There appear to be at least three ways to cross the Veil: via the Wild Hunt, the elemental spirit animals and with someone who can open a gate. So self-evident it kills me to write it.
~Big Book of Fairyland, “Rules of Magic”
I left Starling and Walt in charge of the castle, with the others—including Larch’s amazingly effective army of Brownies—to assist.
Marquise and Scourge offered to take the rebels into custody and I agreed, to their delight. A reward for their loyalty and a bit of payback for the others.
Puck and I left by the front door.
Why that seemed odd to me, I didn’t know. Probably partly that there even was a front door, the gate no longer magically spinning. Grooms had to bring our horses around to us, walking them through the halls. Other parts of the castle were manifesting the signs of Rogue’s nonpresence in this universe. I only hoped the towers would all hold. We crossed the drawbridge, the moat monsters leaping happily and spraying water. I was glad to see they’d survived.
The field of blue Stargazer lilies had not. Trampled by armies of fae and withering without Rogue’s sustaining magic, the meadow had become a sludgy mess of decaying vegetable matter. It hurt my heart to see it—which amazed me that I could still feel anything—and I had to look away. Maybe I’d instead passed into this state where I felt everything, my own self pushed to the Technicolor extreme that Faerie induced.
Felicity, happy to be freed of the castle, tossed her mane and kicked up her heels. Puck sang me songs of pigs and rain barrels and other nonsense. It didn’t surprise me one bit that we rode into the pathless countryside, back toward the hills like the one I landed on.
We turned the horses to roam free and I poofed their tack, so they’d be comfortable. The hair prickled on the back of my neck as we approached the spot. I might well have known it, if I’d chanced to walk near this particular hill. It carried the same chill as the path near Devils Tower, the sense of an open door and the draft wafting through.
Puck looked at me expectantly.
“What do I do?” I asked.
“I know what I do.” He laughed, carefree. “What do you do?”
“Can’t you carry me over—like when I was a baby?”
He looked aghast, sizing me up as if I’d asked him to carry an elephant. “No. That only works with babies. They’re different, you know. Babies. And pigs.”
“Great. Why did you say you could take me then?”
“I said I thought you’d never ask. You got yourself here. Why can’t you go back the same way? You’re the sorceress. I’m just...” He shrugged. “My gift is travel.”
“And mischievous obstinacy.”
He spun in a circle, a manic, Armani-clad Julie Andrews with arms outstretched. “I am alive with mischief.” Then he stopped on a dime and winked. “See you on the flip side.”
Then he walked through a doorway and was gone.
Of course I tried to follow. Which meant I ended up walking back and forth across that hilltop about a dozen times, feeling like a complete idiot. I’d done it before, yes, but on impulse. And in an aspen grove. There was no convenient totem tree here for me to tie a lock of my bloodied hair to.
Still.
You got yourself here. Why can’t you go back the same way?
Okay, time to replicate as many variables as I could. I wished up the black Anne Taylor cocktail dress I’d been wearing. Or a version thereof, as the original had long since been destroyed. I added my heels as best as I could remember them. That would have to do. The Black Dog had been present then, and no way to add in that brand of magic. The cat, smug, stirred inside. Okay, I did have her.
I reached under my hair, cut a lock from as near the same spot at the nape of my neck as I could manage. With the dagger, I sliced the tip of my finger and wiped the blood on my hair. Separated from me, the hair changed back from my favored shiny black to the dull, dark blond I’d worn most of my life. It seemed appropriate—looking just as it had that day at Devils Tower.
With nothing to tie it to, I held my hand over the draftiest point and let the hair go. It caught in the unseen wind and spiraled up.
Pulling at me. Taking me with it.
* * *
Into a blizzard.
“Well, shit!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands to my bare arms. You’d think I’d remember what Wyoming winters were like, having lived most of my life bitching about them, but wow—that wind cut like a dagger.
I wished up a cloak. And nothing happened.
Goodbye, powerful sorceress Gwynn. Welcome back, Dr. Jennifer McGee, PhD in being an idiot. I did the only thing I could do. I started walking.
