to date, a simple black linen pantsuit. Her feet were bare. “Do I look like Circe to you?”

  “Witch with feral pigs who bow to her? Yeah. A bit,” I admitted.

  Beatrice’s expression twitched like she was trying not to laugh. I couldn’t decide if it was a laugh that I was right or laugh that I was wrong.

  I glanced away. Her courtyard, where we were currently standing, reminded me of my childhood home because of the nature, and for a brief moment, I could swear that I’d met her before this past year. I stared at her. I would’ve known, right? Mama Lauren wouldn’t have . . . I chased that thought away.

  “What do you want?”

  “To catch a killer,” she said.

  “Lydia was—”

  “A pawn. I want to know who held her marionette strings.” Beatrice motioned to me. “And why something of mine was targeted.”

  “I am not one of your feral pigs.”

  This time she did laugh. “You must realize that there are those who are unhappy with my rise to power, Geneviève. I am a woman. Most draugr of any importance are centuries old, and you may not be surprised to hear that the transition was not bestowed on many women. We were food or playthings or servants. Not equals.”

  “Okay but . . . what does that have to do with me? Why would being pissed at you mean I get injected?”

  She shrugged. “I trust you know that answer.”

  I steadfastly ignored that question. I had enough clues to have a theory but I wasn’t quite ready to address it. “What do you want from us?”

  Beatrice straightened in a way that was less casual, more regal, and said, “I need a small favor from the bougie-man that makes draugr quake”

  “No,” Eli said. “Miss Crowe is quite busy over the holidays.”

  “I can pay for your work or I can be in your debt, Geneviève,” Beatrice said, as if Eli hadn’t spoken. “A substantial amount.”

  I was busy, and I had just agreed to date Eli—but both Beatrice’s money and her help had been of use to me lately. Her payments for my investigation into the draugr venom murders added up to the equivalent of several years of work, and her assistance had been immeasurably helpful when I was injected with venom.

  “Someone shot at me a few weeks ago,” I said. “Figure out who, and cut me a check for my help, and I’ll help you.”

  Beatrice pressed her lips together tightly. “It may be connected, but either way I would investigate that without a favor owed. You are too important to me for that offense to go unanswered.”

  I squirmed, and Eli gave me a searching look. Apparently my attempts to ignore this topic were about to be thwarted.

  “Did she not mention our familial tie, young prince?” Beatrice said lightly. “I would cross even the boundary to your lands for my granddaughter’s safety.”

  Eli didn’t reveal his feelings on that matter—or answer the implied threat—and I wasn’t about to follow that topic if it was possible to ignore it.

  So, I tried to steer the conversation back to the job she had, “What do you need?”

  “I’ll have a gathering.” Beatrice motioned, and a fire started blazing. The courtyard was medieval in style, giving the fire more of a pyre feeling t
han I liked. “You will come and see what you can glean from the minds of the guests. I simply need you to read their minds, find threats, determine loyalty. I can read humans, but not fae or draugr.”

  “So, the guests are. . . all dead?” I prompted.

  “Except you and your escort.”

  Eli, my likeliest escort, looked at me. The flickering of flames made him look ominous; at least, I hoped it was the firelight that cast such shadows in his expression. I didn’t want to ask if it was the party, the risk, my continued exhaustion, or the relationship to the dead lady that had him looking so irritated.

  “I find it fascinating that you can read one of the fae, granddaughter. I’d imagine it’s too intense to read him without fornicating,” Beatrice offered, possibly trying to be helpful. “That much magic must be difficult to engage with clothing impeding you.”

  I swallowed. Energy was woven into Eli’s very fiber. As a witch, it called to me. Touching him was nearly addictive, and admittedly, sometimes I wanted to intrude on his mind as I could with the dead, but the few times I’d done so were sheer accident.

  “Reading Eli gives me a blinding headache,” I confessed.

  Then I looked at him and added, “The only time it didn’t was when you invited me. I don’t try to, I swear.”

