She went, hurrying after Rosie and the others; glancing back only to see that Mist was already gone, swallowed into the heart of Tyrynaia.
* * *
Stevie walked up the drive towards Frances Manifold’s front door, gravel crunching under her boots. Pale green leaves were unfurling on the trees and she could taste spring in the air.
Returning from the Spiral, she’d stayed at Stonegate for a couple of days. The first thing she’d done was to phone the Manifold house, hardly daring to expect an answer. To her amazement, Frances herself had picked up the phone and spoken the code phrase that Stevie was supposed to deliver: “Humphrey has landed.”
Now Stevie rang the doorbell, smiling widely as the door opened and an overexcited golden spaniel scampered out to greet her, tail thumping.
“Stephanie.” Frances received her with a heartfelt hug. Her arms were thin but strong. “Come in, my dear.”
“You look so much better. I can’t believe it. How long have you been out of hospital?”
“Oh, that wretched place. A week or so. At one point I thought I was only going to leave in a box, but somehow they pulled me through. They were all terribly kind, but, you know, I just wanted to come home.”
“Is he here?”
“He is. He’s been back a few days. I don’t know what to say—I haven’t got the words to thank you enough … but we can go through all that later. Come in, come in.”
“How is he?”
“Oh, lord, not in such good shape. But at least he’s home! He seems to have acquired a friend, too.”
Daniel was sitting half-swallowed by the biggest of the living room sofas. He looked thin and pale, his faded green T-shirt draining what little color he had. His right hand was encased in bandages to the elbow.
Sitting beside him was Patrick. They were drinking beer from cans and watching a tennis match on a small, bulky television set. Dusty sunlight groped in through the glass panes of the conservatory and the French windows.
It was a scene so gloriously normal that tears came to Stevie’s eyes.
“So, the world didn’t blow up then,” she said.
Both young men looked up, then sprang to their feet, beer frothing as they hurried to put down their cans. The next moment she was held in a three-way embrace, voices clamoring in her ears, “Bloody hell, you’re back, are you all right, what happened, where’s Mist?”
Humphrey ran in circles on the hearthrug, conveying massive, inexpressible joy as only a spaniel could.
When the hugfest had run its course, Stevie stepped back and was startled to be find her onetime counselor, Dr. Gregory, watching from a doorway. “Stevie!” He came forward, beaming, to give her a warm handshake with both hands. “Wonderful to see you.”
“Hi, I, er, I wasn’t expecting to find you here.”
Frances turned bright red and marched away into the kitchen. Dr. Gregory laughed and shrugged. “I was seeing her every day while she was ill. Flowers, grapes, books and all that. Hospital visits turned into quite a friendship. A really wonderful friendship.”
“Wow. That’s fantastic. Wow.”
“By the way, someone was trying to get in touch with you. I’ll remind Frances to give you the note before you go.” Fin, Stevie guessed. “I’ll leave you to it,” he added, following Frances towards the kitchen.
Stevie turned to Daniel, her thumb pointing over her shoulder, her mouth open in a silent, incredulous question.
“Yes, I know,” Dan sighed. “Mum’s dating our shrink. Great, isn’t it? She’s got him on tap to psychoanalyze me twenty-four hours a day.” His mouth curved in a crooked smile. “I’m joking. It’s great she’s happy, and not all alone anymore. He helped her get better, when I wasn’t here.”
“At least he’ll keep her out of your hair,” said Stevie. “I always liked him: it was the questions I didn’t like. But that’s history. So, no supervolcanoes while I was away?”
Patrick said, “There was an earth tremor and some kind of minor volcanic event in the wilds of Nevada. It made a mess of Jigsaw Canyon. You can find pictures on the net, but it barely even made the news.”
Stevie took this in with a muted sense of relief. She didn’t feel like a hero; the struggle with Aurata seemed very distant now.
“And you, are you okay?” Daniel asked anxiously. “What happened?”
“Everything’s fine,” she said, losing her battle against tears. “Thanks so much, Patrick, for getting him home. It must have cost you a fortune.”
“Oh, never mind that. We got standby flights.”