That first morning, I’d made it most of the way around the tower, starting at the west end near the parking lot, passing around the sunny southern face before rounding to the shadow side. So, I kept going that direction, completed the circuit I’d started so long ago. Really wishing I’d been smarter about what I’d worn.
Of course, in this world, wishes did little good. Evidenced by all those beggars not riding horses.
My heels skidded on the slick path and my skin went numb, stinging only when a sheet of ice pellets bulleted against me. I suspected that, in this realm, even my whatever percentage of fae blood wouldn’t lend me any level of immortality. Otherwise we’d have changelings living forever. Hmm.
I knew—really I did—that my Honda would not still be sitting in the parking lot where I’d left it. Who knew how many years had passed in my absence? Plus, my car keys had stayed behind. Still, I felt a stab of disappointment when it wasn’t there. When no cars were there.
Because who visits Devils Tower in a blizzard? Probably the park was closed. I couldn’t possibly walk out, dressed like this. I wasn’t even sure I could get back to Faerie, which was the wrong direction, anyway.
The whistling wind let up briefly and the buzz of a snowmobile drifted through the pause. Or was that more wishful thinking?
No—there it was. Puck on a snowmobile, wearing a sandstone Carhartt insulated coverall, strawberry-blond curls whipping behind him, tangling with an improbably colorful and long scarf.
“Finally!” he exclaimed. “I don’t know why you people keep it so cold here. I guess it doesn’t bother you though.”
To my credit, I didn’t throttle him. But I did make him give me his coat. Hopefully I wouldn’t lose any toes to frostbite. I climbed onto the snowmobile behind Puck and tucked my skirts under my thighs, pressing up as tight against his back as I could to protect myself from the wind chill, wishing it was Rogue instead.
Wondering if I’d ever see Rogue again. My longing, no longer formless as it had been that long-ago day, now squarely centered and focused on him and our daughter.
“Where are we going?” I shouted in his ear.
“To fetch what’s yours.”
It didn’t surprise me a bit to pass the sign I remembered from before. Devils Tower Lodge: Friends and Guests Only. For the owner, Frank, the distinction wasn’t a tautology. We pulled up in front, disembarked and I rushed inside, forgetting my manners and that I wasn’t—on this occasion—anyone’s guest. Perhaps Puck and I could skate by on the technicality of putative friendship.
A woman stood in the center of the room, Devils Tower looming blackly dramatic out the windows, dramatically framed by the billowing snow. She whirled in surprise at my bursting in on her.
And the baby in her arms wailed.
“Oh my God!” The words wrenched out of me on a sob and—I knew this was exactly the wrong thing to do, but I couldn’t stop myself—I tore my daughter from the woman’s grip. Only after seeing who it was. “Blackbird!”
“There, there, Lady Gwynn. Don’t fret. Sit yourself down and comfort yourself that your child is all right. Here now.” Blackbird adjusted my grip so that I cradled the baby more gently and my daughter stopped fussing, staring owlishly up at me with deep, sapphire-blue eyes. She waved a little fist, with perfect tiny fingers when one of my tears splashed on
her cheek. My heart cracked open and I wept harder, barely noticing when Blackbird urged me into a chair.
I’d never quite gotten why new mothers did this, but I couldn’t stop myself. I unwrapped her, laying her on her blanket on my knees and inspected every bit of her. Her round belly with the raw end of the umbilical neatly tied off was otherwise perfect. All her fingers and toes. No bite marks. I placed my cheek against her velvet-soft chest and the 3/4 rhythm of her heart answered.
Mine. My family, forever.
“See there?” Blackbird set down a cup of steaming tea. “She’s just fine. You did the right thing, to send her away.” She touched the baby’s cheek. “I remember how it feels. I never did get to hold little Brody.”
“You remember?” The baby started to fret, so I wrapped her up and cuddled her. So happy to hold her. So at a loss at what to do with her.
Her snapping black eyes flashed up to mine, filled with rage. “Yes. Once I arrived here, the memory spell stopped working. It’s a cold place you’re from though.”
