“Hush,” he said, tapping me on the nose. “Don’t worry about what might happen. Live for today. There may be no tomorrow, so for now, enjoy what we have and revel in it. I know I’m going to.”
Trillian sought my lips again, and in the silver fire of his kiss, I forgot about visions and shadows and the future. For now, there was only his touch and my touch, and the merging of souls and bodies.
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Playlist for Etched in Silver
3 Doors Down:“Kryptonite”
Aerosmith:“Dream On”
Blue Öyster Cult:“(Don’t Fear) the Reaper”
David Bowie:“I’m Afraid of Americans”
“Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed”
The Bravery:“Believe”
Brother Noland:“Coconut Girl”
Death Cab for Cutie:“I Will Possess Your Heart”
Dead Can Dance:“The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove”
“Yulunga”
“Indus”
Depeche Mode:“If You Want”
Finger Eleven:“Paralyzer”
Fleetwood Mac:“The Chain”
“Gold Dust Woman”
Heart:“Magic Man”
Gary Numan:“Bridge? What Bridge?”
“War Songs”
“Sleep by Windows”
Gorillaz:“Every Planet We Reach Is Dead”
Lenny Kravitz:“American Woman”
Nine Inch Nails:“Closer”
Nirvana:“Heart-Shaped Box”
“You Know You’re Right”
Orgy:“Blue Monday”
Police:“Every Breath You Take”
“King of Pain”
“Invisible Sun”
Pussycat Dolls:“Buttons”
“Don’t Cha”
Rob Zombie:“Never Gonna Stop”
Rolling Stones:“Play with Fire”
“Gimme Shelter”
Seether:“Remedy”
Simple Minds:“Don’t You (Forget About Me)”
Thomas Dolby:“She Blinded Me with Science”
Thompson Twins:“The Gap”
“Watching”
“Love on Your Side”
“Sister of Mercy”
Toadies:“Possum Kingdom”
U2:“Elevation”
“Vertigo”
Ween:“The Golden Eel”
Zero 7:“In the Waiting Line”
Midwinter Memories from the D’Artigo Sisters
I asked Camille, Delilah, and Menolly what their most striking memories from their childhood Yule celebrations were, and here’s what they had to say:
Camille: What I remember most from my childhood is how our mother loved the holidays. She’d taken our customs, added her own, and created a truly beautiful blend for the Midwinter celebration. She would fill the house with holly and evergreens, and white poinsettias and red carnations and starberry flowers the color of gold.
Each year Father brought in a tree and we’d decorate it with spikes of polished quartz and delicate porcelain ornaments that Mother had made, and we hung baked cookies in the shape of stars and suns and moons from the branches, along with garlands of strung berries.
Mother had a special ornament that she’d had since her childhood—one of the few things that had belonged to her mother and father. The piece was lovely, a delicate sphere of blown glass, with her family name—D’Artigo—inscribed on it in glittering ink.
The year I’m thinking about, Delilah was still toddling around, and Menolly was in diapers. Mother said I could help her trim the tree. I was so excited, and I wanted to hang up the special ornament but she told me no, it was too delicate. When I was a little older she’d let me put it on the tree. Well, I had other ideas. I waited until she wasn’t looking and then I took the ornament out of its box and started to carry it over to the tree. I wanted to put it up high, where everybody could see it, so I tried to use one of my spells. It was a simple levitation spell, one most witches my age could do, but of course, being me, something went haywire and crash, the ornament dropped to the ground.
I was in tears and so was Mother. Although she didn’t scold me, not much, I knew I’d screwed up big time. Father read me the riot act and I knew I deserved it.
Well, a few days later he came home with a present for Mother. When she opened it, I heard her give a little gasp. Mother’s hand fluttered to her throat, and she got this teary-eyed look that made me want to hug her.
In the box were three perfect handblown glass spheres, and each one had one of our names on it—Camille, Delilah, and Menolly. He told Mother he couldn’t replace her childhood keepsake, but he could create new ones for the family she had now. That was her favorite gift of all that he ever gave her, and each year, she would gently help the three of us girls as we each hung our ornament on the tree, and then we’d go out to celebrate the Yule ritual with the city. I miss those days.
Delilah: If I have to pick a midwinter memory that sticks out the most, it would be the year after our mother died. All three of us girls missed her terribly, but I think I was having the hardest time adjusting. And Father didn’t have the faintest clue of how to proceed with the holy days. He wanted to make life whole for us, but he was hurting so much from losing her that there’s no way he could get it together for us.
We were still fairly young, all three of us, though Camille was in her early teens, by Earthside standards, and she’d been trying to pick up the pieces and make life as normal as she could for Menolly and me. She asked our cousin Shamas to help her go cut down a tree, and she did her best to emulate Mother, guiding us to decorate it and asking the cook to prepare the holiday favorites during the season. Father was struggling to cope, and I guess he decided Camille was doing a good job helping us two younger girls, so he sort of sat back and let her do what she wanted.
