Burns Night

by Amy Hoff

  They walked over the seal of the city at the entrance to Glasgow City Chambers, Let Glasgow Flourish hung in ribbons around it. Leah dragged Robert through the building, flanked by Iain and Dorian, until she found what she was looking for.

  There, on the landing of the second floor in front of huge windows, was the figure of a man.

  Robert once told Desdemona that he could no longer write.

  “I can put the words down, but it – it’s gone,” he explained to her, wretched, one night beneath the stars, as the war raged around them.

  “Mortal magic,” said Desdemona. “Your fire was meant to burn quick and bright.”

  He’d fought back tears he knew would fall and was startled by her hand on his shoulder. He looked into her eyes, swaying, falling.

  “But that’s not to say you don’t have a certain magic of your own,” she said.

  The figure turned.

  Sebastian grinned a beatific smile at the gathered group, opening his arms wide, as though he were about to conduct a ceremony.

  “Leah,” the word slithered out of his mouth like oil. “How good of you to come.”

  He raised an eyebrow at Robert’s exhausted frame, sagging against Leah, blood soaked into his shirt.

  “Robert looks unwell,” said Sebastian. “How did you fare? Did you enjoy your dreams?”

  “This is all a lie, Sebastian!” Leah shouted.

  “Of course it is! So is everything!” Sebastian snapped. “People are stupid. They’d rather tomorrow was exactly the same as yesterday. They fear change.”

  He smiled again.

  “Nobody wants monsters,” said Sebastian, as his gaze drifted from Robert, to Iain, to Dorian. “Things that go bump in the night. They want to feel safe and protected. They don’t want to feel threatened. And I am able to give that to them. People are happy, now.”

  “Even if people die in the process?” Leah demanded.

  “Oh, you know me,” said Sebastian. “Always willing to sacrifice for the greater good.”

  He reached into his breast pocket. Iain aimed his gun.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Iain said. Dorian blanched.

  “I say, the violence–” Dorian began.

  “Shut up, Dorian, we’re working,” said Leah.

  “My goodness,” Sebastian said, removing his hand from his jacket and putting it up, “This is dramatic. What’s the problem, officers? Glasgow has been a violent, dark, gloomy sinkhole for centuries! The way it is now, nobody is killing each other. Everyone’s happy.”

  “Everyone’s high, you mean,” Leah snarled. “Pliable.”

  “I prefer the term comfortable,” said Sebastian.

  “No way are we letting you run this city,” Leah said.

  “Where have you been, Miss Bishop?” asked Sebastian. “I already do. And now, I have the hearts of the people.”

  “Tyranny isn’t love,” said Iain.

  Sebastian rounded on him.

  “And what would you know about love, you broken selkie!” Sebastian bit out. “The only thing you’ve ever loved is the gun in your hand.”

  The deep forest was green and dark, alternating patterns of light through the leaves. They were safe here, for the moment; one of the few peaceful times snatched from centuries of war. Iain leaned against a tree, polishing his gun until he could see his face in the nickel-plate. Desdemona sat nearby, contemplating; smoke curled from her white pipe. Iain watched her from beneath his lashes, a soft smile on his face. He enjoyed the times they were alone together, without the other soldiers, without the sick bay, without the terror and exhaustion of battle.

  She’d asked him, once, why so many of the Fae were willing to follow her into battle.

  He’d murmured, “Maybe because it’s you.”

  Desdemona’s head shot up at that point, her bright eyes fixed on him like a cobra ready to strike.

  Then, the bushes moved, and a laugh rang out nearby.

  The soldiers returned at that point, and the spell was broken.

  “Iain may not know what love is,” Robert was saying, woozy and breathless, “but I do.”

  “And now the poet weighs in,” said Sebastian. “Poor Robert, mooning over a creature that will never love him back. You fell in love with a monster!”

  And as if on cue, the lights went low, and the shadow on the wall had claws, a silhouette in the arch of the doorway.

