by L. J. Smith
“I love you, Jez. You’re the best cousin anybody could ever have.”
And Hugh. He was crying, too. “Jez, I’m so proud to be your friend….”
And then, through the mist and the gold and the warmth and peace, came a voice that wasn’t gentle at all. That was roaring in sheer outrage and fury.
“DON’T YOU DARE DIE ON ME, JEZEBEL! DON’T YOU DARE! Or I’ll follow you to the next world and KILL you.”
Suddenly, in the pretty gold mist, she could see something else. The only thing in the universe that wasn’t golden.
It was a silver cord.
“You come back and you do it right now,” Morgead bellowed in her ears and in her mind. “Right now! Do you hear me?”
The peace was shattered. Nothing seemed quite so warm and wonderful anymore, and she knew that once Morgead got into one of his Excited States, he wouldn’t stop yelling until he got what he wanted.
And there was the cord right in front of her. It was strong, and she could feel that the other end was somewhere in Morgead’s heart, and that he was trying to drag her back to him.
All right. Maybe if I just grab on….
Somehow, she was holding on to it, and bit by bit, pulling herself back. And then the golden light was fading and she was inside a body that hurt and Morgead was holding her and kissing her and crying all at the same time.
Claire’s voice came from beyond him. “She’s breathing again! She’s breathing!”
“I love you, you stupid human,” Morgead gasped against Jez’s cheek. “I can’t live without you. Don’t you know that?”
Jez whispered, “I told you never to call me Jezebel.”
Then she fainted.
“Time for a nice bath,” the nurse said. “And then we can have a visitor.”
Jez eyed her narrowly. The woman was kind, but she had some mania for sponge baths, and she was always putting strange-smelling ingredients in the water. Which was actually not that surprising since she was a witch.
“Skip the bath,” Jez said. “Let the visitor in.”
“Now, now,” the witch said, shaking a finger and advancing with the sponge.
Jez sighed. Being a Wild Power in a Circle Daybreak sanctuary meant that she could have pretty much anything she wanted—except that everyone was still treating her like a little kid. Especially the nurses, who spoiled her and flattered her, but talked to her as if she were about three.
Still, she was glad to let the Circle take care of some things. Keeping her relatives safe, for instance. Although she was almost fully recovered, thanks to a strong constitution and a lot of healing spells from the witches, she wasn’t up to that yet. Uncle Bracken and the entire Goddard family needed constant protection, since Hunter Redfern and the Night World Council were all undoubtedly after them by now.
The Circle had imported some experts from back East to take care of it. A rival vampire hunter, of all things, named Rashel something. Plus her soulmate, a vampire-turned-Daybreaker called Quinn.
At least they were competent. They’d gotten Jez’s uncle Bracken, as well as the remnants of the gang out of San Francisco, a city that was going to be bad for their health for a while. Morgead was trying to get the gang to join Circle Daybreak for their own good, and he said that Raven, at least, was showing some interest. Val and Thistle were being stubborn, but that was hardly surprising. What was important was that they were alive.
Pierce, on the other hand, was simply gone. No one had seen a trace of him or Lily or any of her people since Jez blasted them. Apparently they had truly been vaporized, and Jez couldn’t bring herself to feel too badly.
“All done!” the nurse said brightly, straightening Jez’s pajama top. Which was just as well because at that moment a black head came poking in the door.
“What is going on in here? You getting ready to go to the opera or something?”
Jez raised her eyebrows at Morgead. “Maybe. Are you telling me I can’t?”
He snorted and came in as the nurse went out. “I wouldn’t dare tell you that. You’re the princess, right? You can have anything.”
“Right,” Jez said, with huge satisfaction. “So how’re Hugh and Claire?”
“Claire’s fine; she fits right in with the witches here. I think she’s trying to get them to put up a Web page. And Hugh’s just his same stupid self. He’s off saving chipmunks from toxic waste or something.”
“And how about the kid?”
“The kid,” Morgead said, “is living it up. The Daybreakers are crazy about her; something about one of the oldest Old Souls ever found—I dunno. Anyway, they’re trying to talk her mom into letting her live here. She says thanks for saving her life and she’s drawing you a picture.”
Jez nodded, pleased. It would be nice if Iona came to live at the sanctuary; it meant Jez could see her a lot. Not that Jez planned to live here all the time herself—she and Morgead needed their freedom. They couldn’t be penned in; they had to be able to come and go. She just hadn’t gotten around to telling the Daybreakers that yet.
With the people she loved taken care of, she could turn her attention to other matters. “Is that chocolate?”
“It’s the only reason you like to see me, isn’t it?” Morgead said, allowing her to take the box. He sat beside her, looking tragic.
“Nah,” Jez said with her mouth full. She swallowed. “Everybody brings ’em.” Then she grinned. “I like to see you for a different reason.”
He grinned wickedly back. “I can’t think what that could be.”
“Hmm…you’re right…maybe there is no other reason.”
“Watch it, Jezebel,” he growled and leaned forward menacingly.
“Don’t call me that, idiot.”
“You’re the idiot, idiot.”
“And you’re—” But Jez never got to finish, because he stopped her mouth with a kiss.
