by Allison Pang
A scowl crossed his face. “Never you mind. Here,” he pawed at the cluster of grass in front of the stone.
I leaned closer, fingers pushing down the blades. A shiver ran through me at the metaphysical stickiness. A Glamour? Someone had put a Glamour on my mother’s grave? I peered closer to the stone, blinking as the cobweb feeling fell away. Beneath her name was a series of small pictures, similar to the little memorial settings I’d seen on other stones. Something told me these were a bit more permanent than pewter, however.
The photos were old and faded. Shots from my youth, then. Polaroids, maybe. The first was an image of my mother in her late teens—one I hadn’t seen before—her hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders like sunlit honey as she sat on a fallen tree, her blue sundress lighting up her eyes. A distant smile flitted across her face, the expression causing an answering echo in my heart, knowing I’d caught myself with the same look numerous times.
I swallowed hard at the next one. My mother held an infant version of me in the crook of her arm, my tiny eyes dark with the secret wisdom babies always seemed to possess. What had I been thinking then, beyond the small cocoon of flannel blankets and the bobbed hat over my head? A funny half-smile curved up the edges of my tiny pink lips as we stared at something together, my mother and I.
And then the third picture came into view and I stopped breathing. Him. My father? I refused to give him the title of “Dad.” The shot just held his face, blue eyes sparkling at some hidden amusement. His hair was an ash brown, loosely framing high cheekbones and a strong chin. He seemed young, but I’d been a TouchStone long enough to recognize the signs of agelessness when I saw it. There were eons of years etched in the faded crow’s-feet at the edges of his eyes. Handsome and self-assured, for certain. This was a man who knew his charismatic power and how to use it. And yet, I hoped for my mother’s sake that whatever affection he’d shown her had been at least somewhat honest. “Thomas,” I breathed, reaching out to touch the image.
And plunged into an ocean of memories …
“… who’s my little princess?” I bounced upon my daddy’s knee, stubby fingers grasping a shiny yellow button on his shirt, my infant voice shrieking with delight as he tickled my belly …
… I was being rocked into the darkness, the soft flannel of his vest against my skin, the perfect tenor of his voice rumbling through his chest …
… my parents kissing in the kitchen, the gentle sound of laughter as I shoveled mashed bananas into my face …
“I remember,” I breathed, withdrawing my hand. “How is that possible? What the hell sort of Glamour is this?”
“I don’t know how it was done,” the unicorn admitted. “But I know that certain memories of yours were removed. For your own safety.”
“Of course they were,” I snapped.
“He’d like to see you at some point.”
“I’m sure he would. I wanted a pony when I was seven, but just look at how well that worked out.” Anger flooded my cheeks as I focused on the picture of my mother and me. Her free hand was raised up to her shoulder, as if to finger something at her neck. A necklace? “Motherfucker.”
I spared a quick glance behind me at the van. Talivar leaned against the door, watching me gravely. He cocked his head and I waved my hand at him. Soon…
“I suppose there’s only one way to find out about this Key thing.”
“And what is that? It’s not like you’re going to be able to send Thomas a message. Not with the CrossRoads closed.” Phineas flicked his tail as he stared at the pictures.
“No.” I traced my finger around the portrait before facing the unicorn. “But I might be able to ask the previous owner. After all,” I smiled grimly, “she haunts my dreams even still.”
Fifteen
The creaking of the house echoed dully without Brystion’s presence. But that was probably all for the best, given my mission. The overt sensual darkness that normally loomed seemed a shadow of its former self, and yet a faint pulse of his power threaded through me as I traversed the hall. I was surprised at the emptiness, but then perhaps I had not realized how entwined with my Heart the incubus had become.
I scanned the living room, but saw nothing out of place. My mother rarely made her presence known these days, though I suspected much of that had to do with Ion more than any desire of my unconscious mind.
We had left the gravesite and headed home shortly after my discovery. I’d kept the memories of my father to myself, as well as my potential plan for trying to discover more about the Key. Not because I didn’t want to give the rest of them hope, but it seemed terribly cruel to dangle a possibility of success, only to fail and disappoint.
