by L. J. Smith
Gillian wasn’t worried. She felt steeped in mystery and a sort of forbidden excitement. The whole world seemed magical and unfamiliar.
Even the snow looked different, blue and almost phosphorescent. As Gillian drove through rolling farmlands, a glow appeared above the eastern hills, and then the full moon rose, huge and throbbing with light.
Deeper and deeper, she thought. She seemed to have left everything ordinary behind and to be sliding more and more quickly into an enchanted place where anything—anything at all—could happen.
She wouldn’t have been surprised if Angel had directed her to pull off into some snowy clearing and look for a fairy ring. But when he said, “Turn here,” it was at a main road that led to the straggling outskirts of a town.
“Where are we?”
“Sterback. Little hole-in-the-wall place—except for where we’re going. Stop here.”
“Here” was a nondescript building, which looked as if it had originally been Victorian. It wasn’t in very good repair.
Gillian got out and looked at the moon shining on the windows. The building might have been a lodge. It was set apart from the rest of the dark and silent town. A wind had started up and she shivered.
(Uh, it doesn’t look like anybody’s in there.)
(Go to the door.) Angel’s voice in her mind was comforting, as always.
There was no sign at the door, nothing to indicate that this was a public building. But the stained glass window above the door was faintly illuminated from the inside. The pattern seemed to be a flower. A black iris.
(The Black Iris is the name of this place. It’s a club—)
Angel was interrupted by a sudden explosion. That was Gillian’s impression. For the first instant she had no idea what it was—just a dark shape flying at her and a violent noise—and she almost fell off the porch. Then she realized that the noise was barking. A chained dog was yammering and foaming, trying to get at her.
(I’ll take care of it.) Angel sounded grim, and an instant later Gillian felt something like a wave in the air. The dog dropped flat as if it had been shot. It rolled its eyes.
The porch was dead silent again. Everything was silent. Gillian stood and breathed, feeling adrenaline run through her. But before she could say anything, the door opened behind her.
A face looked out of the dimness inside the house. Gillian couldn’t make out the features, but she could see the gleam of eyes.
“Who’re you?” The voice was slow and flat, not friendly. “What do you want?”
Gillian followed Angel’s whispered words. “I’m Gillian of the Harman clan, and I want in. It’s cold out here.”
“A Harman?”
“I’m a Hearth-Woman, a daughter of Hellewise, and if you don’t let me in, you stupid werewolf, I’m going to do to you what I did to your cousin there.” She stuck out a gloved finger toward the cringing dog. (Werewolf? Angel, there are real werewolves?)
(I told you. All the legendary creatures.)
Gillian felt an odd sinking. She had no idea why, and she continued to do just as Angel said. But somehow her stomach was knotting tighter and tighter.
The door opened slowly. Gillian stepped into a dim hall and the door slammed shut again with a curiously final sound.
“Didn’t recognize you,” the figure beside her said. “Thought you might be vermin.”
“I forgive you,” Gillian said, and pulled off her gloves at Angel’s direction. “Downstairs?”
He nodded and she followed him to a door that led to a stairway. As soon as the door opened, Gillian heard music.
She descended, feeling extremely… subterranean. The basement was deeper than most basements. And bigger. It was like a whole new world down there.
It wasn’t much brighter than upstairs, and there were no windows. It seemed like an old place; there was a shuffleboard pattern on the cold tile floor and a faint smell of mildew and moisture. But it was alive with people. There were figures sitting on chairs clumped around the borders of the room and more gathered around a pool table at one end. There were figures in front of a couple of ancient-looking pinball machines and figures clustered at what looked like a home bar.
Gillian headed for the bar. She could feel eyes on her every step of the way.
She felt too small and too young as she perched precariously on one of the bar stools. She rested her elbows on the counter and tried to slow her heart down.
The figure behind the bar turned toward her. It was a guy, maybe in his twenties. He stepped forward and Gillian saw his face.
Shock rippled through her. There was something… wrong with him. Not that he was hideously ugly or that he would have caused a commotion if he got on a bus. Maybe it was something Gillian sensed through her new powers and not through her eyes at all. But the impression she got was that his face looked wrong. Tainted by cold dark thoughts that made Tanya’s scheming mind look like a sunlit garden.
Gillian couldn’t help her recoil. And the bar guy saw it.
“You’re new,” he said. The dark and cold seemed to grow in him and she realized he was enjoying her fear. “Where are you from?”
Angel was shouting instructions at her. “I’m a Harman,” Gillian said as steadily as she could. “And—you’re right. I’m new.”
(Good, kid. Don’t let him bully you! Now you’re going to explain to them just exactly who you are—)
(In a minute, Angel. Just let me get—settled.) The truth was that Gillian was completely unsettled. The sense of dread that had been growing ever since she walked in was reaching an unbearable pitch. This place was… she groped for adjectives. Unwholesome. Corrupt. Scary.
And then she realized something else. Up until now she hadn’t been able to make out the faces of the other figures properly. Only eyes and the occasional flash of teeth.
But now—they were moving in around her. It reminded her of sharks, swimming almost aimlessly but ending up in a purposeful gathering. There were people directly behind her—she could feel that with the back of her neck—and there were people on either side of her. When she looked, she could see their faces.
