by CJ Brightley
They made their way slowly back down the hallway toward the street. Aria had already stepped outside when she blinked in confusion and turned to look at the door again. The door was an unmarked metal service door, and they stood in a narrow alley. “Where are we?”
Cillian swayed a little and glanced both directions. “Off of Joslin Avenue.” He hesitated, then added, “I didn’t feel us move.”
Cillian led them. Aria watched them worriedly; both seemed so shaken and weary that she wondered whether they would make it back to the hotel at all. She didn’t realize where they were until they passed directly in front of Dandra’s Books.
“Wait.” She stopped. It was still closed, with a note taped to the glass door. Nothing seemed amiss, but she looked again at the note.
“This is different. It’s a different note.” It was still Dandra’s handwriting, as closely as she could tell, and the wording was the same. Closed until further notice. But it wasn’t the same note. Had she come back and gone away again? It was the middle of the afternoon. The store should have been open.
Aria shaded her face against the glare and peered inside. Everything seemed normal. She frowned. Maybe not. The shelves looked a little less organized than usual. Dandra liked to straighten everything before she left for the night; every book’s spine an inch from the front edge of the shelf. Now random books were pulled forward, as if to set them apart from the rest. Aria shook her head. That’s foolish. Of course it’s a little disorganized. If she was in a hurry when she left, she wouldn’t have straightened the shelves. But why is the note different? And why would she be in a hurry to leave?
She pulled on the door handle, but it was locked. Of course it was. The store was closed. “Can you open this?” She turned to glance at Cillian.
“For what purpose?”
She could hear the exhaustion in his voice, and she almost shook her head and continued on. But if something is wrong, we should know. Owen said he didn’t tell Petro, so why would she be gone for so long?
“I think we should look inside.”
Cillian reached forward without a word and placed his hand on the handle. He paused, and then pulled it open with a soft click.
Aria stepped inside, Cillian and Niall following. She walked through the little coffee shop area. This was where I saw Owen first. What if I hadn’t paid attention? Life would be so simple.
The scents of coffee and sugary syrups were faded, as if the machines had not been used since she’d been here last. She stepped behind the counter. The trash was emptied; Dandra did that every night as she left. The refrigerator that held the cream and milk was still on, and she peered inside. Everything was either out of date or close to it.
“This is strange,” she murmured. “She came back to change the note, but she didn’t replace any of the supplies. Why?”
Cillian sighed softly behind her, and she glanced at him. He leaned against the end of a bookshelf, eyes half-closed, shoulders slumped. She thought he might say something, but he only stood there silently, and she moved toward the bookshelf he leaned against.
She slipped down the aisle, looking at the books. There were few empty places; Dandra liked to keep a full inventory with a broad range of books, and books were often stacked lying horizontally above the rows when she ran out of space in a particular section. The first book that was pulled forward caught her eye.
A History of the Jews. Odd. Who were they? The next one was American Superpower: The Rise and Fall of an Empire. Aria frowned more deeply. The name sounded familiar, and she pulled the book out and flipped it open. The map in the front made her catch her breath. That’s here. When was this? Copyright 2061, just before she was born. The next book, just a little farther on, was The Cold War: A New Understanding. The next was The Sound of Freedom. And the next, Red Rising: The Birth of Modern China. She covered her mouth with her hand as her thoughts whirled.
History. Dandra sells history books. Real ones! If these were true history books, it was probably sedition to sell them. Aria looked around the store again. It didn’t look like the IPF had been here; maybe they didn’t know yet. But Dandra must have believed she was in danger. Aria moved more quickly now, glancing at each title as she pulled them out and stacked them on a table in the back.
Another aisle. The Death of Compassion. That title stood out among the others, and she glanced inside briefly. Today’s world is cold in ways our ancestors could not imagine. We think it is because of the changes in the weather, the changes in politics, but we are mistaken. The coldness is in our hearts, and it has been long in the making. She put it on top of the stack.