  They were trapped on the half-landing between Sebastian and Desdemona. There was nowhere to run.

  “Desdemona,” Dorian whispered in terror. “Please–”

  Taking the opportunity provided by the distraction, Sebastian turned tail and bolted up the stairs.

  “Crap! We’ve lost him,” Leah yelled. “Come on!”

  And she dragged Robert up the stairs, Iain taking point, as the others followed.

  Desdemona stood on the landing, her eyes fixed on where they’d turned the corner.

  Behind her, Nour approached, and set down the things she needed for the spell.

  Desdemona looked at the phoenix, who waved her off.

  “Go,” said Nour. “They might need you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  DENOUEMENT

  There was a beautiful ballroom at the top of the stairs. The dark, cavernous room was flanked with enormous windows. It reminded Robert of that night in Minnesota, so many years ago, and that fleeting moment when he’d held Desdemona in his arms.

  Sebastian ran to the windows and found himself trapped, his steps echoing sharply on the marble floor. He spun around to head in the other direction.

  He stopped short in front of Iain, whose gun was trained on a spot right between Sebastian’s eyes.

  Desdemona walked in, skirts rustling, to take her place beside her lieutenant.

  Iain nodded to her, one professional acknowledging the other.

  “General,” he said.

  Desdemona’s luminous eyes blinked slowly at him, like a cat’s.

  “Who are you?” she asked, honestly curious.

  And now, after so many centuries by his general’s side, countless battles, cruel tactics that ended in bloodshed and death, through the Smoke and selk and Robert Burns, Iain’s composure entirely collapsed.

  He stared at her, his mouth open, his eyes red-rimmed with tears threatening to spill, his heart hammering in his chest and his skin gone pallor-pale. He pointed his gun with shaking hands at Sebastian again as he realised in one thunderstruck moment that he, too, had been Taken – just not in the romantic sense of the word. All these years later he found that he had always been just as much selk as any of his people, just in a different way, as platonic bonds can wind roots far deeper than even those of Eros.

  “Undo it,” he managed to growl, his entire body trembling as he tried to hold his gun steady. “Whatever the hell you’ve done – undo it. Now.”

  Sebastian’s smarmy English face looked like a grand candidate for a pistol-whipping.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t,” he shrugged.

  “What?” Leah demanded.

  “The incantation only works one way,” Sebastian explained.

  “Hazel said it wasn’t a spell.” said Leah.

  “Mmm,” Sebastian said. “Yes, my lovely wife is right. I’d call it a crime of opportunity, or of passion – if we must give it a name.”

  “Those voices in our heads,” said Leah. “That was you?”

  “Oh no,” said Sebastian. “It was always you. All of you, and your little fears, your anxieties, your failures. I just gave you a little push, shall we say.”

  Robert, who had gained a little strength back, put himself between Sebastian and the others. Quite foolishly, given that he was only human now.

  “You heard Iain,” said Robert. “You did this. Undo it.”

  “Oh, no, Robert,” sneered Sebastian. “You did it.”

  Robert stared at him, puzzled.

  “What?” Robert asked.

  “You were never meant to last this long, R
obert Burns,” Sebastian hissed.

  “I don’t understand,” Robert said.

  “I assume your friends have told you I was not born a monster,” said Sebastian.

  “What the hell does that have to do with anything?” asked Leah.

  “Well, it follows that I’m not the only one,” said Sebastian. “Your Robert was also born human. However, he possessed an inhuman ability to love.”

  “You don’t say,” muttered Iain.

  “Yes. Unfortunately, his magic was resurrected along with him. And the earth does not tolerate that kind of power in one person for very long. You were always mean to die young, Robert Burns.”

  “Even if that is true,” said Robert, “I don’t understand how I caused this.”

  “Oh, I was the one who put the ingredients together, shall we say,” said Sebastian. “But Robert Burns, in Glasgow, on the one night he could serve as a conduit for the magic he unwittingly brought back into the world – I couldn’t have planned it better myself!”

