The Illusions In Between

by J M Robison

He looks at my hands clenched to my sides. Black Magicians must use their hands to command their demons. His gesture alerts me that we might come to a magic duel in Blackfriars’ dining room. “If I must.”

  “Why don’t ye give it a try?”

  He meets my gaze. We stay there in limbo for a good moment. Where his demon can’t touch me because I’ve been baptized, my magic can touch Carlo, and I’m not beneath spelling him out the window and into the river.

  He stands. “See you in Rome, Fae Wizard.” And walks to the door in long strides.

  I sweep around the table to the window, watching him walk down the street. I keep my eyes on him until he turns a corner out of sight around Robinson & Sons.

  Chapter Three

  Brynnella

  Mother’s voice echoes down the stone corridor.

  Supporting Levi’s head while I bathe him, I holler over my shoulder, “In the bedroom!”

  Her shoes go shush as she approaches. Soon, her swathed body enters the medieval bed chamber. She’s dressed like it’s December in Greenland.

  She exhales and removes her wool hat, scarf, and coat, draping them over the edge of the enormous curtained bed. “Much warmer here. Have Zadicayn and my granddaughter left?”

  “Four hours ago.”

  She kneels next to me by the tub, pushing my hands away so she can finish washing my son. I let her, standing to arch my back with both hands pressed over my hips. I’ve already figured out Mother lives in denial concerning my marriage to a wizard where we live in a castle hidden from the rest of the world. She had hopes and dreams I’d marry a normal man and live in a normal place like my older sisters. I’d hoped six years and two children would have cured that. She’s gotten better. Sometimes she arrives an hour before Zadicayn leaves…if to see her granddaughter. But even then, she does so with massive hesitation, because Eudora always wants to show Grandmother the new magic spell she learned.

  Mother catches me up on English events that occurred during the past month while I daydream about Zadicayn coming back with news that the church and society have accepted him, and we can all frequent society without fear of ostracization. Or, for Zadicayn, death.

  I never sleep while he’s gone because my fears like to remind me the church does want him dead. He reassures me every month there are at least three more people who want to meet with him, and they all affirm they are in favor of allowing the last Fae Wizard and his magic into society. The hurdle he must jump is this: England went through a three hundred and twenty-four-year gap without any Fae Wizards, and the church burned all records they could find which spoke of Fae Wizards before that gap. Magic is evil, as is preached by the church.

  Levi chews on his hand as Mother pulls him out of the tub. She dries him before pinning a cloth diaper around him, and we head to the kitchen where I’ve made dinner.

  Though I know Mother wishes I had a normal life, I do see she’s charmed with the castle. I see a small, suppressed longing in her that’s a near reflection of a longing I had–to live unbound and away from a society which dictates my every word and move. Her eyes linger on the coat of arms and swords adorning every corridor, of the vaulted ceiling in the Grand Hall. She’s not impressed with the garderobe, however, not since she has a real, flushable privy in her house.

  We commune with the usual chatter and finish dinner. She helps me clean up, holding Levi through it all. I believe she’d take him with her if I wasn’t paying attention. Even if she still warily regards my husband, she does love how he makes beautiful children.

  I take my son back from her and, re-garbed for the last minute she must endure the cold before the bloodstone takes her back to the house, she waves in parting, and I watch her walk the entire length of the Grand Hall and out the doors.

  I go to my bed chamber, laying Levi in his crib so I can stoke the fire before bed. It rises, fat and healthy. I settle in the rocking chair beside it, with Levi bundled in a blanket and resting across my breasts. He fusses, but the lavender bath I gave him calms him enough, so he settles and listens while I sing.

  I sing for a while, fun ditties in Old English Zadicayn taught me. My favorite one is about a knight who drank too much and woke up tied to the bed of a woman who had no teeth. She threatened to put on his armor and parade around the countryside pretending to be him if he didn’t marry her. The knight, caring far too much about his reputation, agrees, except the woman never unties him from the bed, giving him just enough length of chain to use the chamber pot. The story itself is not captivating, but the funny way it rhymes draws a giggle out of me every time, as it’s told in the knight’s point of view and he’s very detailed in his unnecessary descriptions.