I had to laugh. “It isn’t always. But I have news for you. Maybe Fergus should hear it too.”
Blackbird shook her head. “He’s gone off with Frank, once they saw the news on the magic box.”
Shit. The image of aging-hippie Frank taking off in his Jetta with a centuries-old Irishman who’d been trapped in Faerie amused me, despite my stomach’s clench of warning. “What news?”
The baby cried harder and she raised her voice a bit. “Seems that Titania contacted some of our children here, set off messages in their minds. What did Frank call it? Brain-bathing?”
I realized then that she was speaking English to me. And so had Puck. Of course they would be, for me to understand them. Something to puzzle over later.
“Brainwashing.”
“That’s it.” She looked pleased, then frowned. “I don’t quite understand it, but apparently some of the changeling children did...things to open the gates. One stole a flying machine and flew it into a stone ring. Other places, too—many humans in huge villages dead. Frank was beside himself.”
Frank. Still alive and kicking, so it hadn’t been that long since I left. “What were they planning to do about it?”
“Fergus wanted to visit one in custody, to see if he’s Brody, and Frank said something about saving the world.”
Of course he had.
“He won’t have the magic here, to give him any advantage. Did he think of that?”
Blackbird smiled with exasperated affection. “He told me not to fash meself about it, so I haven’t. I was to wait here for you and then shut down the gate after you go back. Before the terrorizers find it.”
“Terrorists,” I corrected absently, jiggling the crying baby. “I don’t know what to do for her.” If I’d had any kind of normal life, I would have taken parenting classes and been prepared for this. Surely there was some sort of checklist for dealing with crying babies.
“She’s hungry,” Blackbird said in a gentle tone. Hesitated. “Do you have milk?”
“Milk?” Why would I have milk? It wasn’t like I carried groceries around and coming through—oh. “No, I don’t. After the birth I was pretty torn up and I, um, changed into the cat and back.” Erasing all effects of the pregnancy. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
My little daughter squinched up her face and turned hot pink with crying. Already disappointed in me. “I’m a terrible mother,” I realized. “I can’t even feed her.”
“Oh, stop it,” Blackbird snapped. “I’ve got some goat’s milk that we’ve been giving her. Once you cross back, you can wish up your own milk or feed her a combination of magic and other sustenance. No mother knows what she’s doing at first. We all learn as we go.”
She handed me a bottle and I popped it in the baby’s mouth. The ensuing quiet did a great deal to steady my nerves. I would need to name her, which I hated to do without Rogue’s input. Why had we never discussed it?
“Two things—first, this might be a shock, but remember Walter?”
“How could I forget?” Blackbird replied in a dry tone, shaking her head a little. So odd not to hear her thoughts, sample her feelings. Where Faerie had once seemed over-the-top to me in every way, my old world now felt sterile and one-dimensional. Walt wasn’t the only one who’d changed.
“He’s come a long way. Very manly and a great help during—all the stuff you missed—which is good, because, surprise! Turns out he’s Baby Brody.”
The news electrified her. At first she nearly protested, but then frowned, puzzling it through. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? We asked you to help find him and you led us right to him. We just didn’t recognize him.”
I nearly said it hadn’t happened that way, but—when she phrased it like that—it kind of had. Magic worked in mysterious ways.
Another thought occurred to her. “Does Starling know?”
“She does now. And, don’t worry, things didn’t progress far between them, if you know what I mean.”
Blackbird sighed. “I wasn’t a fan of the old Walter, but I was willing to go along, for Starling’s sake. She wants to find love so much.”
“I know.” We all did. The baby had stopped suckling and looked drowsy. I might be a terrible mother, but she’d have to put up with me, because I’d never let her go. No chance of wandering off into the desert without me again. “You’ll like the new Walter, I think. You’ll be proud.”
“I always pictured Brody like this.” Blackbird stroked a hand over the fuzz of black hair on my daughter’s head. “Though I knew he must have grown, I never... Ah well, time enough to adjust.”