“But the medical bills…” She touched Daniel’s bandaged hand.
“It’s okay,” Patrick said patiently. “We can sort out the finances any time. It’s not important. Dan had to have surgery on his hand, but the crucial thing is that he should get most of the use back. Hopefully enough to hold a paintbrush.”
“I don’t know whether I want to,” Daniel muttered.
“Mate, there are ways and means!” Patrick spoke fiercely, as if they’d had this talk before. “You’ve heard of mouth-and-foot painters? Digital art? You can operate a computer just by blinking these days, and you’re hardly that far gone. A few broken fingers is no excuse!”
“That’s not the point.”
“Dan, can we have a chat on our own?” Stevie said.
They went into the conservatory. The condensation of winter had cleared, and the garden was greening up beautifully. Water tumbled through the mossy bowls of the water feature.
The first thing he asked was “What happened to Oliver?”
She told him, even the part where he’d spitefully burned all the artwork. Daniel groaned, pain creasing his eyes. A couple of tears fell. He rubbed his eyes dry.
“I’m so sorry, Dan. After the way he abused you, you should be thinking ‘good riddance,’ but I know things aren’t that easy.”
“Yeah, because I keep remembering the good parts. When I thought he was an angel who actually loved me … I can’t just switch that off. The betrayal makes it so much worse.”
“I know. I’m so sorry about the paintings, too. All that hard work, destroyed. But they’re still in my head, and I’m sure they’re in yours, if you ever felt like re-creating them?”
“God, not in a thousand years! No. The funny thing is that I’m almost glad. The whole experience was such a bad trip that I’m glad the evidence is gone.” He pointed into the living room. “I put all my sketchbooks on the fire, too.”
Stevie was shocked. “Did you? Even the one you left behind at the studio, with the sketch of Veropardus being burned at the stake, and the pictures of the Felixatus base? The first drawing you made of me?”
He looked down, his face grey with sadness. “Yes, even that. I’m sorry, but I had to. It was a sort of cleansing ritual.”
Uncertain, she touched his hand. “So, how are you, really?”
“I’m fine. Getting there. Patrick’s been amazing.”
Stevie tried to suppress a smile. “So I gather. And your mother?”
“Oh, she’s been great. We haven’t had a single argument! She even apologized for all the grief she gave me about my art career and said that whatever I want to do, she’ll support me. It’s wonderful, it’s all I ever wanted. We’re bound to start pissing each other off again once she’s used to me being home, but for now, it’s amazing. I’m so pleased she’s got a man friend, I can’t tell you. I’ll be fine with Dr. Gregory. Tom, rather. He’s nearly family. Mother even hinted that, if Patrick and I, er, got together, she would be fine with it. Incredible.”
“D’you think you will? Get together with Patrick, I mean? He has a partner in California so I thought he’d be going back.’”
“I know. Patrick said they’d been having problems, and he needs to sort things out.” Daniel colored slightly. “So it’s too soon to say. But we get on great, like we’ve always known each other. He’s so down-to-earth. I might end up going back to the States with him, who knows?”
“And were you serious, about giving up art?”
His thin face lengthened. “I’m an empty shell. Oliver sucked it all out of me. By the end I was so crazy and exhausted that now, even the sight of a paintbrush makes me feel physically sick. Typical, isn’t it? Mother is suddenly fine with my art, and I can’t do it anymore.”
“I’m so sorry, hon,” she whispered.
“I’m struggling, to be honest, Stevie. I keep having flashbacks. I’m on medication, seeing a counselor and all that crap. You know, I’m not being ungrateful, but I think … I feel awful saying it … but it’s probably best I don’t see you anymore. You bring it all back, and I need it to stop now.”
“Oh.” She stepped back, feeling she’d been thumped in the stomach. She understood, but it was still a rejection she hadn’t expected. A friendship lost. Unhappy silence stretched between them. She said, “Oh, Dan. If we’d never met, you would have been normal and happy. You’d never have known you were naemur, never got drawn into all this. I wouldn’t have screwed up your life for anything. Please forgive me.”
