Dark Light of Day

by Jill Archer

  I could not have said why I did it. It was a reaction, an instinct. I just wanted to burn away that brief burst of indescribable pain. I wanted to be comforted by something I could touch, something I could look at without wanting to weep. My magic swirled around me, a whirling vortex of energy that began in my core and then radiated outward, spinning furiously until I finally flung it into the hearth, setting the unlit wood on fire. The roaring flames danced and moved. They were real. They were warm. And they were oddly purifying.

  I heard a low whistle. I turned from my fiery creation to see Fitz and Babette slowly approaching. Ivy was some distance away, mouth agape. Great, I thought, now I’ve gone and done it.

  Fitz came within a few feet of me and gave me a courtly bow. Babette made a similar move, but while Fitz was clearly enjoying himself, Babette looked terrified.

  “What are you doing, Fitz?”

  “You look like the demoness herself, a deity to be worshipped.”

  “Hardly,” I said, laughing self-consciously.

  “Beltane is near, is it not? This is the time of year when the veil between past and present is lifted. Who’s to say you are not—just for tonight—our patron personified?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” I protested and then added, “But thank you,” as humbly as I could after a compliment like that.

  “Hello, Babette,” I said, turning to Fitz’s date, hoping for a more normal conversation. “You look terrific.” And she did. She wore a simple gray tunic dress with white embroidery that Mrs. Aster would have loved. But her understated appearance set my teeth chattering again. Would Ivy and I be the lone standouts among a sea of serviceable gray, black, and white?

  Night and Peter arrived next. I could tell from Peter’s face that he had seen me light the fire, and was not best pleased about it. His gaze raked over me, zeroing in on exactly those parts I was most anxious about, my demon mark and the flower in my hair. I introduced him to Ivy. He shook her hand unenthusiastically. Night’s eyes, however, widened in delight when he saw Ivy.

  “Ivana,” he said, taking both of her hands in his and gently squeezing them. Ivy’s face paint hid any telltale blush. She smiled, her grin wide and white against the green paint. Night himself had cleaned up well. He had borrowed a fawn-colored silk frock coat and matching pants from Peter. Underneath he wore a plain white tunic. He’d opted to leave the bronze buttons undone and had left his hair unbound.

  Further introductions and amicable greetings were made. A few minutes later, Night offered Ivy his elbow and she took it. Fitz and Babette started making their way toward the door. Peter stayed back with me, leaning in close and whispering in my ear.

  “You are an inspiration, Noon,” he said smiling. He was dressed in pure white; everything he wore—pants, shirt, even his brocade vest—all were as colorless as the lilies in the portrait above the mantel. “I have a surprise for you later,” he said, offering me his elbow.

  I didn’t accept it. But I could tell when Ari walked in, he didn’t like what he saw. His signature smarted like a sunburn. I wanted to assure Ari that I wasn’t breaking my promise to go with him to the ball. That, nervous though I was, I’d been waiting for him.

  In the time it took my heart to contract, Ari was through the doors of Megiddo and beside me. He brushed Peter’s arm away and placed his hands on my shoulders. His hands felt hot and fiery and my skin seemed to glow beneath them like windblown embers. His gaze swept over me, taking in every detail. His hands slid slowly down my sides until they were resting on my hips. I was now oblivious to everyone else in the room. I could not have said where they stood, or what they thought, whether they watched or had left. Buried under the onslaught of Ari’s passion and possession, I was only aware of him. He bent his head to my neck and kissed me there, briefly and chastely. He raised his head and smiled.

  “A flower, Noon?” he said playfully. “I wouldn’t have thought of it. But it suits you. You look stunning.” He managed to pack a considerable amount of meaning into that one little word. It was clear that, though he’d asked for a real date, it would take little convincing on my part for him to agree to skip the ball and move immediately to after. I swayed and Ari kept tight hold of me as he turned to face the now gawking crowd of my friends.

  Peter was openly scowling and Night didn’t look very happy either. That was my fault, I realized, because I’d never even told Night about Ari. I’d never been sure how to explain him. What place in my life was Ari supposed to occupy? But his role for tonight, at least was clear.

