“And ugly. Like, when I get too ugly to wear a mini-skirt, just shoot me.”
I sort of laughed. She sort of did, too.
Then I saw a sign up ahead and said, “I think this is it.” Sara blew past the street and had to make a U-turn to drive down a narrow, dark road marked Dun Lane.
We drove out of the dappled sun into complete darkness, the tight-knit tree canopy looming high overhead like a massive green temple. I didn’t know where James’ gig had been, but I couldn’t think of any reason why he would have been on such an out-of-the-way road.
“I guess they’ll have towed the car. We’ll have to look for the place where the wreck was.”
That was the longest minute of my life, scanning the green-brown darkness for a glimpse of destruction, looking for any sign that everything I’d known was gone forever. And when Sara stopped next to a tree that looked like any other of the massive oaks that lined the road, I couldn’t tell what she’d seen to mark the spot.
She turned off the ignition. “Do you mind if I stay in the car? Blood totally makes me pass out.”
I nodded. “That’s okay.”
I got out of the car. Standing out on the crumbling edge of the road, the smell of wet leaves and forest filling my nose, and almost cold in the perpetual shade of the trees, I saw what had made her stop: the bark stripped from the near side of the closest oak tree, and, lying on the leafy ground beside it, a driver’s side mirror the tow company had missed when they took the car. And then I saw the dark stain on the road, the sort of stain you see after a deer has been hit and taken away by the state crews. Only this wasn’t from a deer.
It was a horrible shape, too; the smudged line of blood spelled struggle.
I closed my eyes and shut out the blood. I wasn’t going to think about James. I was just going to do the job.
I went to the base of the tree. I thought about picking up the driver’s side mirror and taking it with me, but stopped myself just before I picked it up. It wasn’t important. James was important. Leaving the tree behind, I slowly made my way through the ferns and leaves. Everything became formless in this still, everlasting dimness. The only sound was the muffled calls of birds in the canopy overhead. My progress was painstakingly slow—I wouldn’t miss a clue beneath the ferns.
About fifty feet from the crash site, my Doc Martens scuffed against something hard in the soft undergrowth. I knelt down, squinting, and saw a white object glowing in the darkness.
I gingerly picked it up, and my stomach squeezed. It was an unmarked bottle of eye drops. When I opened it, the sweet smell of clover drifted out. A thousand new memories, all run together—of Luke putting the drops in his eyes, Luke laboriously making the drops, Luke shoving the bottle into his pocket—clicked through my mind like a slide projector.
I bit my lip and took out my cell phone, hesitated a long moment, then dialed Luke’s number.
In my ear, quiet and thin, it began to ring. And then—a few feet away—it rang as well, a weird, modern sound in this ancient quiet.
I wanted to slap my phone shut and pretend I hadn’t heard it, but it was too late for that. I followed the sound and, sure enough, a dirty cell phone lay half-buried in a tangle of trampled thorns. I reached down to pick it up. And saw the red spatter on the leaves around it.
My breath somehow got stuck in my lungs, and my legs gently refused to hold me. I pressed a hand to my mouth, holding my tears in, willing myself strong, willing myself not to jump to conclusions, but the tears escaped anyway. First two at a time, silently sliding down my cheeks, and then three and four and five until they all ran together and gasped out of me. Folded in the ferns, thorns caught into my jeans, I stared at the single drop of red on the cell phone and sobbed for Granna, James, and Luke.
As the tears subsided, I slowly became aware that my limbs were trembling, like they did when I tried to move something with telekinesis during the daytime. Energy was funneling out of me. I remembered that feeling from before—and I looked up quickly, bracing myself for Eleanor or worse.
But it was Una I saw, crouching on a log a few feet away from me, bent into an impossible shape as she licked her fingers like a cat that has just finished a meal. In the green light of the forest, her pale skin looked less green than it had before, though she still couldn’t pass as human. Her bizarre outfit immediately drew my attention: some sort of overcoat that looked like an eighteenth-century military jacket with more than a dozen buttons leading up to its high collar, and beneath it, a frilly white skirt. The weird combination was sort of ultra-chic thrift-store, equal parts masculine and feminine.