“Please tell me you are kidding?” A glint in his eyes suggested that he was going to be all right … eventually. “Yes, I’m glad it’s over, Stevie. But don’t get me wrong. It was a hellish ride … but even in nightmares, you can learn lessons and see wonders that, only later, you realize you wouldn’t have missed for the world.”
* * *
Stevie stepped off the light railway at Hockley and stood looking up at the station sculpture of giant interlocking cogs. An ache of wistfulness seized her. The curve of the road and the unique mix of old and new architecture was heartrendingly familiar. This still felt like home.
She floated in a mild state of melancholy. The note passed on to her by Frances had been a message from the nursing home where her foster-grandmother lived. They’d been trying to contact her for days, the nurses said. Nanny Peg was fading. So Stevie had gone straight there and sat by her bedside, fingers stroking the wispy white hair. Frail and shrunken, Peg had been deeply unconscious by then, but Stevie had held her hand and spoken softly to her as she drifted away on her last, gurgling breaths.
She saw Nanny Peg’s life force leave. It was a tiny bright mote, just like those that had poured out of the Felixatus. No less valuable. The mote had caught on the window pane—a fleck of down from the pillow, the nurse said—but Stevie had opened the window anyway and let the spark fly free.
Afterwards, she’d spent the night in a cheap hotel, barely sleeping. Instead, she kept a kind of vigil, thinking about everything that had happened. Especially Mist.
She hadn’t seen her fylgia since she’d come back from Asru. Her shadow-self seemed to have stayed in the Spiral, where it belonged. In an odd way, she missed her little ghost cat.
Now she entered the museum, ambushed by a wave of nostalgia and evocative scents: the musty smell of the old buildings, overlaid by the aromas of wood polish and coffee. She looked down the length of the shop and saw Fin behind the till, serving a line of customers.
Fin saw Stevie at once. Her eyes flashed wide with surprise, but she couldn’t abandon her task. That put a damper on a dramatic reunion. Stevie waited, feeling awkward. When the last customer had gone, she walked slowly up to the counter and said, “Hi, I’m back.”
“Stevie!” Fin rushed out and wrapped both arms around her. “You’re all right? Thank goodness!”
“Yep, still in one piece. Most of me, anyway.”
“They gave me your job.” Fin’s voice turned heavy with guilt. “I’m so sorry. I feel terrible.”
“Why? Don’t be daft.”
“Because I know how you loved it. I don’t want you to think I was angling for this all along. I wasn’t, truly.”
“Hey, stop that! I never thought you were—but I’ll get suspicious if you keep protesting.”
“The truth is, the trustees were desperate.” Fin grimaced, laughing. “They’d have you back in a heartbeat.”
“Oh.” Stevie swallowed. “That’s—” She swallowed again. “Interesting. Have you heard from Patrick?”
“I have indeed. He’s back in the UK, did you know?”
“Yes, I’ve seen him. As soon as I got back, I phoned Prof. Manifold and she told me that Patrick had already brought Daniel home safely.” Stevie felt her face relax into a happier expression. “And Frances is much better. Her house feels like a home, instead of a haunted mansion.”
“I’m so glad. Patrick’s been worried sick about you. So have I! Such a tale he told me…”
“Ah, Fin, you haven’t heard the half of it yet. I hope you’re still into tales of weird strangeness?”
“Absolutely. Can’t wait to hear every detail. So … are you coming back?”
Stevie drank in surroundings so treasured that they were part of her psyche: spotlights shining on designer jewelry, the comforting smell of the coffee shop, and the dusty ghosts of the old factory beyond. She remembered her little apartment, how content she’d been there and yet so lonely.
This had been her cocoon. How unspeakably strange it felt, to realize she’d outgrown her old life.
“I honestly don’t know. I need to have a think.” She exhaled and let herself smile again. “Actually, I came to invite you and your hubby to a party.”
* * *
Stonegate Manor.
Stevie, Fin and Andy walked towards the double doors, Andy having offered to drive to Cloudcroft and not drink. Would have been nice … For the twentieth time, Stevie suppressed the wish that Mistangamesh were beside her. It was all right. Her default state was to be alone, and she’d made peace with the knowledge.