Not much to say to that. I took a deep breath, dreading the answer to my next question. “Okay then, where is Rogue?”
Chapter Thirty-One
There’s No Place Like Home
If I’ve learned nothing else from this adventure, I know now that what I love is what I value. And vice versa. It needs no more quantification than that.
~Big Book of Fairyland, “Personal Observations”
Blackbird raised elegant winged eyebrows. “He’s where you might expect.”
She walked to the window and I followed. Outside, the Black Dog—absurdly large in this context—played in the snow with Puck. He had hold of the long scarf and tugged at it while Puck flailed in a snowdrift. I sighed, torn between laughing at their antics and fear that Rogue might be lost to the Dog forever.
“Why hasn’t he changed back?”
“He can’t. Not here.” Blackbird looked, not at the pair in the snow, but out at the looming Tower. “You have to take him back. Take them both back. But I understand if you want to stay here, in your home. I can go instead.”
I was already shaking my head, mildly surprised at myself. “This isn’t my home anymore.” If it ever was. That’s why I felt like an alien my entire life. Walter had summed it up well. Changelings out of place.
“Will he change back, once we get through? Will he...be himself again?”
“I don’t know,” Blackbird replied, regret in her voice. “We’ve been here for days. That’s a long time.”
“I gave Darling Hercules Goliath his fae body back.”
She blinked at me, long and slow. “Did you now?”
“But he still thinks like a cat.”
The Black Dog tackled Puck, tumbling him through the drifts, snow flying everywhere. Would I be able to stand it, having Rogue’s body back powered by the mind of a dog? Was it even fair to him? I imagined the alternative. I could load up a car and the three of us could drive down to Laramie once the storm cleared. Maybe I could get my job back. Maybe I could find Isabel and rescue her from whatever had become of her. Eventually I’d have to face my mother. But could I?
I’d either have to continue to pretend to be her daughter or tell the truth. It would be far easier if I could tell her where her true child was, what kind of life she lived. That meant going back to Faerie to find her.
I could make a life here again, with my very sm
art Dog, my daughter and Isabel. Or go help Frank and Fergus with saving the world.
It sounded empty.
I’d never believed in true love and now I thought I might wither away without it.
And you can’t save everyone. Maybe it would be enough to get my own family to the watering hole. I could maybe come back later. Especially if some of the gates had been blown open. The world would undoubtedly still need saving tomorrow.
“Would you hold her?”
Blackbird smiled and took the baby. “Always.”
In the mudroom, I found a pair of boots to fit, along with a parka, hat and gloves. Frank hadn’t changed, always prepared for lady visitors. In fact, he had even hung a mirror, for someone to fix her hair or freshen her lipstick on the way in or out. I made myself look, to see who I might be in my old world.
No longer myself, for sure.
The silver pattern on my face didn’t glitter, but stood out like the raised lines of scar tissue, the skin twisted and puckered beneath. I might have gone through a car’s windshield sideways. Oddly, it didn’t bother me. After all I’d been through, I deserved a few scars, a lasting testament that I’d been wounded unto death and healed.
Outside, the Dog spotted me immediately, leaping through the snow with glee and knocking me back into a drift. He licked my face while I sputtered and thrashed. Puck threw a snowball at me, then sang “Sing a Song of Sixpence.”
I looked into the Dog’s eyes, seeing and feeling nothing of Rogue. Staying here would be a safe choice, but I had to take the chance of saving him too.
“Puck—we’re going back.”
“Won’t that be a pretty sight to set before the king?” He replied, kicking up snow.
“There is no king. Just us chickens.”
Puck laughed gaily, as if I’d made an excellent joke. “Do you know what you’re doing, powerful sorceress Gwynn?”
“Absolutely not.” I grinned at him. “I figured I’d wing it.”
* * *
Blackbird sent her love to Walter, but elected to stay behind and mind the lodge for Frank until she heard from him and Fergus. I wasn’t surprised by her choice. And it amused me that she’d found her role so easily, even in my more mundane world, always the one to keep things running smoothly.
Rogue's Paradise Page 32