And then his arms were around her—so gently—and the silver cord was humming and everything was warm and there were only the two of them in the world.
One from the land of kings long forgotten;
One from the hearth which still holds the spark;
One from the Day World where two eyes are watching;
One from the twilight to be one with the dark.
Black Dawn
For Michael Penny
and Matthew Penny
CHAPTER 1
Maggie Neely woke up to the sound of her mother screaming.
She’d gone to bed as usual, with Jake the Great Dane sprawled heavily across her feet and the three cats jockeying for position around her head. Her cheek was resting on her open geometry book; there were homework papers scattered among the blankets, along with fragments of potato chips and an empty bag. She was wearing her jeans and a flowered pajama top plus the only two socks she’d been able to find last night: one red velveteen anklet and one blue cotton slouch sock.
Those particular socks would eventually mean the difference between life and death for her, but at the moment Maggie had no idea of that.
She was simply startled and disoriented from being wakened suddenly. She’d never heard this kind of screaming before, and she wondered how she could be so certain it was her mother doing it.
Something…really bad is happening, Maggie realized slowly. The worst.
The clock on her nightstand said 2:11 A.M.
And then before she even realized she was moving, she was lurching across her bedroom floor, with piles of dirty clothes and sports equipment trying to trip her up. She banged her shin on a wastebasket in the middle of the room and ploughed right on through. The hallway was dim, but the living room at the end was blazing with light and the screams were coming from there.
Jake trotted along beside her. When they got to the foyer by the living room he gave a half growl, half bark.
Maggie took in the whole scene in a glance. It was one of those moments when everything changes forever.
The front door was open, letting in the cold air of a
November night in Washington. Maggie’s father was wearing a short bathrobe and holding her mother, who was pulling and tearing at him as if she were trying to get away, screaming breathlessly all the while. And in the doorway four people were standing: two sheriffs, a National Park ranger, and Sylvia Weald.
Sylvia. Her brother Miles’s girlfriend.
And knowledge hit her quick and hard as a hammer blow.
My brother is dead, Maggie thought.
CHAPTER 2
Beside her, Jake growled again, but Maggie only heard it distantly. No one else even looked toward them.
I can’t believe how well I’m taking this, Maggie thought. Something’s wrong with me. I’m not hysterical at all.
Her mind had gotten hold of the idea quite clearly, but there was no reaction in her body, no terrible feeling in her stomach. An instant later it swept over her, exactly what she’d been afraid of. A wash of adrenaline that made her skin tingle painfully and a horrible sensation of falling in her stomach. A numbness that started in her cheeks and spread to her lips and jaw.
Oh, please, she thought stupidly. Please let it not be true. Maybe he’s just hurt. That would be all right. He had an accident and he’s hurt—but not dead.
But if he were hurt her mother wouldn’t be standing there screaming. She would be on her way to the hospital, and nobody could stop her. So that didn’t work, and Maggie’s mind, darting and wheeling like a frightened little animal, had to go back to Please don’t let this be true.
Strangely, at that moment, it seemed as if there might be some way to make it not true. If she turned around and sneaked back to her bedroom before anyone saw her; if she got into bed and pulled the blankets over her head and shut her eyes…
But she couldn’t leave her mother screaming like this.
Just then the screams died down a little. Her father was speaking in a voice that didn’t sound at all like his voice. It was a sort of choked whisper. “But why didn’t you tell us you were going climbing? If you left on Halloween then it’s been six days. We didn’t even know our son was missing….”
“I’m sorry.” Sylvia was whispering, too. “We didn’t expect to be gone long. Miles’s roommates knew we were going, but nobody else. It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing—we didn’t have classes on Halloween and the weather was so nice and Miles said, hey, let’s go out to Chimney Rock. And we just went.…”
Hey, let’s go. He used to say that kind of thing to me, Maggie thought with a strange, dazed twinge. But not since he met Sylvia.
The male sheriff was looking at Maggie’s father. “You weren’t surprised that you hadn’t heard from your son since last Friday?”
“No. He’s gotten so independent since he moved out to go to college. One of his roommates called this afternoon to ask if Miles was here—but he didn’t say that Miles had been gone for almost a week. I just thought he’d missed a class or something….” Maggie’s father’s voice trailed off.
The sheriff nodded. “Apparently his roommates thought he’d taken a little unauthorized vacation,” he said. “They got worried enough to call us tonight—but by then a ranger had already picked up Sylvia.”
Sylvia was crying. She was tall but willowy, fragile-looking. Delicate. She had shimmering hair so pale it was almost silvery and clear eyes the exact color of wood violets. Maggie, who was short and round-faced, with fox-colored hair and brown eyes, had always envied her.
But not now. Nobody could look at Sylvia now without feeling pity.
“It happened that first evening. We started up, but then the weather started turning bad and we turned around. We were moving pretty fast.” Sylvia stopped and pressed a fist against her mouth.
“It’s kind of a risky time of year for climbing,” the female sheriff began gently, but Sylvia shook her head.
And she was right, Maggie thought. It wasn’t that bad. Sure, it rained here most of the fall, but sometimes what the weather people called a high pressure cell settled in and the skies stayed blue for a month. All hikers knew that.