The next aisle had only a few books pulled out, and she moved down it quickly, with only a glance at each title. Her foot fell unevenly as she stepped forward, and she looked down to see a book kicked halfway under the shelf, the title hidden. She knelt to extract it and drew a quick breath. Memories Kept. A slip of paper marked the place where she’d stopped reading. She knew. She left this book for me to find. And the others. She knew I would come. Does she need help? Where is she? Why did I not notice these books before? Was I that out of it? Did anyone else notice them?
Cillian’s voice came from the front of the store. “Have you found what you wanted?”
Aria swallowed. “Yes. We need to take these with us. There’s a message in them, but I can’t figure it out now. Maybe Gabriel can help. Or Owen. Later.” She winced when she glanced at the pile of books she’d amassed.
She found plastic bags with the store logo behind the counter and doubled them, then stuffed them full of books. Five bulging bags, so heavy she struggled to lift two. Cillian stared at her for a long moment, then picked up one in each hand. Niall shouldered the fifth, skinny body bowed under its weight.
Aria tested the door behind them and was relieved that it locked automatically. She trailed Cillian and Niall, stopping periodically to put the bags down and flex her fingers. The plastic bag handles stretched under the weight and felt like wires digging into her hands.
Though the streets were not empty, no one seemed to notice her, and she was grateful. One man actually bumped into her as he walked by, but he neither apologized nor shot her an angry glance; he seemed completely unaware that she existed. I might as well be a lamppost. Good. Cillian is probably responsible for that too. It’s not like you see such a mismatched group every day, struggling under eighty pounds of books for five blocks.
Cillian led them to an entrance to the old subway system. The stairwell down was blocked by a locked metal door; he put his hand on it for a moment and then pulled it open. Aria winced at the rusty screech. If anyone was looking for them, they’d announced their presence. Cillian locked the door behind them the same way.
He led them through the darkness with unerring confidence. Aria followed more slowly, and she lost track of Cillian and Niall quickly. Neither made a sound as they walked, and, although the books were heavy, she couldn’t hear them breathing. Her own breaths were loud in the thick silence.
Finally, Niall came back and grasped the handle of one of her bags and helped her with it, guiding her as he pulled. Aria had the sense of an open space and she pictured them on a small train platform at first, then a long narrow tunnel. Niall’s guiding hand on the bag was welcome as she imagined herself misstepping and falling onto the tracks. No train would be coming, but the drop would be six or eight feet to a hard, uneven surface.
They walked for a long time. Aria struggled with the weight of the books, but it was her own decision to carry them. Besides, Cillian was carrying the two heaviest bags, and Niall was helping her. Niall didn’t seem to be carrying the fifth anymore.
“Do you still have the other bag?” Aria asked finally.
“I have it,” Cillian answered for Niall.
She heard the weariness in his voice and asked, “Do you need to rest?”
“No. We are close.”
Her arms were burning and her hands were locked in excruciating cramps by the time they emerged
into a larger space again.
Cillian stopped in front of them and spoke quietly. “It is us. Aria, Niall, and me, Cillian.”
A lamp flared and he continued forward. Aria grimaced with pain and hefted the books again.
Eli lowered his pistol, darted forward, and began to take one of the bags from her. “Thanks.” Then she looked toward Cillian. The third bag of books was looped over his right wrist, and he held the handles to the others in each hand. “Help him.”
Cillian set the bags down and straightened slowly, flexing his fingers and considering them for a moment before looking up into the darkness. “Come. We must speak to the others.” He left the books on the floor and led her past the lantern Eli had left toward another lantern some distance away.
The Fae had claimed the far end of the lower level of the two-story train station. Brick ceilings arched high above the second floor. Black train tunnels led in opposite directions; a second floor, reached by unmoving escalators, had tunnels at right angles. The station was apparently long forgotten, the stained concrete floor thick with dust. The air was cool and stale until she reached the circle of light marking the Fae encampment. A kerosene lantern lit their faces, but the darkness loomed in thick shadows at every corner.