Cold—dark—wrong. Not just wrong, but almost diabolic. These were people who might do anything and enjoy it. Their eyes glittered at her. More than glittered. Some of the eyes were shining… like an animal’s at night… and now they were smiling and she could see teeth. Long delicate canine teeth that came to a point. Fangs…
All the legendary creatures…
Sheer panic surged through her. And at the same instant, she felt strong hands on her elbows.
“Why don’t you come outside with me?” a voice behind her said.
Then things were confused. Angel was yelling again, but Gillian couldn’t really hear him over the pounding of her own heart. The hands were exerting pressure, forcing her away from the bar. And the figures with their diabolical faces were settling back, most of them wearing conspiratorial grins.
“Have fun,” somebody called.
Gillian was being hurried up the stairs, whisked through the dim building. A blast of cold air hit her as the door opened and she suddenly felt clearer. She tried to break out of the iron grip that was holding her. It didn’t do any good.
She was out in the snow, leaving the house behind. The street was completely deserted.
“Is that your car?”
The hands on her arms eased their pressure. Gillian gave one desperate wrench and turned around.
Moonlight was shining on the snow around her, giving it the texture of white satin. Every shadow was like an indigo stain on the sparkling coverlet.
The person who’d been holding her was a boy a few years older than Gillian. He was lanky and elegant, with ash-blond hair and slightly tilted eyes. Something about the way he held himself made her think of lazy predatory animals.
But his face wasn’t wrong, the way the other faces had been. It was set and grim, maybe even a little scary, but it wasn’t evil.
“Now, look,” he said, a
nd his voice wasn’t evil, either, just rapid and short. “I don’t know who you are, or how you managed to get in there, but you’d better turn around and go home right now. Because whatever you are, you’re not a Harman.”
“How do you know?” Gillian blurted before Angel could tell her what to say.
“Because I’m related to the Harmans. I’m Ash Redfern. You don’t even know what that means, do you? If you were a Harman you’d know that our families are kin.”
(You are a Harman, and you are a witch!) Angel was actually raging. (Tell him! Tell him!)
But the ash-blond boy was going on. “They’ll eat you alive in there if they find out for sure. They’re not as—tolerant—of humans as I am. So my advice is, get in your car, drive away, and never come back. And never mention this place to anybody else.”
(You’re a lost witch! You’re not a human. Tell him!)
“How come you’re so tolerant?” Gillian was staring at the boy. His eyes… she’d thought they were amber-colored originally, like Steffi’s, but now they were emerald green.
He gave her an odd look. Then he smiled. It was a lazy smile, but with something heart-wrenching behind it.
“I met a human girl last summer,” he said quietly, and that seemed to explain everything.
Then he nodded at her car. “Get out of here. Never come back. I’m just passing through; I won’t be around to save you again.”
(Don’t get in the car. Don’t go. Tell him. You’re a witch; you belong to Circle Midnight. Don’t go!)
For the first time, Gillian deliberately disobeyed an order of Angel’s. She unlocked the car with shaky hands. As she got in, she looked back at the boy. Ash.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Bye.” He wiggled his fingers. He watched as she drove away.
(Go back there right now! You belong there, just as much as any of them. You’re one of them. They can’t keep you out. Turn around and go back!)
“Angel, stop it!” She said it out loud. “I can’t! Don’t you see that? I can’t. They were horrible. They were—evil.”
Now that she was alone, reaction was setting in. Her whole body began to shake. She was suddenly blind with tears, her breath catching in her throat.
“Not evil!” Angel shimmered into the seat beside her. He had never sounded so agitated. “Just powerful—”
“They were evil. They wanted to hurt me. I saw their eyes!” She was lapsing into hysteria. “Why did you take me there? You wouldn’t even let me talk to Melusine. Melusine wasn’t like them.”
A violent shiver overtook her. The car veered and she struggled with it, barely getting control. All at once everything seemed alien and terrifying; she was out on a long and lonely road, and it was night, and there was an uncanny being in the seat beside her.
She didn’t know who he was anymore. All she knew was that he wasn’t any kind of an angel. The logical alternative sprang immediately to her mind. She was alone in the middle of nowhere with a demon….
“Gillian, stop it!”
“Who are you? What are you, really? Who are you?”
“What do you mean? You know who I am.”
“No, I don’t!” She was screaming it. “I don’t know anything about you! Why did you take me there? Why did you want them to hurt me? Why?”
“Gillian, stop the car. Stop. The. Car.”
His voice was so commanding, so urgent and imperative, that she actually obeyed. She was sobbing anyway. She couldn’t drive or see. She felt, literally and honestly, that she was losing her mind at that exact moment.
“Now look at me. Wipe your face off and look at me.”
After a moment she managed. He was shining. Light seemed to radiate from every inch of him, from the gold filaments of his hair, to his classic features, to the lines of his perfect body. And he’d calmed down. His expression was rapt and uplifted, the serenity only marred by what looked like concern for her.