  Sebastian seized Robert by the throat and threw him into the wall with ease. Robert was a lover, not a fighter, after all.

  Leah pushed Iain’s pistol down towards the floor.

  “You’ll hit Robert!” she said.

  “So?” Iain demanded.

  “Burns Night was the perfect time,” Sebastian snarled into Robert’s face as he struggled, “all that love, concentrated, tore a hole in reality. This heart was meant to stop beating after thirty-seven years. But not to worry – it won’t be beating for much longer.”

  Suddenly, Desdemona was there, fire and ice, her pale face in Sebastian’s, emerald eyes glowing.

  She moved so quickly Sebastian was pinned against the wall before anyone had seen her move.

  “You don’t touch this one,” she hissed, and a snakelike tongue flickered out to taste the air around his skin. “Your magic may be strong, but you are only human now, and I will end you.”

  She leaned in close to Sebastian’s face.

  “Not. Him,” she growled.

  Robert fell coughing to the floor.

  “Des, wait,” he said. “He’s dangerous–”

  Desdemona looked down at the poet and smiled, his blood still on her lips.

  “Not dangerous to me, I think,” she said.

  “I may not be,” said Sebastian. “but this is.”

  He finally took out what he had in his pocket; a stone he threw at the window with all his might. The dark tinted glass broke and shattered on the floor. The dawn that had been slowly encroaching on the city streamed into the room through the broken window, bathing the ballroom in light.

  Desdemona collapsed in a pile of silk and smoke.

  “Close the curtains!” bellowed Iain. Dorian hastened to comply.

  Iain stared down at Desdemona’s prone form, hesitating.

  Then, he saw Robert slowly raise his head. His eyes were blood-red; blood poured down his face in rivulets, purging itself from his body, and his eyes were like coach-lamps in the dark.

  “Get out,” Robert said, under his breath.

  He met Iain’s eyes. Iain responded with a slight nod. The selkie put his arms around Dorian and nearly threw him out the door.

  Meanwhile, Leah stood in front of Sebastian.

  “You told me you had nothing to do with this!” cried Leah.

  “And you believed me, Leah?” asked Sebastian. “I’m the villain.”

  “What the hell do you gain from all this chaos?” she demanded.

  “Why must I always do your work for you, Miss Bishop?” Sebastian asked primly.

  Leah caught a glimpse of Robert over Sebastian’s shoulder. She recoiled, glanced at the door, and went still with a sudden understanding.

  She was a police officer. She was meant to serve and protect.

  Could she really make this choice?

  “That’s the only way out,” she said, under her breath.

  “What?” asked Sebastian.

  Leah knew it was now or never. She sprinted through the door, spinning at the last moment to face Sebastian, who had given chase, his face contorted in pure fury.

  And there was Fludge, at her feet, who erupted in a belch of fire. Sebastian skidded to a halt before the flames.

  “Now you’re alone with the monsters,” shouted Leah, and slammed the double doors in his face.

  She slid down the doors, Sebastian pounding on the other side, throwing himself bodily into the wood, but the doors held fast against her weight. Fludge bounced onto her lap as she braced herself against the onslaught.

  ***

  In the silence of the ballroom, Sebastian stopped.

  He knew what would be standing behind him.

  In the darkness of the ballroom, Robert Burns threw Sebastian Bloodworth into the wall.

  “You’re going nowhere,” said Robert.

  “The baobhan sith are impressively resistant to my magic,” said Sebastian. “Hard to harness a broken heart when there’s no heart to break. No matter. You’re different. You love.”

  Sebastian lifted a hand to cast the spell. Robert looked down, and at the spell’s impotence, lifted him against the wall.

  “I’m not a baobhan sith,” he growled. “I’m a vampire. I never cared that she didn’t love me back, Sebastian. Love isn’t about heartbreak, it’s about sacrifice.”

  “Is this what you’ve always wanted?” sneered Sebastian. “To be a monster?!”

  “Yes,” growled Robert. “And now, thanks to the magic you’ve let back into the world, you’re just a man. Just like you’ve always wanted.”