  Apparently, the moral of the story was to make sure you didn’t go drinking in the wrong town. I would have thought it was not to drink to excess.

  Levi’s breathing evens out rhythmically, and I hear footsteps echoing through the corridors.

  I stop singing and listen. Definitely footsteps.

  I perk, glad Zadicayn made it back safe but curious why he’s home so early. The footsteps become louder, and I notice the sound is not typical of Zadicayn’s. Stride too slow and soft, like shoes instead of hobnail boots. But of course, it’s him. My father wouldn’t visit this late, and Jaicom never comes without Clarissa.

  But the man who steps through the doorway is not anyone I know. He’s Italian, by what I guess from his clothes.

  I clutch Levi to me and stand, oddly void of panic. Zadicayn must have allowed this man to enter and just forgot to tell me. Not typical of Zadicayn, but it’s the only reason that makes sense. “Who are you?”

  Shrewd eyes narrow on me, almost sympathetic. “The proof of your husband’s ignorance.” He lifts his right hand, most of the fingers swathed in a bloody bandage. He mutters Latin, and the knife at his belt slips out of its sheath and zooms across the room at me so fast I don’t have time to flinch.

  The blade stops in front of me, the tip centered on my forehead. I hold my breath as if breathing will cause the steel to slide into my head. Magic? I’d guess this man to be a long-forgotten Fae Wizard, except proof of Zadicayn being the last came six years ago in the shape and screech of Faewraiths summoned into the Human Realm at Zadicayn’s death.

  “Come with me,” he says calmly. “I don’t want to hurt you, or your baby.”

  I’m being kidnapped.

  The thought is so impossible, it sits at the bottom of my brain and shakes its head, refusing to move.

  “How did you get in here?” I demand.

  The tip of the knife lowers until it points, instead, at Levi’s forehead.

  I can’t suppress the gasp. It squeaks out, sobering and terrified. “No.” I latch onto the knife handle with my free hand. The handle flares with a heat so intense it scalds my palm, and I let go with a sharp, “Ouch!” and back away from the knife. Or try to. The knife follows me as if permanently affixed to my proximity.

  “I don’t need your son,” he says from across the room. “For that matter, I don’t need you, either. I just need one of you. But as I’m a man of faith and against abandoning the baby here until the Fae Wizard gets home, and I don’t have the means to care for the baby myself, I’m forced to take you both.”

  I stop trying to get away from the knife and face him. My panic builds, brick by brick, so soon I’ve built a fortress of my rage. “If you’re a man of faith, then you won’t harm my baby, either.” I plan to stand valiant in this spot until Zadicayn gets home tomorrow.

  “I am also a desperate man and have often done vile things in the name of necessity.” He says something in Latin, and the knife point lowers closer to my son’s forehead.

  “Stop!” I back away. The knife follows. I grab the handle, but the flash of heat scalds my skin. “I’ll go!”

  The knife backs off but continues to hover a mere inch from my son. Panic rushes hot in my chest. I don’t believe this Italian would have killed Levi, but I can’t trust that he won’t.

  Levi
catches on to my distress and cries. I shush him and walk toward the Italian, the knife permanently affixed in the air above my son’s forehead. The Italian steps back and sweeps an arm out, inviting me to walk ahead of him. I do so, keeping my head down. The knife never wavers.

  The Italian follows me through the corridors, across the Grand Hall, and outside. I walk across the bridge, shivering, the river rushing beneath me with a sound sharpened by the cold rocks it rolls over. I walk to the Fae Gate, looking up to see a giant circle has been cut out of it. I can see straight into the tunnel. Fae Wood is not impossible to cut, though Zadicayn knew of nothing that could do it. Fae Wood bleeds, too, which it’s doing now, splattering on the rocks beneath it.

  “Why are you kidnapping me?”

  “Through,” says the Italian behind me.

  I obey and step through the hole in the Fae Gate, gooey red blood sticking to my hair and shoulders. Levi is shrieking now, and I hold him to me, though my thundering heart against his little head won’t convince him everything is okay.