Plus, even I had to admit there was a certain flaw to the logic that depended on the nightmare-visage of my mother for the answers.
Katy had made the disappointing phone call to Charlie, and a silent and solemn trip home was all that remained to us. Melanie and Katy traded shifts every few hours as we drove through the night, the urgency of our failure pushing them through their exhaustion. Given the late hour of our arrival, Melanie dropped me off at my apartment with Talivar and Phin, and I stumbled up to my room to attempt a Dream. I finally drifted off with my head in Talivar’s lap, the unicorn at my feet.
And now I was here, drifting aimlessly from room to room in my Dreaming Heart, searching for the core of my nightmares. Mother …
I left the house, the rooms oppressive in the darkness. The trees pressed upon me, the scent of pine lingering when I pushed past the branches to the moss-covered steps and then to the gate.
My fingers tapped over the lock, the clank it made seeming somehow dull in the twilight. I stared out into the darkest part of my Heart, knowing the incubus had had his place out there in the grove, but I would not find my mother in his sacred shadows. A dappled road stretched out before me, curving past the gate to skirt the edge of the woods.
I followed the road, my feet bare upon the cobblestones. I walked cautiously, not really wanting to break through the Dreaming. After all, I’d done that once before, and without Ion to bring me back, I might end up trapped on the other side. I shuddered.
The path changed into something golden and I realized it was sand, the wind picking up briskly so that it swirled past my face. Grass crept over the edges of the road, sparse at first and then I sunk into the sand dunes, ripples rolling beneath my feet. A chill slithered over my skin, toes sinking into the fine grit.
The landscape changed again and I was walking on the sharp edge of a cliff, the sea below churning angrily. The foam gleamed beneath the shattered softness of moonlight, but did nothing to quell the sick roil in my belly. I knew this place. Knew the bladed shadows that cut through the waves with a deadly slickness.
I supposed I was safe enough, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think I would stay here with the sharks down below.
I never did.
And yet, there seemed to be a hint of confusion in the way the silver dorsals split the night like metal sails. It was unusual for me to seek them out directly, I suppose. I sucked in a deep breath, and peered below, sharp teeth lost among the whiteness of the foam.
A crackling sound swept through the air from behind me. I didn’t look up as her dry husk of a voice sputtered its question at me.
Why?
“I don’t know,” I said quietly, the way I always did. I never knew quite what she was asking.
“Why?” She whispered it again, a bony hand grasping my shoulder. I opened my eyes, clamping down on the terror lancing through my breast. I turned and there she was, brittle skin stretched tight over the remainder of her face, one eye nothing more than a milky white haze over a dull blue. The rictus of her mouth filled with only teeth, naked and gleaming in her pearled jawbone.
I exhaled in a choked sob, forcing myself to see her, the memory of that picture of her on the tombstone superimposing itself upon my vision. I shivered, gathering up my power, ragged as my control was. Brystion’s voi
ce danced in my ear, reminding me of what I was.
Dreamer … you have the power …
I blinked back the tears, blurring the scraps of honey-colored hair hanging from the naked skull and the shattered brainpan, pushing outward, stretching the bubble, willing things to be how I meant them to be. How I needed her to seem, whole and unflawed.
Her flesh rippled, a cocoon of silver enveloping the edges of her cheeks, as though I might knit skin and bone, muscle and sinew and delicate tissues, a hidden memory of the soul beneath.
“Why?” She breathed the word, but it sounded clearer this time, lips solid and plump. I glanced up as the halo of her eyes receded into the piercing blue of youth. A flicker of recognition sparked there.
And still I didn’t know how to answer the question. Why was she there, in my dreams? Why had she died?
“I don’t understand,” I murmured finally.
“Why do you keep me here, Abby?”
Guilt tore at me, my knees shaky. “I don’t mean to. I don’t know how to let you go.” The sharks circled below us, frenzied in a flash of whitecaps and salt.