She wrinkled her nose at me, observing my tears. “You’re doing that again?”
I smudged my palm across my cheek, and, remembering what Luke told me, stood before answering. “I’ve just finished.”
Una smiled brilliantly at me. “Behold my cleverness, human.” Her delicate features puckered into a frown, eyebrows drawn together into instant sorrow, and as her lips trembled into a pout, a single tear—my single tear—ran down her chalk-white cheek. The teardrop glistened on her jaw and, just as it fell, Una’s hand darted out and caught it, folding it away for later. Her smile returned as quickly as it had gone, and she laughed, high and wild. “Isn’t it perfect?”
I sniffed, my nose stuffed up from crying. “Better than a human.” I was sure her nose wasn’t stuffed up.
She leapt from her perch with alarming suddenness, fluttering around me like a bird, so close that I caught a whiff of her scent: musky and sweet at once, the smell of a wild thing. She whispered in my ear, “I know what you’re looking for.”
I carefully avoided looking at the blood-spattered cell phone, and swallowed. “And do you know where ‘it’ is?”
She laughed and jumped back onto the fallen log, skimming along it before twirling back the way she’d come. “It’s all dreadfully poetic. I cannot wait to sing it. A minor key, I think.”
I wanted to strangle her; couldn’t she just out and tell me? With great force of will, I managed to stuff my impatience away someplace and sound gracious. “Will you sing it for me now?”
Una smiled a secret smile at the ground. “Will you come live with me forever?”
It was too easy to forget that she was as dangerous as Freckle Freak. Politely, I declined. “That sounds lovely, but I don’t think so. Is it the only way you’ll sing it for me?”
She looked at me and then said in a fond voice, “No, stupid human. I’ll give it to you for free, because it will vex Brendan when he finds out.” Two long steps brought her back to my side, and she half-sang, half-whispered in my ear:
Away into the oaks, away beneath the earth
the piper’s blood spills
the gallowglass’ blood falls
in pools that tell their futures
She bids the gallowglass to
kill his lover;
She bids the piper,
“kill thy love.”
The melody and her voice caught me where I stood, cradling me tightly in that moment. I could not think to speak.
Una clucked disapprovingly and snapped her fingers in front of my face. “The slightest tune dazzles thee, lovely. How do you expect to recover your lovers if you don’t guard your senses? You are going to disappoint me, aren’t you?”
I blinked, still slightly dazed by the spell of her voice. “They’re not both my lovers. I mean, neither are my lovers. I mean—” Her song slowly ceased to be magic and began instead to form meaning in my head. “Do you mean they’re not dead?”
Una shrugged and leapt away from me, long ballet-leaps over the bracken, and then turned back, bowing as if she’d done something very impressive. “Not yet!”
I could breathe again. In some way, I felt like I hadn’t filled my lungs since I’d seen Luke’s phone and the drops of blood. Now, for the first time in many minutes, I took a deep breath and let it out. Inside me, a little voice sang, they’re alive, they’re alive.
“She has them
, then. The Queen, I mean.”
Una danced over to me, slow and prancing, and stopped a bare inch in front of me. Her fingers stretched out and hovered over my iron key, closer, closer, until they were as close as they could get without touching it. She leaned forward and spoke into my ear, so near that her face touched my hair; her voice was balanced between glee and seriousness. “Solstice draws near; see how strong we grow? Soon the Hunter will be able to touch you himself; soon Aodhan, foulest of the foul, will be able to defile you as he defiles everything his fingers reach. They could take your songs and keep them so deep inside themselves you’d never know you lost them. They will play with you until you smile and welcome Death into you.”
I froze, profoundly aware of how dangerous she was, this wild, inhuman creature who was close enough to see the dried tears on my cheeks.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her lips curl into a beautiful smile, and she whispered, “Now would be a wonderful time to ask for that favor I promised you. For your tear.”