  “Ari, this is my brother, Nightshade,” I said motioning to Night, who stepped forward. “Night, this is Ari Carmine, my date for tonight.”

  If Ari was unhappy about my stated limitation on the duration of our involvement, he didn’t show it. Night, however, frowned and glanced at Peter, whose jaw was clenched with naked animosity.

  “Carmine?” Night said dubiously. Mederies couldn’t sense Maegesters magically, but Night’s other five senses worked perfectly well, along with his common sense.

  Ari shrugged, but smiled to soften it. “Carmine’s no more an accurate surname for me than Nocturo is an appropriate praenomen for you.”

  I stiffened and tried to pull away. Regardless of my feelings for Ari, I wasn’t going to let him pick a fight with my brother. I was regretting how I’d handled this introduction, that I hadn’t told Night about Ari earlier. But Ari held me close, his grip tight.

  “Carmine is a name that was generously given to me by my adoptive parents—Hyrke parents from Bradbury,” Ari explained, his tone light. “Noon and I are classmates.”

  “You mean you’re both training to be Maegesters,” said Night. But, like Ari, his tone was casual. Night was just calling it like it was. “You’re the one who went with Noon to meet Heather at the train station last night.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Peter’s eyes widen and then narrow. But Ari nodded, looking almost pleased. Night looked at me, carefully studying my face. Finally, he nodded and stuck his hand out to Ari, who accepted it, shaking it steadily. Night was a Mederi, who Ari could easily burn into small dry bits of bone and tissue. But Night wasn’t cowed and I knew Ari respected that.

  Ari grinned and called out to Fitz, “You’d better watch out, Dorio’s going to want to trade suits with you.” Fitz was wearing an outlandishly long purple brocade jacket with green silk pants, a canary yellow vest with brass buttons, and a gold pocket watch. Only at Beltane, I thought, rolling my eyes. All of the St. Luck’s students laughed, even Babette. Ari complimented Ivy’s body art and her warm response was a further clue to Night that Ari was no stranger to the friends I’d made since I’d left home. He seemed a bit crestfallen to be so ignorant of my current life and times and I vowed to try to make it up to him. I didn’t know what to do about Peter. I smiled tenuously at him, but he just scowled and looked away. I started to go to him, but Ari’s hand tightened around my waist and he pulled me closer as we exited Megiddo.

  “Do you know what Flora’s true form was, Noon?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Fire,” he said. “Her true form was breathtaking.”

  Breathtaking, indeed. As in life taking. But I didn’t say it. I really did want to try to have a good time tonight.

  Chapter 20

  When we arrived at Empyr there was a long line to get in. At first I worried there might be some sort of ticket requirement, but then I saw the Angels had posted two Seraphim by the door to greet their guests. The Seraphim appeared in high spirits, making ribald jokes, mocking some people’s costumes and enthusiastically praising others. I was relieved to see that the crowd was almost equally divided between polished and professional (black robes, gray gowns) and dramatic and decadent (bright iridescent fabrics, shimmering face paints, masks, ribbons, trains…).

  Peter refused to even look at me while I was at Ari’s side and Ari made it clear he wouldn’t be letting go of me anytime soon. Not that I minded. For the ball, Ari had donned a t
wo button, black frock coat with matching pants. He wore a deep mahogany vest of the same material and a coordinating striped silk ascot. His chin and cheeks were now free of stubble but, like Night, he’d left his hair unbound. It fell in unruly waves, almost reaching his starched white collar. His appearance was a drool inducing combination of debonair and devil-may-care. I could hardly believe he was my date for the night.

  Fellow students’ reactions to me were mixed. A few complimented me on my dress or on my choice to use Flora as my muse (I hadn’t, but in deference to the demon, I didn’t correct them). Some women even showed signs of envy, until they remembered who or what I was. I gathered none would have wanted the beauty if it meant having to live with the mark. Others, like Babette, just seemed awed to be in my presence. They were almost as hard to take as the ones who reacted to me as if I were an insect skittering across the floor. Apparently seeing really is believing. My mark seemed to grow darker with my mood. I knew I was being oversensitive (and likely seeing devils where they did not exist), but I couldn’t help it. By the time it was our turn to enter Empyr even Ari’s rock-solid presence by my side couldn’t steady my skittish nerves.