Niamh and the others had been sitting in a rough circle already and Aria wondered whether they had been singing, sleeping, or merely sitting in silence as they rested. They must have been singing, if not now, then not long ago. This air is fresh, like after a spring rain.
Cillian motioned her to sit beside him and Aria settled in with her legs crossed between him and Niall. He nodded for her to begin.
Aria recounted the meeting as well as she could, giving her words and Petro’s verbatim. She frowned as she thought, trying to remember every detail and every impression. The Fae stared at her in silence until she finished.
She took a deep breath. “I thought you would help, or something. I didn’t know you were just going to leave me to it.” She tried to glare at Cillian but it faded as she met his eyes.
“We could not.” His voice was flat, and he glanced at Niall as he spoke.
“Could not? What do you mean? You could have asked a question or something. I didn’t know what I was doing!” Aria’s voice rose.
Cillian did not react to her irritation. “We were kept silent. We were not given the choice to speak.”
She blinked at him. What did that mean? But before she could ask for clarification, he began his own account of the meeting.
“I did not realize until now that Petro did not appear as Owen to her for the entire meeting. To me, and I believe to Niall, he was Owen. The illusion was utterly convincing in ways that a human could not sense. The feel of him was Owen, through and through, down to the taste of his blood. It would have fooled most of you, and in a passing meeting, it would have fooled even me, his brother.” Cillian paused, and Niall nodded, eyes flicking up to Aria’s face for a brief moment before lowering to the floor again.
Cillian shuddered again. “If he can be so convincingly Fae, how many times has he interacted with us unrecognized? What has he done, and what has he said, that we did not realize were him? And humans can sense so little, he could have done much without being known.”
Niamh stared back at him with wide eyes.
Aria frowned. She started, then stopped, and started again. “I don’t think so. You said he doesn’t seem to want much interaction. Why would he do that?”
Cillian shook his head slowly. “We don’t know him. We have no way of understanding what he does and does not want. This meeting was proof.”
She waited, watching him as he seemed to gather his thoughts. He flexed his fingers absently, working out the cramps. His wrist still showed the deep lines of the plastic bag handles. I hope the books tell us something.
“The change in his appearance was obviously aimed at Aria. Why? He began as Owen, but either did not or could not maintain that deception. He settled on a human form, but showed her a non-human form as well. Was it a test or provocation for her? Or an expression of his limitations?
“Also, Petro answered her questions. Not all of them, but some of them. Directly. He has never done that for us. Owen has gained information from him, but it has been difficult, in ways it was not for Aria. He became less evasive as the meeting went on. I don’t understand why.”
Niamh’s eyes rested on Aria again. “And you somehow managed to obtain his location from Petro.” Her voice was soft, and her surprise was obvious. “This does not mean it will be possible to save him.”
Cillian nodded. “No. He gave a time and said the gate would be open. That is all.”
Aria spoke the thought that rose up unbidden. “Do you think he was lying?”
The Fae turned to her as one, but only Niamh spoke. “It is difficult for us to lie, particularly to humans. The consequences are immediate and severe. Unmistakable. We believe it may be more difficult for Petro. At least, we have little evidence that he has lied directly. It is possible for him to deceive, we think; he has given incomplete information that resulted in disaster. It may have been deliberate, but we do not know his purposes in doing so.”
Cillian said, “Only to us. We have no such evidence regarding his interactions with humans.”
For the first time, one of the other Fae reacted. They had been watching in utter silence, but now Ardghal spoke quietly. “He would know we would explain this to her. It carries risks.”
Silence.
“It doesn’t matter. We must try.”
“What doesn’t matter?” Aria was confused.