She drew back, leaving me quivering from her strangeness, and studied me—standing there with my chin raised up in something like courage.
I looked back at those depthless green eyes, trying to read any sort of emotion in them, any clues as to a right answer, but saw nothing but deeper and deeper. So I nodded and said, as if it had been my idea, “I’ll take that favor now, please.”
“I thought,” Una drew a circle in front of her with a finger, “you’d never ask.”
She beckoned me, and I edged closer, warily.
“You humans like humans, right?”
I wasn’t exactly sure how to answer that.
She drew the circle again, and this time it seemed to stay there after her finger had dropped. “Do you see him?”
I looked at the glowing edge of the circle, but all I saw within it was the gnarled oak tree on the other side. “No?”
Una made an exasperated noise. “Try using your eyes.” She drew the circle again, and this time the glow of the edge made me blink in pain; it was like the searing light of the sun, and it shimmered in a way that was wrong, that bent the edges of the forest within and the forest without.
And this time, I did see him. It was a man in his late thirties or early forties, his head covered in long, loose brown curls, reading a book in the middle of field. “Who is it?”
“Thomas Rhymer. One of Hers. A human. A man. Shall I get more specific?”
“I think that covers it.” I hoped she was going to explain the significance of the bouncy-haired man, because I had no idea how showing me a strange man reading a book was supposed to count as a favor.
“Look how human he is,” Una mused as the man turned a page. I wasn’t sure if this was a commentary on his appearance or on his page-turning ability. “I think you ought to have a little chat with him.”
“Where is he?”
“There.”
I once again fought against the desire to bitch-slap a faerie, and rephrased. “How do I get to there?” I hoped to God she didn’t say “walk,” because I really didn’t think I’d be able to stop my fist if she did.
“I forget how stupid you all are,” Una said brightly. She tugged the edge of the circle larger, so I could see that the man sat in the middle of the cow pasture near my house, the one where I’d seen the white rabbit. Then she popped her finger into her mouth as if the glow had burnt her, and turned to me. “Truly, the magnanimous nature of my favor surprises even me.”
Uh. “Thank you,” I said.
She spit through the circle and it vanished like smoke. “And here’s another suggestion, for nothing. Gratis. Drown the hound of the Hunter’s you’ve been keeping. You’ll have to hold it under for quite a few minutes.” She made a motion as if she were holding one of her hands under water. “Until the bubbles stop.”
I blinked at her.
She seemed oblivious to my horror, and instead said kindly, with obvious effort, “Would you like your tear back? You’ll need it.”
“No thanks. I think it looks better on you.”
Una grinned at me.
Sara was so clueless trying to get us home that she finally pulled over and let me drive instead. Even though I rarely get to practice driving, I was much better at finding our way back down the back roads. I was almost giddy. Being stolen away by the Faerie Queen and tortured was bad, but it was so much better than being dead. Dead was irreversible. Suddenly I was noticing details that I had missed before: just how gorgeous the day was, how loud the cicadas were, how the leaves of the trees were flipping up to reveal their pale undersides, promising a storm later on despite the brilliant blue sky. With my change of mood, I saw something on the way back that I hadn’t noticed before: Luke’s car.
I slammed on the brakes.
Sara screamed. “Holy crap! What are you doing?”
I backed her car up to the little dirt road where I’d seen Luke’s car.
“Sorry. I saw something. I’m just going to check it out, okay? Just—two seconds.”
She squinted out the windows and then reached into the back seat for a magazine. Apparently, she thought that my “two seconds” meant the same as hers. I left her reading and made my way over to where Luke’s car sat, pulled back into the mouth of an overgrown dirt road that was used to access the cornfield behind it. The angle of the car implied a certain haste, and in my head I imagined that Luke had somehow come riding to James’ rescue, pulling him from the car where James was pinned. It was a much better image than a bloodied James dragging himself out of his Pontiac onto the asphalt.