“Ah,” said the shade in a somewhat disinterested tone. “Mortal memories, made flesh for your amusement.”
“No,” I told her, swallowing hard. “That’s not it. Or at least not what I intended.” I reached out. “Mother?”
“As you remember me to be,” she agreed, taking my trembling hand. The skin was warm and smooth, alive beneath my fingers. She rubbed her thumb gently over my palm in her old way.
“I remember this,” she breathed. “I remember you.” A frown slid over her face. “But I don’t remember how I got here.”
She paced away from me and toward the dunes, pulling me along. Her grip was surprisingly strong, constrictive. A niggle of warning brushed the back of my mind. Careful what you invite into your Heart …
And the truth of it was that this was not my mother. No matter how much I might have wished it. She was merely a memory, a nightmare made flesh in my Dreaming. I pressed past the thought, unsure of how long I could hold her in this form.
“Why didn’t you tell me who my father was?” I couldn’t quite keep the brusqueness out of my voice; the strain of weaving the Dream to her image was making me weak. A thread of anger crept into the words, wondering at the need for such secrets.
“I didn’t know, at first,” she said simply, turning those brilliant eyes upon me. I fought the urge to pull away from her. There was no warmth of her previous existence within. “And then, when I had you, he left. It was to protect us, you see.” Her voice dropped low, the way it had when she had something important to tell me. Odd. After all, it wasn’t like anyone was going to overhear us, was it? Like whispering to someone on the phone while you’re alone in your house. But I took the bait, anyway.
“Protect us?”
“From the Queen, of course. Jealous thing.”
I stopped abruptly. “You knew the Queen?”
“Tom would never allow such a thing. But he knew the Queen wouldn’t be happy if she discovered he’d gotten me pregnant. So he stayed as long as he could, but in the end he had to go.” A sandpaper sigh escaped her. “I miss my Tom.”
“And you were okay with this?” The mother I remembered had been gentle, sure, but never one to just let someone roll over her. For the life of me I couldn’t imagine her doing anything so … so timid.
Focus, Abby …
And yet, what was I supposed to do? Come out and ask if dear old Dad had left her the Key to the CrossRoads? Assuming she even knew what it was. I wouldn’t have hesitated if it this was my real mother, but a brightness sparkled in the depths of her eyes with something far more predatory than had been her wont.
I had to be casual about it. Careful. “I don’t suppose he left us a memento? You know, something for us to remember him by? After all, I’d like to get to know my roots.”
Her hand reached up as though to play with something around her neck and I knew I’d hit on the right topic. “There was a necklace. He gave it to me when we were courting. In a small velvet box, if I remember …” Her voice became dreamy, and I winced at the naked longing within. “Silver, with a large jewel. He never did tell me what sort of stone it was, and I could never quite figure it out. It seemed to change from day to day. I meant to get it appraised once, but I always seemed to get distracted.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rose. Glamoured, of course. I stifled a shiver. Whatever was going on here had been a long time in the planning, leaving me and my mother in the cross fire.
And it was seriously starting to piss me off.
For all that my father was supposed to have the gift of prophecy, he would have a lot to answer for, assuming I ever managed to find him.
“What happened to it?”
She frowned. “Funny that you ask. I could have sworn I was wearing it … but I can’t seem to find it. I can’t imagine I would have misplaced it like that. I loved my Tom, you see.”
“Is this it?” I swallowed hard, pulling the amulet from under my shirt to show it to her. Her fingers caressed it gently, thumb stroking the stone with a hint of possessiveness.
“Ah, yes.” She took a closer look at it. “It seems to be broken. It used to sparkle like mad—a brilliant blue glow. That’s too bad.”
My heart sank and I sighed, realizing I’d hit another dead end. My heart twisted at the thought of raising her memory for nothing.
My arm brushed something cold and I looked up. We were standing outside the iron gates. They were closed and glittering with their own silvery light beneath the rust. The edges of my old home, my Heart, gleamed through the trees in the distance, beckoning to the soft comfort within.
