by Gabi Moore
“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.”
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.
She knew, now, that his plan was the same as hers. They weren’t going to fight. They were each going to simply try and drain the other. The world narrowed into a slit, just him and her, and as Aurora clutched his hand—she couldn’t have let go if she wanted, like grabbing an electric fence—she felt her own life start to slip away into him.
Panicked, she pulled back. His eyes widened in surprise. Not at her actions—no, Aurora knew Ian suspected her intentions from the minute she walked in. He was no fool. But he’d counted on being able to overpower her. Unfortunately, his power had chosen a new master.
Aurora dragged on the line between them, and the light motes blew her way easily. Ian’s hand was crushing hers. He couldn’t let go either.
Ramona’s voice was somewhere outside their small world, but close. Perhaps even closer than she realized. Was that her mother’s hand on her other arm? Trying to stop her?
Pain welled up in Aurora, but it was too late to stop for anyone. She didn’t have to hear what Ramona was saying to know what she wanted; her own mother wanted her to stop, to spare Ian. After all, she had been waiting so long for him to come back to her.
Overhead, a shadow lurked. It was Kemandry, and she was part of their little world, too. Aurora tried to ignore her as she crawled upside down over the ceiling. Just above them, she stopped, considering.
In this gray world of power—their shared power—Aurora knew Ian was trying to tell Kemandry to attack. He was looking up at her desperately, even mouthing the words. He was ordering her to kill Aurora, just as she’d been sent to do at Witching Hour, at her own home. But Kemandry just watched curiously, and Aurora realized that she no longer knew who her master was. Too much of Ian’s power was in Aurora, now.
Terrified and thrilled, Aurora bore on, beckoning. Ian’s life force seemed to extend forever, like pulling a chain from the ocean, but it lifted from his body easily. He was trying to fight; if anything, his struggles only seemed to hurry the process. This was the natural order of things. She was younger, and stronger, and meant to take his place. She was his daughter.
The end was in sight, and Aurora fell out of her magical vision, and looked at Ian with her own eyes. He looked half-mummified, with wide, staring eyes. Horror was plain on his face, and Aurora realized that he was looking at her with all that horror. She had come here uncertain, and she would leave a killer, a killer of her own father.
With an audible snap, it was over. Aurora dropped Ian’s limp hand, and he fell back into the throne. He was dead.
And at his feet lay Ramona.
There was another crash behind her, but Aurora didn’t notice. She was brimming with magic. She felt like a burning star, better than her best day, as if she was full of possibility and promise. But all the magic in the world couldn’t un-break her heart. Aurora dropped to the ground with a cry and pulled Ramona into her arms. All the magic in the world couldn’t undo what she’d done.
Like Ian, Ramona was sucked dry of her life. The pieces fell together as Aurora held her mother and cried, as Kemandry bolted into action, unnoticed. Ramona had tried to stop Aurora from killing Ian. Perhaps she had really wanted them all to live together. Maybe she had believed Ian’s promises. That mattered little; she’d still gripped on to Aurora at the wrong time, and her life, too, had been drained.
There was a snarling growl, and many of Kemandry’s terrible sounds, rushing and crashing together behind her.
“Stop it, Kemandry!” Aurora sobbed. “Stop!”
Miraculously, she did. Aurora looked over her shoulder; Kem was just behind her, tilted her oblong head, snuffling.
She was horrible thing. Just to look at her was frightening. The way she moved, the way she sounded. What she was capable of. But Aurora was her master now, and she didn’t the heart to yell at the creature, not for simply being what she was.
“Go away, for now, Kem,” Aurora said hoarsely. “Just go for a while.”
And Kemandry was gone, just like that. Like a shadow when the lights are turned on.
Still Aurora held her mother, thin and frail and dead, sobbing.
A low growl echoed behind her. This time, Aurora turned her whole body so she could look, bringing Ramona with her. It was a wolf, a large black one. It was clo
ser to the size of a bear; Aurora doubted any wolf in this millennium had ever grown so big. Blood dripped from its fur, and its eyes were wide and dark as they looked at her.
“L-Lucien?” Aurora hiccupped.
The wolf shambled closer and sniffed her face, as Kemandry had done. In this form, Lucien looked bigger than a car, and yet he was still there, behind those wolf eyes. Aurora couldn’t even be afraid, not after what she’d done. She looked down at Ramona.
“I killed her, too,” Aurora whispered. “She was holding on to me, and I didn’t even feel it… She’s gone…”
Aurora leaned over her mother’s body and wept. A part of her had known all along, Ramona was only missing, not dead. But now that part was dark and silent, like her mother’s lifeless eyes. Sorrow and loss were twisting Aurora’s insides, wringing her out like a rag.
A hand—a human hand—rested on her shoulder. “Just go ahead and cry,” Lucien told her softly. “I know it hurts, don’t try to fight it. Just let it go.”
Aurora looked up at him. He knelt beside her, naked, of course, but at the moment nothing could have seemed less important to Aurora. His face was bruised and bleeding. In fact, most of him was bruised and bleeding. But his eyes were kind, and he left his hand resting on her shoulder. In the wrecked wall behind him, Milo stood, watching from a distance.
“Thank you, Aurora.”
Aurora froze and spun toward the other door. When Ian died, his spells had snapped, and now Ylessa stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes like a sleepy child.
Her wings furled and unfurled gently, as if she was testing their strength, but the fairy picked her way across the floor on foot until she stood over Ramona. Hope fluttered in Aurora’s chest.
“Can you…?” Aurora couldn’t even bear to finish the question. Ylessa was already shaking her head.
“Call her back to this form? No. Your mother has already moved on to new life, to a better life. One where she isn’t waiting, endlessly, for the likes of Ian to return to her.”
It was all Aurora had expected, but still, disappointment was almost worse than the loss itself. She looked around, and there was Lucien, there was Milo, there was Mr. Cheng and Lester through the broken wall, all watching her. This was going to be her new life, her new family.