  We walk the length of the tunnel, to the other end where the second Fae Gate has also been cut. I step onto the road in the canyon. A carriage waits on the road, except it doesn’t have wheels. Black scales shine from the setting sun across the backs of the two horses harnessed to the carriage. Their four knees bend the wrong way. I’m delirious with fear and confusion.

  The Italian crosses in front of me and opens the door to the wheel-less carriage. The knife still points its threat at my son’s forehead. I walk forward and enter.

  I step into a room as big as the one I lived in for sixteen years in my parents’ house. Everything inside is black. The bed, table, curtains, rugs, and wardrobe. No windows. The Italian’s clothes, my dress, and Levi’s blanket are the only swath of color.

  “This room is not furnished to care for a baby,” he says, stepping in behind me and closing the door, “but the trip is only three days. There should be something in the wardrobe to use for basic necessities.”

  “Why are you kidnapping me?” I ask yet again.

  He turns around and exits through a door opposite the one we came in by, leaving the door open. A purr vibrates up through my feet. The sensation is familiar like I’m riding a train.

  My numb ears finally allow Levi’s cries to reach me. He’s swatting at the knife with marked irritation. I snatch his wrist before he cuts himself. The knife pulls back from him and glides to the door the Italian exited. The door shuts behind it.

  I sit on the bed, resting my back against the wall. A dark, unearthly threat swirls in the air around me, stretches between the threads of the blanket, yawns in the chunky shadows where the invisible light source does not reach.

  Magic.

  Devil magic.

  The room must be moving, though by train or carriage or bird or devil I cannot tell.

  I ache to shout Zadicayn’s name. I ache to have him hold me and take me home. But he’s not here. I have no choice but to wait this out and see where I end up. I lie down and roll onto my side. Levi must have worn himself out with my shared anxiety because he sleeps. It’s a long while before I do the same.

  Chapter Four

  Darik

  I press my back against the brick, sneaking my head around the corner. The girls whimper in the street, though the dark-clad men corralling them threaten any increased volume with pistols in each of their hands.

  I wrap the cloth around my nose and mouth, pulling my hood down. The last girl leaves the warehouse, all eight crammed into the carriage. The men shut the door. One takes his position on the back and the other two jump into the driver’s box. The thrash of a whip jostles the two horses forward.

  I spring out of hiding, the sound of padded boots covered by the clop of horse hooves on cobbled sampietrini. Before I’m able to cross the street into the alley, the man on the back turns and sees me. I dive into the alley, hearing him holler something, likely alerting his comrades.

  Damn.

  I latch onto a drain pipe and scurry up, hand over hand. I swoosh over the edge onto the roof, running with deliberately placed steps so as not to upset the red clay tiles. I run parallel to the street, keeping out of sighte so the gang can’t see me. They’ll be turning left on the street up ahead on their way to the Tiber River.

  I leap over the empty spaces between the buildings, holding my breath as if I’m not scared to be so vulnerable to the whims of God should I fall. Stars and the half-moon give little light, but to the thirteen years I’ve crept the streets and rooftops of Rome, I’d almost trust myself to run across the breadth of it in the dark.

  I listen for the turning carriage wheels and hooves. I’m almost caught up to them. I reach the edge of the last rooftop and look down onto the street. I’ve got time for three breaths before I jump. My clothes flutter around me like black wings.

  I hit the carriage. My boot punches through, and eight screams emit from within. The crotch of my pants zooms upward. I go cross-eyed with instant numbness to my delicates. No wonder babies cry when they first come out of the womb. They’re finally free from being beaten up pre-birth.

  The carriage wheels slide with how hard the driver yanks back on the reins. I haul my leg out of the hole and swing it around just as the man on the back pops his head up. My boot knocks into his jaw.

  His body follows his twisting head onto the street. I leap on him, my stiletto finding blood through the back of his neck. I launch myself back at the carriage as the two drivers come around both sides. I roll onto the roof and drop into the empty driver’s box. I snatch the reins and whip the horses into a burst of speed. They thunder down the dark street, though not loud enough to cover up frothing shouts of, “Darik!” from behind. I’m honored they’d use my name to mean reinforcements. As if I’m a one-man army.