The Audi was unlocked, and though I felt a little foolish, I climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door behind me. Leaning back in Luke’s seat, I closed my eyes and let his smell trick me into thinking he was there in the car with me. Even though I’d only seen him the night before, I missed him unimaginably; the part of me that was in him felt as if it were a million miles away, in a place too distant to ever visit. When I was with him I felt loved, wanted, protected; now I felt like a little boat adrift in a strange dark sea.
I opened my eyes and it was dark; night surrounded the car like a close blanket. It took me a moment to realize that I was in a memory. I was Luke, sitting in the driver’s seat, my heart pounding with adrenaline. Urgency pumped through me—I had to get to the scene of the crash before They did. I swiveled in the seat, looking at a mason jar full of yellow-green paste lying on the passenger-side floor, and thinking I ought to put some of it on my shoes as protection. But no, there had to be enough for Dee and her parents, and I didn’t want to risk wasting it. Anyway, it wasn’t me They wanted; not until Dee was dead, anyway. Crap. I left it lying on the floor and jumped out of the car, hoping the kid was still alive.
The memory snapped to an end with the sound of the door opening. In real life, my life, the door was still closed, and I was still sitting firmly in the driver’s seat. I looked over to the passenger-side floor, and sure enough—sitting in the stark shadows cast by the noon sun shining through the windshield—a mason jar full of Granna’s concoction lay on its side. It looked like cat vomit.
So he had found it. I sighed, picked the jar up—oh nasty, it was a little warm, like it was living—and got out of the car. I wished I could think of an excuse, something to tell Sara so that I could take Bucephalus back home. Selfishly, I wanted the reminder of Luke close to me.
Movement caught my eye, something blocking the light in the sparse trees that bordered the cornfield. Before me, ten or fifteen feet in front of the car, walked a tall man with skin as brown as the dust of the road. Due to his height, he had to move slowly through the tree branches. He was absolutely naked, his muscles long and sinewy like a deer or a racehorse, and though my attention should have been drawn to his indecent exposure, all I could focus on was his tail. Long and whip-like, it ended in a tuft of hair like a goat’s. The faerie—because that’s what he had to be—paused, and turned his head slowly to look at me. His eyes were too close together, and
his nose was too long and thin over his wide mouth to be human. It was the gaze of a feral thing, a creature that knew what I was and was both unafraid and disinterested. I waited long moments until he was out of sight, and then I bolted to Sara’s car and got in, cradling the jar carefully.
“What’s that?” Sara put her magazine down.
“It’s some sort of anti-faerie juice that my Granna made.”
“Whoa. Oh. Where’d you get it?”
I pointed. “Luke’s car.”
“Luke is that cute guy? Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Sara frowned. “I’m getting creeped out. This is totally starting to sound like a horror flick, and everybody knows the hot chick dies first. Let’s get out of here.”
We did, leaving the only evidence of Luke’s existence on the dusty road behind us.
seventeen
Why are you looking up ‘solstice’?”
Hunched over my father’s laptop computer, manically tapping in things like “solstice,” “gallowglass,” and “Thomas Rhymer” into search engines, I hadn’t even heard Delia approach.
“Holy crap!” I swallowed my racing heartbeat. This sneaking-up thing of hers was getting really annoying. I turned to look at her and found her next to my shoulder, holding a cup of coffee, staring down at me with her green eyes. God, she looked alive. It was as if she’d been a black and white photo, and now suddenly color was blooming into her. It scared the crap out of me. Suddenly I didn’t feel so bad for putting the Granna concoction on my parents’ shoes and leaving hers unprotected.
Delia leaned over my shoulder and read the screen. It was a frilly website called “The Fairy Patch,” with lists of plants that would attract faeries to your garden. The part I was reading was talking about how the midsummer solstice thinned the veil between the human world and the faerie world. The site recommended putting out saucers of milk and burning thyme to encourage optimal faerie visitation. Without success, I had tried to imagine the goat-faerie—or better yet, Aodhan—lapping up milk like a tame kitten. Where did they come up with this crap?
Lament: The Faerie Queen's Deception Page 19