  “But can you read me if you want to do so now?” he prompted.

  He’d invited me to do so, but this was not about that. What he wanted to know was if I could do so without his consent. I hadn’t tried. It felt wrong.

  I shrugged. “Stray thoughts about me or us.”

  “More often now?”

  I nodded. “It’s like you left a door open.”

  “I see,” Eli said, calmer than before.

  I, however, did not see what he had realized. Something had been answered for him, possibly for Beatrice, too. Now was not the time or place to ask him, though.

  I looked at Beatrice, who was smiling at us. “I have tried with my friends. They get headaches. I can read the dead as if they are speaking aloud, though.”

  “Most draugr cannot do that. Nor can witches. Lauren would never have mated with Darius if she could have read him.” Beatrice frowned. “Had I known he was targeting my granddaughter, I—”

  “Explain the granddaughter thing,” I interrupted.

  “I had a child when I was a human. She mated with a human. That child grew to adulthood. She mated, as well.” Beatrice pressed her lips together and shook her head. “It’s blurry. Centuries pass. Humans age, mate, age more, die.” She turned to meet my gaze. “Eventually, there was Lauren. Darius found her, and he decided to procreate with her. Now, there is you.”

  Eli took my hand, and I realized I was trembling. Both my witch and draugr genetics were standing before me. She was my ancestor, and I needed no necromancy to ask her questions.

  “So, Darius knew about my mother because of you,” I clarified. “Because you were a witch.”

  “I am still a witch, Geneviève.” Beatrice sighed. “Sometimes when you’re powerful, people want that power or simply want to end your life because of it, more so if you are a woman. More so when you are a Jew. Their hatred of us has changed over time, but only slowly.”

  I didn’t ask if by “us” she meant hatred of witches, women, or Jews. Historically—and now—all three earned violence for the sheer act of living. We were scapegoated, murdered, and despised. Adding draugr to the list probably had changed very little for Beatrice—or for me.

  “I don’t like you,” I pointed out. “But not because of any of those things.”

  “You dislike me because I am a draugr.” Beatrice shrugged. “How is it different than hating me for the other things?”

  “I don’t hate you,” I stressed. “I just don’t like anything that tries to bite me.”

  “I shall remember that next time I am called to save your life.” Her voice held all the laughter she didn’t show in her expression. “But I do doubt that Lauren would agree that you ought to hate me for such a thing.”

  Beatrice walked away, staring into the edge of her moat, and I was left with very few options. Did I apologize to my dead ancestor? Or did I simply acknowledge my bias?

  I hated being an adult.

  I released Eli’s hand and followed her.

  “I may have . . . issues with draugr because of my father.” I stood beside her and stared at the alligator filled canal. There were a lot of gators there. “He wanted to, err, breed me to as many draugr as he could. Use me . . . whether or not I consented.”

  She nodded. “They attempted that with me several centuries ago. It was how I died.”

  Her voice was calm, but she let me see inside her mind. A human Beatrice. A captive Beatrice. A group of draugr. She fought them—and lost.

  “I killed them slowly,” she said, shrugging as if it was no significant feat. “When I regained my senses, I killed every one of them.” She shrugged again. “And now I am queen.”

  I thought she was insanely fucking strong to turn her rage into power. Beatrice was old; the sort of old that meant my bones ached at the chill she radiated. When she died, dust and air would be all that remained of her, so her assault was longer ago than I could fathom. Her rage was still vibrant, and her pride at avenging herself was burning bright.

  I met her eyes and said, “Fine. I like you some.”

  And she laughed, peals of joyous laughter as we stared at the alligators.

  Then she leaned in and whispered, “The pigs were men once, granddaughter. I tolerate no man injuring me or what’s mine.” She glanced behind us to where Eli stood calmly watching the fire and us. Then Beatrice said, “He seems to care deeply for you. Fae blood is more nourishing, but if he hurts you . . . I will not forgive that. Had you not killed Darius, I would have. Once I discovered what he’d done, I was not pleased. I did not live here then. If I had . . .”