“Won’t you invite me in?” I glanced at my mother sharply, the wheedling tone very unnerving. I swallowed hard, a warning bell ringing through my mind. It was so tempting to let her pretend to be what she once was, but it would be a lie. A pleasant one, at first, but even I knew it would mean my doom. If I brought her shadow further in, I’d never be able to let her go.
“I might be able to fix your necklace if you let me in,” she continued. “It’s missing a spark.”
The gate pressed into my spine. I’d retreated before her. Giving ground, my inner voice noted. A piece of paper flickered in the corner of my eye and I snatched it up. Something was scrawled on the back in Ion’s neat script.
No regrets.
I crumpled the note in my fist, terror and sadness banding over my heart. “No,” I whispered. “I can’t.”
“But you’ve brought me so far already,” she persisted. Her hand tipped my chin up so that I was forced to look at her face, requiring me to deny her directly.
“It’s as far as I can take you, Mom.” Something hot blurred my vision, scorching down the side of my face. Her gaze became curious as she captured it, turning her fingers to peer at the crystalline softness of my tears.
“And yet you still weep,” she said wonderingly. “Was it so very difficult, my death?”
“You wouldn’t remember.” The wind picked up around me, whispering its song of despair and I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold on to the Dreaming for much longer. Without Ion here, I would plunge into nightmare. That I’d managed as long as I had surprised me as much as anything.
She stared off at something I couldn’t see. “I remember a car and you. And then … nothing. And yet, here I am, day after day.”
My knees started to buckle and I grasped the gate in support. The metal burned, lancing heat up my arm. Something fluttered to my feet in a golden heap.
Her hair …
Her grip tightened around my wrist, the knuckles suddenly brittle and pale. I knew before I looked up what I’d see, but I did anyway, trying to school my features into blandness at the balding head, the way the flesh sloughed off to reveal the moon-round skull, the mangled mouth, the dulling eyes.
“I remember,” she sighed, leaning forward to brush my forehead with the remains of her lips. �
��Death is a funny thing sometimes, the way it happens. But it’s not the going that’s the sad part, Abby.” She pressed something hard and gleaming into my hand. “It’s the leaving.”
I choked on a sob, the wind whipping around us with a sudden howl. I could taste the sea on it, echoed with a rotting odor beneath. My mother crumpled into a small pile of bones, my name nothing more than a dusty whisper as the gate opened behind me. Gasping, I tumbled backward, clutching my mother’s parting gift as the Dreaming disappeared into a misty fog of dried leaves and darkness.
I clawed my way to the surface, coughing abruptly, to find Talivar lightly slapping my face. “Wake up, Abby,” he growled, frustration sharpening the tautness of his mouth.
“I’m awake.” I curled into a ball on my side, as he stroked the hair away from my eyes.
“You were crying.”
“I found her.” I curled up tighter, my hand clutched to my breast. “She wanted to come inside my Heart.” My lip trembled as the tears began to spill again, the words rolling bitterly off my tongue. “I couldn’t do it. Sonja and Ion both warned me against it … but it was so hard.”
His thumb rubbed over my lower lip. “Brave warrior. You have the courage of a lion.”
“I don’t feel brave.” I pushed down on the bed to sit up, exhaustion making my limbs tremble, hardly hearing Talivar’s sudden intake of breath.
“Holy shit!” Phineas reared. “You’re glowing, Abby.”
“Not Abby. The amulet.” Talivar reached gently for the necklace. In the dimness of my bedroom light, the jeweled center winked with a silvery-blue shimmer.
“She gave me this,” I murmured, eying the crystal with a certain wariness. “I think it was one of my tears.” It shifted in the twilight with its own inner brightness … now a sapphire, now a bloodied ruby, fading into a diamond …
I blinked at it. “Mom wasn’t all that informative, but she did say it was missing a … spark.”
“I suspect perhaps this ‘spark’ was inside you all along,” Talivar said quietly. “You just needed to know it was there and have a way to draw it out.”