The party was for Rosie’s birthday, and for the spring equinox, and a general celebration that they’d made it back from the Otherworld alive. The whole village was here, judging by the number of parked cars and the noise from inside.
Rosie greeted them, beautiful with her autumn hair and silver eyes and a long, clingy, burgundy velvet dress with pointed sleeves. She led them into the great hall, which was warm from the press of people and a lively fire in the grate. Dozens of tiny lights were strung around the galleries, and the hall itself was bright with spring flowers. Daffodils and hyacinths released divine scents into the air. Sam and Lucas came to hug her. They both looked drop-dead gorgeous in dark tailored suits.
Stevie marveled at the mingling of Vaethyr and humans. Some wore exotic masks. In one of her patchwork favorites—shades of lavender and aqua with a swirling skirt, and lots of amethyst and fluorite gems to match—Stevie felt underdressed.
She and Fin soon lost each other. Stevie found herself being introduced to dozens of guests, as if she were royalty. There were Rosie’s parents, Auberon and Jessica, her older brother, Matthew, with his wife, Faith—who was also Rosie’s best friend—and a brood of honey-blond children. There were uncles and aunts, and other Vaethyr clans called Tulliver and Stagg and Lyon … Oh good, I know Catherine Lyon, at least, she thought. There were far too many names and faces to remember, but all of them looked warmly and shrewdly into Stevie’s eyes as if they knew her better than she knew herself.
She was one of the most ancient Aetherials, true Estalyr; one of the very First. With their deep and experienced vision, they recognized this. The knowledge that they knew was a shock that made her want to run and hide.
Instead she grabbed a glass of champagne and was soon quite gloriously merry.
Although she felt the ache of Mist’s absence, memories of him brought a smile to her lips. She drifted around the manor in a state of pleasure, thinking of neither past nor future.
“Enjoying yourself?” Rosie said in her ear, having tracked her to the upstairs gallery; a nice spot to watch the guests mingling below. “How does it feel to be guest of honor?”
“I don’t deserve that.”
“Oh, sure. You only saved our lives.”
“After we landed you in Albin’s clutches in the first place.”
“No, you didn’t. But you came back for us.
You saved the Gatekeeper, no less.”
“With a lot of help. And don’t forget you saved us, too! Let’s not talk about it tonight. This is wonderful, Rosie. It feels almost like a family around me … something I never had before. It’s amazing.”
“Stevie, we are your family,” said Rosie, looking straight into her eyes. “And this is your home. I mean it.”
Sam, bringing fresh glasses of champagne, said over Rosie’s shoulder, “As long as you bear in mind the old saying ‘Be careful what you wish for.’ Stonegate has ghosts, and this family has claws. It’s all good fun, though.”
Rosie gave him a mild glare. “Honestly, Stevie, we’re not that bad.”
“So, of all the magical places you could live in the Spiral realms, you chose Vaeth?” she asked thoughtfully.
“Yes, we chose dear old Earth,” said Sam.
“Why?”
“Well, it’s home. We like it here, don’t we? And humans desperately need our help.” He grinned, exchanging a meaningful glance with Rosie.
“Desperately,” Rosie agreed dryly.
“Not the sort of help Rufus liked to dole out, I hope?”
Rosie looked at her in exaggerated shock. “Absolutely not. Not that we’re perfect. We’re not always … good for humans.” Her expression went shadowy. “Sometimes we’re lethal. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but … we do our best. According to Luc, we’re meant to be contradictory. Sometimes predators, sometimes bringers of blessing. Aetherials are the essence of nature.”
“That’s our excuse, anyway,” Sam put in. “You should know, we need to keep our connection with the Spiral so as not to lose our Aetherial selves and our memories. Hence peculiar rituals and celebrations at various times of year.”
“Sounds thrilling.”
“Yeah, but I have to be honest.” He gave a crooked smile. “Some of the best days of our lives have been spent doing really mundane stuff, like wandering around Birmingham.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Birmingham,” Stevie said indignantly. “I’m a poster girl for the tourist trade. Used to be, rather. Take the Jewellery Quarter: it’s a heart of gold, in a literal and intangible sense.”
Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) Page 51