  Just to be clear, I said, “You came here because of my mother.”

  “And you.”

  In a tone as close to Eli’s calm as I could manage, I said, “Eli is mine, Beatrice. To hurt him is to enrage me.” I touched her wrist. “Blood matters. I am grateful that you care for Mama Lauren, but . . . do not ever threaten my family or friends, or I will find a way to sever your head.”

  Beatrice kissed my forehead. “I am grateful to know you, granddaughter.” Then she flowed toward her castle. Her voice drifted back, filling the courtyard in an echoing sound. “There will be a dinner to celebrate my granddaughter’s betrothal to the crown price of Elphame. Hear and be welcome.”

  I shuddered at the realization that her magic was undoubtedly carrying that invitation to draugr in her queendom.

  Eli looked at me and said, “This job of hers will complicate things, Geneviève.”

  And my few weeks of relative calm ended. I felt it as surely as a warning knell. I was engaged to the heir of Elphame’s throne, with whom I’d made a faery bargain, and now declared family to the queen of the draugr, for whom I was ferreting out a threat. The holidays were no longer simply about irritation over dresses and random witch-haters who shot at me.

  “Probably,” I admitted. “But complication is what we do. Nothing is ever simple.”

  I took his arm and walked through the passageway of Beatrice’s castle. No one stopped us. No one did anything other than open doors and bow deeply. Now that Beatrice had made her little proclamation, all eyes were going to be watching us.

  ~ 5 ~

  In the span of one night, I’d agreed to a Yule Ball in Elphame and an “early Yule” party with the draugr queen.

  Eli was silent as we drove back to the city, and I decided to simply wait to speak.

  Finally, Eli parked alongside at a building in the Garden District that looked like it could have been one of the first in the city. A fence, stone not iron, that surrounded his house. The house was almost so plain as to be unnoticed—which required a lot of magic. There was neither balcony nor gallery, neither porch nor Ionic columns, just a nondescri
pt house in a very expensive area.

  His home.

  When we were standing at the door, Eli bowed to me. “You are eternally welcome in my home, Genèvieve Crowe. I offer you my hearth and lintel. May you find shelter.”

  “That’s some formal sounding stuff,” I hedged. “I was here before and—”

  “I cannot answer the questions you have right now.” He held out his hand. “You will have the answer on Twelfth Night.”

  “You’re making me nervous.” I didn’t take his hand, and he didn’t lower it. Whispers rose up from some knowledge older than the stone that protected this house or the magic that flowed in my veins. “What does it mean if I take your hand right now?”

  “That you accept my protection, my shelter. That you willingly enter this house.” Eli stood, waiting.

  Some part of me thought he’d been waiting longer than I knew, longer than I wanted to know.

  He stayed there, hand outstretched, and said, “Come into my home, and let me shelter you, love.”

  “Is this how you normally treat dates?” I tried for lighter tone, for avoiding this tension that was in the air like magic between us.

  “I’ve never dated.” Eli shrugged slightly: elegant and utterly telling all at once. It was often to avoid discussions—usually for my benefit. Tonight, that was not the case. He felt embarrassed or awkward.

  My staring at him all agog probably didn’t help matters.

  “You will be the first,” he added.

  “What?”

  “I’ve fucked. I’ve had sex. I’ve spent time clothed and naked with friends and acquaintances, but dating is only done with intent among the fae.”

  My mouth was drier than the desert. “Oh. . . fuck. What if we didn’t—”

  “You agreed to date me, Genèvieve. Are you reneging on a bargain with one of the fae?”

  No matter how much I’d thought I understood, once more, I was fucked by my own hubris. Every human in history who had made a bargain with a fae believed they were clever enough to outsmart the fae. That never happened. Ever. And yet, I’d tried it twice.