“Yes.”
This seemed to upset him, but he just nodded. “Do you feel it, brother? The presence of a new vessel.”
“She saved your life!”
“Against her better judgment.” He struggled upright and brushed the fingers of my left hand with his own. They were warm again. Suddenly my chest felt as though it might burst.
“Welcome to the rest of your life, habibti. You look terrible.”
It was so good to hear his voice that for a moment I didn’t care what he’d done.
For a moment.
I coughed, an unconvincing cover for a sob. “I have to go,” I said, getting unsteadily to my feet. “We’ll . . . figure something out, Amir. I won’t let you be shackled like this for the rest of my life. There has to be some way.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” His voice was dull; his eyes pierced me like a lover’s sword. “Take her home, brother. Let her dream she never met me.”
“We should let Judah see his mother,” I said, when Kardal gave me some clean clothes to wear—a set of loose silk pants and a tunic I might have appreciated in another century.
He considered this. “Yes. I’ll get the boy.”
Kardal vanished and reappeared with Judah an instant later. The boy didn’t seem in the least disconcerted, however. He must have teleported a lot in the past few days. When Kardal vanished again, I knelt in front of Judah.
“We’ve found your mother,” I told him.
I expected him to be happy, but instead he seemed as pensive and worried as I. “I wonder what she looks like,” he said, finally. “But I think she will like Kardal’s garden.”
Kardal reappeared at that moment, Kathryn in tow. She looked around at the courtyard, her expression bleak and distant. Then she saw Judah.
“Oh . . .” She took a few steps toward him and then stopped short. “Judah? Judah, do you remember me?”
He pursed his lips together, as though considering. “You’re very pretty,” he said. “I knew that.”
Kathryn began to cry. “I kept your toy horse Tanto. You remember him?”
Judah considered and shook his head.
“And Mr. Farinelli at the bakery and that hat you love with the peacock feather and the shiny rocks you collect from the park—do you remember any of it?”
Judah seemed very sad, maybe baffled by her tears. “No, Mother,” he said. “But I do remember the roses.”
And so mother and son, at last, embraced.
Sleep. Eighteen hours of blissful sleep. Lily stopped by, I think, but the sounds of her and Aileen’s voices blended into my dreams and I didn’t wake. Mama was there when I awoke, groggy and aching but feeling better than I had for a week. She handed me a glass of water and then got me another.
“I brought you your sword,” she said, pointing to the foot of my bed. “The hospital burned your clothes.” I smiled. Somehow I doubted even Lily could fault them for that.
“Your daddy and I are leaving in a few hours,” she said. “We’re going to take Judah with us.”
I blinked. “Daddy’s letting a sucker in his house?”
Mama drew herself up. “It’s my house, too. I put my foot down. And anyway, I think he’s starting to like Judah.”
“What about Kathryn?”
“She’s afraid of him, sweetie. After what that boy Nicholas did to her family, well, I can’t blame her. And now she has to take Giuseppe’s place with the other kids. It would be too much to deal with an adolescent vampire. She just doesn’t understand them the way we do.”
“Even though she was fucking one for eight years.”
“Zephyr!”
“Sorry.”
She sighed. “Your daddy told me about Amir, and what you did to save him. I would have told you myself, dear, but I don’t know as much about your . . . immunity as your daddy does. I didn’t know it could do that.”
And what else did Daddy know, I wondered. How did he give me this gift that I’ve never heard of before?
“I just wanted to tell you that I think you did the right thing, and I hope you and Amir can be happy together. Even though he is a djinn.”
My stomach twisted. Oh, we’d be together, but I didn’t know if we’d ever manage happy. “Thank you, Mama,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m just glad this is all over.”
She hugged me. “Oh me too, sweetie, me too. You’ll come and visit us soon, right? Harry keeps asking for you. I think they’ll all be happy to have a new little brother, don’t you?”
“I’m sure they will, Mama. I’ll come as soon as I can. In the summer.” No need to willingly subject myself to a Montana winter. Even worse than New York.
“Good.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Your daddy will be glad. He was so happy to see you, Zephyr. You just don’t know how much you mean to him. Well, I guess I should go. Don’t get up, dear. John would never forgive me if you went outside in this weather. You should rest.”
I went to the window after she left, and saw what she meant. The falling snow was so thick I could see my mother’s cab for only a few seconds before it disappeared into the swirling white. Already the ground was covered a foot deep. A strong gust blew, and suddenly I noticed a tall, dark figure looking up at the building from the bottom of the stoop.
I gasped and pressed my nose against the glass. Happy. Could we be happy? Could I forgive him for the Faust? Could he forgive me for becoming his vessel? Could we get back to the way we had been on the balcony in his brother’s palace, full of warm, laughing sarcasm and sweet lips?
“Each time a bond broke . . .”
But the snow eased for a moment, and I saw it was just Troy, probably bracing himself before venturing inside such a low-class establishment. I sighed and crawled back under my covers.
So I would talk to Troy and hopefully sleep a little more and then, when the sun went down and all the respectable humans scurried indoors to their beds or fabulous parties, I would find the last of Lily’s discarded daywear and tramp through this weather, without the benefit of my bicycle and against the sound advice of my mother, back to the corner of Chrystie and Rivington, where all this had first started.
And why, you might ask?
I had to teach night school.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There are dozens of people who have helped me in the conception and writing of Zephyr’s story. Amanda Hollander, for being Amir’s first (and probably still biggest) fan. Lauren, my sister, for listening to me ramble for hours about thorny story problems. Andrea Robinson, Tamar Bihari, Diane Patterson, Cristina and Mariel Fernandez, Tatiana Galitzin, and Abby Pritchard, for being the best first readers anyone could ask for. Justine Larbalestier, for research tips. Kris Dikeman, for her beautiful map. My editor, Karyn Marcus, for believing in this book and helping me make it better. My literary manager, Ken Atchity, for his unflagging support of my career and the varied directions I want to take it. And Scott, for always being there.
You are all the bat’s pajamas.
Moonshine (2010) Page 30