“Though we believe he spoke the truth, it does not mean there is any chance of success. Petro may be setting us up for disaster. He promised an open door and a location. He did not promise there would be no other interference.” Cillian met her eyes, and apparently her confusion was still obvious, because he continued. “It doesn’t matter. Because of Owen’s position, and what we owe him, we must try. If there was no chance to save him, we could walk away, but knowing there is a chance, we must take it.”
Aria swallowed. “Yes. We will.”
Niamh looked at her strangely. “You will be a liability. You should stay here.”
“No!” Aria’s answer was sharper than she intended, and she tried to smile in apology.
Niamh’s eyes were hard and unyielding.
Aria took a deep breath and thought about her words. “I care for him too. I know I’m slow and weak in comparison to you, but I want to help. If I die, then at least I’ll know I did something worthwhile with my life.”
Everyone stared at her in silence. Cillian’s glare was perhaps the angriest, and she tried to think of something that would soften her demand.
“Petro gave me the information. Don’t you think he might have wanted me to go?”
Cillian blinked as he considered the thought. Niamh answered, “I imagine he did. But neither altruism nor love convinced him. His interest does not imply compassion.”
Ardghal’s quiet voice cut through the silence. “And yet, Niamh, she chooses to go. Can we prevent her?”
Aria stared at Ardghal. He was one of the older ones, gaunt and strong and silent. The question was odd.
“What do you mean, can you prevent me? I imagine even now any one of you could physically prevent me. You’re all much stronger than I am. But that’s not the question, is it?”
Niamh nodded for Ardghal to answer. She seemed lost in thought, her gaze distant.
“We have choices, but we cannot interfere with you. Not the way you can with us, I imagine. If you choose to go on the mission, we can tell you the risks, and attempt to change your mind, but we cannot prevent you from going. Not physically. I doubt it would be possible to lie to you directly, and it would be difficult to deliberately deceive you. That is a right that we do not often have, and rarely use.” Ardghal glanced at Cillian, who nodded agreement.
Aria felt her understanding slipping, then caught at a thread. The Fae had somethin
g in common with Petro then. She pondered the thought, not quite sure she understood, and tucked it away for later. Something to discuss with Owen.
“Right then. You have not changed my mind. I choose to go. I appreciate your desire to protect me.” She smiled, trying to seem properly grateful. “But I believe I ought to go.”
Cillian and Niamh locked eyes across the circle, and Cillian nodded minutely.
Niamh turned her gaze on Aria. “We have more to discuss among ourselves. You should rest. Eat. We will leave at 8:00.”
The dismissal was clear.
Aria trudged toward the other end of the platform, making her way toward the lanterns scattered about. She was unsure what to do. The books were intriguing, and she was sure there was some message Dandra meant for her. There was also all the material Owen had obtained from the H Street facility. Her eyes burned with exhaustion, and she knew she should rest. Instead, she looked for a face she recognized.
She saw Bartok first, and meandered over to where he was lying on a bedroll, legs stretched out and arms crossed behind his head. A notebook lay open next to him, pages filled with cramped writing.
He blinked up at her. “You’re back. Was it as bad as you expected?”
She dropped to sit beside him and leaned forward to put her face in her hands, hair falling forward. Her voice was muffled as she answered. “Nothing bad happened. I think. But it was confusing.” She sighed heavily. “Everything is confusing.”
Bartok sat up and patted her shoulder once. She could feel his awkward sympathy. They didn’t know each other well enough for it not to be awkward, but she obviously needed some comfort.
She sighed again. “Is Gabriel looking at the hard drives yet?”
“I don’t think so. He’s touchy. You might want to leave him alone right now.” Bartok frowned more deeply at her.
“It’s not my fault. Is it?” She tried to keep her eyes on his, but felt her gaze slipping back to the floor. Isn’t it? You meant to help, and yet you made it worse. Possibly. Maybe. How can you know? Delusions of heroism. Trying to earn love, as if Owen needed your help, out of everyone here.