  The two Seraphim at the door were passing something out as guests entered. I froze when I saw what they were.

  Flowers. Morningstar lilies, of course. Flora’s favorite. Legend had it they hadn’t even existed prior to the Apocalypse. According to the story, they’d first grown from the ground where Lilith had shed her tears over Lucifer’s death. Since every lily was supposed to represent a tear, and Lilith’s tears had been endless, lilies now dot every field and valley of Halja. Their blooming time: early spring, or Beltane. There were some who believed Flora had been a religious zealot, or at least a good patriot, and that her motivation for scooping up the lilies she eventually killed was purely altruistic, instead of vain and destructive. Those who told that version of the story believed Flora had meant only to collect her lady’s tears, and in so doing somehow reverse what had happened to her lord. But when the lilies died, Flora knew the land wasn’t yet ready for his rebirth so she lit the bonfires, not in outrage, but instead as an act of holy purification.

  I didn’t know which version to believe so I took my lesson from the common element in both, the one which was most likely to mirror reality. My touch would kill a flower as surely as Flora’s had. And despite how brave I’d been to bare my demon mark, there was no way I was going to willingly kill something, even if it was only a clipped piece of greenery that only had days more to live.

  Luck, let me pass by unnoticed.

  It was possible. The hallway was a crush of people, the interior of Empyr was a cacophony of sound, and the last few minutes had felt like a pell-mell rush to get into the biggest event in New Babylon. I figured I had it made when Ari waved off the Seraph to our left but a second before I entered the Seraph to the right spied the flower in my hair and thrust one of the lilies in my direction. I stopped, almost unwillingly, mesmerized by its perfection. Like the apple wines, were they enhanced with a spell? The lily was flawless: its top large, smooth, and white as milk, its leaves and stem thick, stiff, and dark green with robust health. It smelled amazing and I nearly reached out to take it so that I could bury my nose in its top and breathe deep the smell of life. But sanity prevailed and instead I turned toward the Seraph so he couldn’t miss the demon mark on my chest. I inclined my head ever so slightly.

  “I’d best not,” I said, my voice hoarse with emotion. The Seraph stared at me, knowing he’d made the gravest of social faux pas, something any Angel was loathe to do—even a Seraphim, the equivalent of their court jesters. Myriad emotions splashed across the Seraph’s face—disbelief, revulsion, interest, and then… inspiration.

  “Tonight, you are Flora, our patron,” he said. “Accept this. Let your touch start the celebration.”

  Once again he pushed the flower toward me. I stepped back to avoid contact and stepped on someone’s toes, which made me feel angry and self-conscious. It seemed wrong to force someone with waning magic to blacken something she didn’t want to. I felt my magic thicken inside me and had to consciously work to control it. This would be no time to accidentally set something on fire. I’d worked hard this year. I wasn’t going to embarrass myself in front of my classmates or, Luck forbid, the faculty. I shooed the Seraph away with an impatient motion.

  “Flora’s first touch may have been a flower,” I said, “but her next step was to burn everything in sight. Is that what you want, Angel? I was under the impression Empyr was at its limit with candlewicks. Do you really want me to burn Empyr down to the ground?”

  Everyone in the hallway went completely silent. The Seraph stood before me, his eyes wide, his mouth opening and closing like a hooked trout. I swept past him without a further glance and headed straight for the bar. I needed a drink.

  Ari was right by my side, grinning foolishly.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “I enjoy seeing you embrace your dark side, Noon.”

  “Well, I don’t,” I said, my resolve to enjoy myself tonight faltering. Ari grabbed my hand and pulled me back toward him. Since I’d been walking at a near frenetic pace my reversed momentum propelled me straight into him before I could stop myself. He was as immovable as a mountain, his chest beneath his coat as solid as Corpus Justica’s cornerstone. I tilted my head up, slightly dazed by the impact. Ari put his hands on my shoulders and gently rubbed my arms. His gaze held mine and suddenly it was just us again. By all rights I should have felt breathless and unstable. Wobbly and rickety. That’s usually the sensation I felt when Ari held me close and looked at me that way. But instead I felt calm again. Since the day we first met, Ari’s actions had made it clear that he wanted me to stand on my own two feet, but he wouldn’t let me fall.