  I jerk the horses right, and left, right, left…careening along Rione Trastevere until I’m far from the river and further from the Amadio Camorra.

  I yank the horses to a skidding halt in front of an empty building on a vacant street and leap out of the driver’s box before it’s completely stopped. A lock secures the carriage door, but a few turns with my stiletto tricks the tumblers as easy as a key.

  I throw open the door, and all eight girls cower away, holding each other. I point at the building behind me. “Go inside. Find the stairs and go down until you can’t go down anymore. Find the door with the broken handle. Open it. And run.”

  I stand out of the way as a girl jumps past me and runs inside without further prompting, followed by another. The others are more cautious, likely not yet convinced men are horrible enough to lay a price on virginity and sell it to other men who think the price is worth it.

  The carriage empties. I watch the last of the girls disappear through the dark doorway. I jump into the driver’s box and snap the reins. The horses take me down three more streets before two Camorra block my escape and rush me.

  I drop the reins and spin around in a whirl, leaping across the top of the carriage and drop off the back. The hard land revolves into a slow recovery. The two Camorra grab the back of my shirt and haul me to the pavement. I curl my body and protect my head against the boots pounding me all over, nailing me in my back, sides, and legs. I’d cry out if I could hold enough breath in my lungs.

  “Where are they?” one of them demands.

  They pause their beating long enough for me to inhale and push out an answer. “I thought I saw them back where I stole your carriage. You are talking about your testicles, right?”

  My answer is rewarded with Sigismondo’s sharp kick to my elbow.

  “I paid three hundred florins for each girl, and I mean to take every coin out of your blood if you don’t tell me where they are!”

  The pain is real, but I’m used to it enough, and I hold my body as if I’ve been rendered incapable. They’ve stopped kicking to once again give me a chance to answer.

  I kick in one of their knee caps instead.

  My target crumbles next to m
e with a scream.

  I spring to my feet, shoving the pain away until I have time to honor its mortal rendering. But I’m wounded, which makes me slow. I’ve just always told myself I would die fighting since it appears the Grimm has come today to make me prove it.

  Sigismondo grabs me. I wish the elbow he cracks across my skull would have knocked me out forever.

  Chapter Five

  Zadicayn

  I dress back into the pantaloons, waist coat, and frock coat fit for this era, though six years out of the undercroft and I still don’t like them. Suppose it’s my personal rebellion since I was robbed from the time period I was born in. Three centuries ago.

  I sit with Eudora and Grandmother for breakfast, filling my bag with items Grandmother purchased for my family, and departing with a kiss on both cheeks, I enter the coach with Eudora, and we head to the train station.

  “Did your contacts like magic?” Eudora asks, sucking on a brown curl Grandmother’s macramist did up for her last night.

  “Yes.” The other three, real contacts did. There’s no explaining the intricacies of the complications with the Italian to a six-year-old. Or admitting my fears.

  “Do we get to come out of hiding now?”

  Her following enthusiasm brightens me. I grin. “Not yet.”

  She sits back and nurses from her curl. She’s never disappointed about having to remain in hiding, so long as she keeps seeing interesting things in the Fae Realm and gets to see Jaicom’s six-year-old son, Henry, now and then. Six years old and I’m already devising ways to keep boys away from my daughter.

  The train hisses to a steamy stop in Valemorren two hours later. We exit our booth onto the loading dock and hire a carriage to take us to Beckman’s Hat Emporium, which is the last building east of Village Center. Walking around the back of the building, I hold onto Eudora and relocate us into the trees.

  She takes us the rest of the way to the Fae Gate above the giant boulder used as its porch. She fingers the spell, and we walk inside. We near the end of the tunnel, stepping through the last Fae Loop which instantly relocates us a certain distance since the mountain is several miles thick. We come to an end. I stop. Here, we should see my castle and the valley just outside the tunnel, but instead, I see the Fae Gate.