Besides, Miles wasn’t scared of weather. He was only eighteen but he’d done lots of hard climbs in Washington’s Olympic and Cascade ranges. He’d keep climbing all winter, getting alpine experience in snow and storms.
Sylvia was going on, her voice getting more jerky and breathless. “Miles was…he’d had the flu a week before and he wasn’t completely over it. But he seemed okay, strong. It happened when we were rappelling down. He was laughing and joking and everything…. I never thought he might be tired enough to make a mistake….” Her voice wavered and turned into a ragged sob and the ranger put his arm around her.
Something inside Maggie froze. A mistake? Miles?
She was prepared to hear about a sudden avalanche or a piece of equipment failing. Even Sylvia falling and knocking Miles off. But Miles making a mistake?
Maggie stared at Sylvia, and suddenly something in the pitiful figure bothered her.
There was something odd about that delicately flushed face and those tear-drenched violet eyes. It was all too perfect, too tragic, as if Sylvia were an Academy award-winning actress doing a famous scene—and enjoying it.
“I don’t know how it happened,” Sylvia was whispering. “The anchor was good. We should have had a back-up anchor, but we were in a hurry. And he must have…oh, God, there must have been something wrong with his harness. Maybe the buckle wasn’t fastened right, or the carabiners might have been upside down….”
No.
Suddenly Maggie’s feelings crystalized. It was as if everything came into focus at once.
That’s impossible. That’s wrong.
Miles was too good. Smart and strong and an amazing technical climber. Confident but careful. Maggie only hoped she’d be that good someday.
No way he’d buckle his harness wrong, or clip his ’biners upside down. No matter how sick he was. In fact, no way he’d go without a back-up anchor. I’m the one who tries to do things like that, and then he yells at me that if I’m not careful I’m going to have an adventure.
Miles doesn’t.
So it meant Sylvia was lying.
The thought came to Maggie on a little wave of shock. It made her feel as if she were suddenly speeding backward, or as if the room were receding from her very fast.
But why? Why would Sylvia make up such a terrible story? It didn’t make any sense.
Sylvia had a hand half covering her eyes now.
“I looked for him, but…there was icefall…a crevasse…”
No body. She’s saying there’s no body.
With that, a new wave of heat swept over Maggie. And, strangely, what made her certain of it was Sylvia’s eyes.
Those violet eyes had been turned down for most of the time Sylvia had been talking, fixed on the Spanish tiles in the entry hall. But now, as Sylvia got to the last revelation, they had shifted toward Maggie. Toward Maggie’s feet. They fixed there, slid away, and then came back and stayed.
It made Maggie glance down at her own feet.
My socks. She’s staring at my socks.
One red and one blue—and she’s noticing that. Like an actress who’s said the same lines often enough that she doesn’t even need to pay attention to them anymore.
All at once, hot anger was burning through Maggie’s shock, filling her so there was no room for anything else. She stared hard at Sylvia, who seemed to be very far away but very bright. And in that same instant she knew for certain.
This girl is lying.
She must have done something—something terrible. And she can’t show us Miles’s body—or maybe there isn’t a body because he’s still alive.
Yes! Maggie felt suddenly lifted by hope. It is all a mistake. There’s no reason for Miles to be dead. All we have to do is make Sylvia tell the truth.
But nobody else in the room knew. They were all listening as Sylvia went on with her story. They all believed.
“I didn’t get out before the weather hit…. I had to stay in the
tent for three days. When I got out I was so weak, but I managed to signal to some climbers. They saved me, took care of me…. By then it was too late to look for him. I knew there was no chance he’d made it through that storm….”
She broke down completely.
The ranger began talking about weather conditions and recovery efforts, and suddenly Maggie’s mother was making strange gasping noises and sinking toward the floor.
“Mom!” Frightened, Maggie started toward her. Her father looked up and seemed to realize for the first time that she was there.
“Oh, Maggie. We’ve had some bad news.”
He’s trying to take care of me. But he doesn’t realize…I’ve got to tell him….
“Dad,” she said urgently. “Listen. There’s something—”
“Maggie,” her mother interrupted, stretching out a hand. She sounded rational, but there was something wild in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, baby. Something awful has happened—”
And then she fainted. Suddenly Maggie’s father was staggering under dead weight. And then the ranger and one of the sheriffs were brushing past Maggie. They were holding her mother up, and her mother’s head was lolling, moving around on a boneless neck, and her mother’s mouth and eyes were part open and part closed. A new kind of awful feeling came to Maggie, making her weak and giddy. She was afraid she would faint herself.
“Where can we—” the male officer began.
“There’s the couch,” Maggie’s father said hoarsely at the same time. There was no room for Maggie. She could only stand out of the way and dizzily watch them carry her mother.
As they did, Sylvia began murmuring. It took Maggie a moment to focus on the words. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish there was something…I should go home now.”
“You stay right here,” the female officer said, looking toward Maggie’s mother. “You’re in no condition to be walking anywhere. You’d be in the hospital now if you hadn’t insisted on coming here first.”
“I don’t need a hospital. I’m just so tired….”