  My temper subsided and I glanced around the room, curious as to how the straightlaced Angels would celebrate the debauched holiday of Beltane. To my surprise and pleasure, Empyr had been transformed into a high-class carnival. Awash in white, silver, gold, and glass, everything gleamed. There was fire, but it was limited to hundreds of tiny candles. High in the ceiling, and likely protected further by powerful spellcasting, were bowers of fresh flowers and leaf garlands. Their smell was intoxicating. Ari wrinkled his nose in distaste.

  “You don’t like them,” I said, smiling.

  “I like that you like them,” he said, kissing the tip of my nose and releasing me.

  Our voices were almost lost in the din of hundreds of people talking, laughing, and clinking glasses in toast or greeting. Far off, set against the sparkling outline of Etincelle in the darkened southern windows, a band played. The music was a curious combination of heavy beats and light ethereal notes, an eclectic mix of beautifully harmonized sounds coming from an unusual array of instruments: cellos, harps, and violins, dozens of woodwinds, and a small battery of drums. The singer was another Seraph, a slender woman who was dressed in what appeared to be only undergarments. But, if so, they were the most expensive underclothes I’d ever seen. The Seraph’s bejeweled skimpy top and tight satin knickers flashed brilliantly against skin covered in white reflective body paint as she danced under colored lights magically timed with the music she sang to. Her voice was throaty and deep, completely at odds with the body it came from, but enthralling. Since she was an Angel, I was sure she’d cast a fair amount of magic into her song. But no one here looked ensorcelled. She didn’t look powerful enough to pull that off.

  I eyed the spinning couples on the dance floor with envy. I had a vague notion of how to dance. As a sophomore at Gaillard I’d taken a class to fulfill a history requirement. Dance steps hadn’t changed in centuries. But I hadn’t had much practice. The class had lasted only one semester.

  Ari and I made it to the bar with Fitz and Babette still in tow. Night had led Ivy to the dance floor and Peter had disappeared soon after my scene at the door. I sighed and grabbed a drink menu, interested to see what the night’s offerings would be.

&
nbsp; EMPYR

  ~Wine List~

  NONPAREIL: Pale orange with streaks of brown. Light & crisp. Provides a temporary body glamour.

  GOLDEN RUSSET: Yellow with a bronze top layer. Served flaming. Sweet & sugary. Experiment with fire breathing, hold a fireball in your hand, play with fire nail tips or flaming hair. (Illusory only.)

  SUMMER QUEEN: Pink blush. Sharp & tart. Explore the sensual connections between music, magic & the mind. Increases rhythm & coordination.

  NORTHERN SPICE (AKA THE “RED SPY”): Dark purplish-red. Rich raspberry & blackberry notes. Served as a deuce. Provides deep empathetic connection with partner.

  BLACK GILLIFLOWER (AKA “VERACITY”): Reddish black. Dry powdery consistency. Pepper-like smell and taste. Compels honesty. Removes surface glamours.

  My eyebrows arched as I read through the menu. The Angels had spared no spell or expense. I looked around the crowded room, considering my choices. By far, the most popular drink seemed to be the Nonpareil. Nearly every woman had bought one, and a few of the men too. But the Golden Russet’s effects could certainly be seen. Throughout the crowd I spied a number of Hyrkes convincingly using fire as an accessory. I knew they were likely living it up, taking advantage of this one night of “free magic,” but I couldn’t imagine why anyone would willingly set themselves on fire, illusory or no. Veracity was a dud. What a buzzkill. Perhaps it might be useful at the end of the night though, when it was time to go home. Without a Black Gilliflower chaser, the Golden Russet’s effects might prevent some Hyrkes from catching cabs or checking into hotel rooms for the night. This might be Halja, but cabbies and hotel clerks had their limits.