  Robert grabbed Sebastian by the hair and pulled him down, exposing his neck. He sank his fangs into the flesh, drinking deep, glorying in his victory.

  Sebastian’s body dropped in a heap at his feet.

  The very last thing Sebastian ever saw as a living man was the form of Robert Burns standing over him, face smeared with blood, a conqueror.

  “How small love must have seemed to you,” said Robert, and walked away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  GLASGOW REEL

  Robert went to Desdemona and drew her into his lap. She remained motionless.

  A wind sprang up; from where, he could not tell.

  He clung to her, the world in a hurricane; the wind screaming so loudly he knew he would be deaf, his ears began to bleed. She turned, monster, scorpion, snake, a thing of fire, struggling against his embrace. He held on tight, as hard as he could, wrapping himself around her.

  The wind died down. Robert’s face was covered with blood, his eyes, his ears, his mouth, his hair matted, his body lacerated with whiplike wounds, dug deep; the sharpened crack of a cat-o-nine-tails nothing compared to his body, raw and bleeding.

  And the woman in his arms changed; a dragon with glittering scales;

  a centipede;

  a tiger;

  an eldritch horror of smoke and talons.

  Through it all, he held her close; through it all, he kept whispering to himself:

  Glasgow Reel Tam Lin Glasgow Reel Tam Lin

  “I don’t want to die without you,” he murmured.

  He held her fast, his eyes squeezed shut, as flame danced and licked across his skin.

  And suddenly, there was silence.

  Suddenly, there she was, lying white and still in his arms.

  He blinked the blood from his eyes, afraid to release her so he could clean his face.

  He looked down at her. She was very still.

  “Don’t make me lose you again,” he whispered.

  She was not breathing. But then, she did not breathe.

  Mortal. Robert thought. I was mortal again. Blood...

  He did move then, and touched his face, bringing away the tears mixed with blood. He touched her lips briefly with his fingertips. He knew she wouldn’t like that, once she knew, but there wasn’t anything else he could think to do instead.

  Please.

  Take me with you this time, please.

 
Don’t die.

  Green.

  He started and looked down into her face. Her eyelids flickered and opened.

  There it was, that endless, perfect, vibrant green that had captivated him in a cramped and smoky tavern one night, so many years ago.

  “You,” she said, in a voice like deep river water over stones, “I know your face.”

  She studied him. First in confusion, and then with consternation.

  “Robert?!” she said, exactly as she had said it the night he had crawled out from his broken casket and walked miles barefoot to find her.

  He grinned, and then started shaking, and his body wracked with sobs, clutching her tightly to his chest.

  “Robert,” she said sternly, “let go.”

  Robert tried to catch his breath and nodded.

  “Of course,” he said, and finally released her.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Robert described everything, including her shapeshifting.

  She sat back and regarded him with a new and foreign expression.

  “Why would you suffer this?” she murmured. “I am not human, Robert. I am not even a woman. I am what you have seen tonight. And sometimes more.”

  “Because,” he said, as if it were obvious, “it’s you.”

  She shook her head, as if to argue, when he put his hand on hers.

  “Whatever you are, Desdemona,” said Robert, “and whatever your name is, changes nothing at all.”

  ***

  Nour was seated in the circle as she spoke the spell into being.

  This is the tree that never grew.

  Alone, in the City Chambers, Nour looked up at the ceiling and smiled.

  This is the bird that never flew.

  Feathers of fire spread up and out, flames dripping from her fingertips.

  The door crashed open, and there stood Desdemona, white and red and green, as she had always been.

  “Desdemona!” squawked Nour, and then in an old and ancient tongue, “Fallen, what are you doing here? Fire destroys you!”

  Desdemona knelt in front of her friend and took her hands in her own.

  “I remembered,” she said, “I remembered who I was. I had forgotten.”

  “You remembered,” Nour repeated. “Your worst fear was always that you would become one of Them and deserve your name.”