“Now,” he said. “I’m sorry if all this scared you. New things are like that sometimes—they seem repulsive just because they’re different. But we won’t talk about that now,” he added, as Gillian caught a shuddering breath. “The important thing is that I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” His eyes seemed to grow even more intense, pure violet flame.
Gillian hiccupped. “But—you—”
“I could never hurt you, Gillian. Because, you see, we’re soulmates.”
He said it with the weight of a monumental revelation. And although Gillian had no idea what it meant, she felt an odd quiver inside, almost of recognition.
“What’s that?”
“It’s something that happens with people who belong to the Night World. It means that there’s only one love for everyone who exists. And when you meet that love, you know them. You know you were meant to be together, and nothing can keep you apart.”
It was true. Every word seemed to resonate inside Gillian, touching off ancient, hidden memories. This was something her ancestors had known.
Her cheeks had dried. Her hysteria was gone. But she felt very tired and very bewildered.
“But… if that’s true…” She couldn’t put the thought together.
“Don’t worry about it right now.” Angel’s voice was soothing. “We’ll talk about it later. I’ll explain what it all means. I just wanted you to know that I would never hurt you. I love you, Gillian. Don’t you realize that?”
“Yes,” Gillian whispered. Everything was very foggy. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to consider the implications of what Angel was saying.
She just wanted to get home.
“Relax and I’ll help you drive,” Angel said. “Don’t worry about anything. It’s all going to be all right.”
CHAPTER 13
The next day, Gillian tried to concentrate on normal things.
She hurried to school, feeling unrested—had she had nightmares?—and desperately in need of distraction. All day at school, she threw herself into activities, chattering and laughing and keeping people around her, talking about Christmas and parties and finals.
It worked. Angel was very gentle, keeping quietly in the background. All the other students were hyperactive with the thought of only two more days of school. And by the afternoon Gillian had become caught up in her own frantic good spirits.
“We don’t even have a tree,” she said to David. “And it’s five days to Christmas Eve. I have to drag my mom out and buy one.”
“Don’t buy one,” David said, smiling at her with his dark eyes. “I’ll take you out tonight to a place I know. It’s beautiful, and the trees are free.” He winked.
“I’ll bring the station wagon,” Gillian said. “Lots of room. I like big trees.”
At home, she stayed busy, prodding her mother to wrap packages and dust off the plastic Christmas flower arrangements. There was no talk with Angel about how to tell her mother about witches.
She was still happy when she picked David up after dinner. He seemed a little subdued, but she wasn’t in the mood to ask questions. Instead, she talked about the party Steffi Lockhart was giving on Friday night.
It was a long drive, and she was running out of speculations about Steffi’s party when David finally said, “Somewhere along here, I think.”
“Okay. I’ll take one of those.” Gillian pointed at the sixtyfoot-tall pine trees that lined the road.
David smiled. “There are some smaller ones farther in.”
There were so many that Gillian had a hard time choosing. At last, she settled on a balsam fir with a perfect silhouette, like a plump lady holding out her skirts. It was wonderfully aromatic as she and David chopped it down and half dragged, half carried it to the car.
“I just love that smell,” she said. “And I don’t even care that my gloves are ruined.”
David didn’t answer. He was quiet as he tied the back of the station wagon closed around the tree. He was quiet as they got in the car and Gillian began to drive.
And Gillian couldn’t
stand it anymore. Little waves of acid were lapping in her stomach. “What’s wrong? You haven’t been talking all night.”
“I’m sorry.” He let out his breath, looking out the window. “I guess… I was just thinking about Tanya.”
Gillian blinked. “Tanya? Should I be jealous?”
He glanced at her. “No, I mean—her arm.”
A strange sort of prickling cascaded over Gillian, and in that moment everything changed forever. She seemed to ask the next question in a huge, quivering stillness. “What about her arm?”
“You didn’t hear? I thought somebody would’ve called you. They took her to the hospital this afternoon.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Yeah, but it’s worse. That thing they thought was a rash was necrotizing something-or-other… you know, that flesh-eating bacteria.”
Gillian opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The road in front of her seemed very dim.
“Cory said she can’t have any visitors—her arm swelled up to three times its normal size. They had to cut it open all the way from her shoulder to her finger to drain it. They think she might lose her finger—”
“Stop it!” A suppressed scream.
David looked at her quickly. “I’m sorry—”
“No! Just don’t talk!” Gillian’s automatic reflexes had taken over driving the car. She was hardly aware of anything outside her own body. All her concentration was fixed on the drama inside her own mind.
(Angel! Did you hear that? What is going on?)
(Of course I heard it.) The voice was slow and thoughtful.
(Well, is it true? Is it?)
(Look, let’s talk about this later, all right, kid? Let’s wait—)
(No! Everything with you is “Wait” or “We’ll talk about it later.” I want to know right now: is it true?)
(Is what true?)
(Is Tanya that sick? Is she about to lose her finger?)
(It’s just an infection, Gillian. Streptococcus pyogenes. You were the one who put it there.)
(You’re saying it is true. It’s true. I did it with my spell. I gave her flesh-eating bacteria.) Gillian threw the thoughts out wildly, disjointedly. She couldn’t really grasp what it all meant yet.