But there was one problem—gifts. Our mother had always given us gifts, but Father totally spaced it out. Camille didn’t want to ask Aunt Rythwar—who’d already been of so much help—so she decided to get them on her own. None of the rest of the family would help, because Mother had been human and we were half-breeds.
But Camille heard there was a leprechaun in the woods, so she decided to find him and see if he’d give her a wish. Leprechauns are notorious for hiding during the day, so a few nights before Midwinter, she snuck out of the house and went off into the woods to find him. I’m not sure what exactly happened, but she got horribly lost. Eventually, she lucked out and ran across the leprechaun, who took pity on her. He said he’d give her a wish, but he also brought her home and pounded on the door in the middle of the night. Father hadn’t even realized she’d been gone, and I guess it was a wakeup call, reminding him that he had three daughters who needed him because after that, he became an active member of the family again.
I was listening behind the door when Camille asked the leprechaun—who still offered to grant her a wish—if he could bring our mother back to life. She burst into tears when he said he couldn’t, but he did give her three magic gifts, one for each of us girls, and a package for Father.
The next morning, on Yuletide Day, we opened the gifts. Menolly found a glass flute and she played it for years until the Elwing Blood Clan took away her breath. Father’s package contained an oval picture frame with a picture of Mother in it—she would forever be smiling at him. My own gift was a spidersilk walking skirt—I needed a new one and it would keep me warm when I went wandering through the woods.
But Camille’s gift was the best of all, and she deserved it for all the trouble she’d gone to. The leprechaun gave Camille a little vial of moon shimmer—captured beams from the Moon Mother. Whenever she needed comforting, she held it in her hand and the Moon Mother’s energy embraced her with sparkling light and held her safe and warm, just like she tried to do for Menolly and me. And I think it’s still in her jewelry box.
Menolly: My favorite memory of the holidays in Otherworld is of the celebrations Y’Elestrial
held each year. On Midwinter’s Night most of the citizens of the city gather at the banks overlooking the Erulizi Falls, which pour into Lake Y’Leveshan. The lake and the falls are always iced over during the winter, sparkling like crystal under the snow-showered night. Everyone gathers around the shores to celebrate the Snow Queen and the Holly King, who rule over the winter months. Magic flows like honey and by morning, when the sun rises, the frozen fields are shimmering under the weight of the newly fallen snow. Right before dawn, the children awake to join the parade to the Altar of the Ancients.
Only children are allowed to take part in the parade, led by a priestess of the shrine. The older children carry the younger ones. I remember filing through the deep snow, into the forest until we reached the Tengmar Grove where the shrine to the Ancient Dreaming Ones rests. There we would gather in a circle around Mother Dream Walker—who is the matriarch of the forest unicorns, and each year, she sang to us the tales and legends from days long gone by. And each year, she would choose two girls to join the Order of the Ancient Sisterhood.
The priestesses of Mother Dream Walker are historians: They keep the songs and tales and legends that have passed down since long before the Great Divide. They tuck them safe within a secret barrow somewhere in the woodlands, and they also remember them by heart. To remember the past is their only task.
I wanted so bad to be one of the girls picked—each year I waited and waited for my name to be called, but it never was. I suppose I don’t have the temperament for the Sisterhood, but I kept hoping. The last year I was allowed to attend—Camille and Delilah had already been excluded a few years before me—I prayed all day, begging the Great Mother to let my name be one of the ones called that night. But the singing came and went, and then they chose two girls who were quiet, good at their studies, who never stood out much among the city children. I knew then that I’d never join the ranks of the Sisterhood—adults were never chosen. I left, crying, and it took me days to get over the heartbreak. I was never again allowed to go to the Grove, but I’ll always remember the parades, and the magical moments in the Grove. Those were the most beautiful nights of my life.
Following is a special excerpt from
SHADED VISION
the next book in the Otherworld series by Yasmine Galenorn
Coming February 2012!
1
“I’m going to be sick! Move!” Iris shoved past me and ran to the bathroom. I could hear her retching and then, after a moment, the toilet flushed and the sound of water ran in the sink.
Grimacing, I decided she could manage on her own and busied myself by putting the finishing touches on my outfit. I wasn’t a fashion maven, and all I could think was, Please, oh please, let me be dressed up enough for tonight.
My jeans were new, for a change, with no rips, and dark black, and I was wearing a bright fuchsia tank top with a rhinestone kitty on the front. I’d traded my utilitarian leather belt for a white leather one with a silver buckle, and I’d grudgingly changed my shit-kicker boots for a pair of suede ankle boots with three-inch heels, which put me at an even six four.
My spiky hairdo was back to the golden shade it normally ran, although I’d waffled and finally asked Iris to add in some chunky platinum highlights and a few thin black ones, so now I had tiger-striped spikes. The vining leaf tattoos on my arms had darkened some—with each passing week, they seemed to fill in a little more. Camille had helped me with my makeup, and I looked reasonably ready for clubbing, even though my typical evening was spent hanging around in front of the TV with Shade, curled up eating junk food and trading kisses. That is, when we weren’t out kicking demon ass.
I slipped into my black leather jacket and patiently sat on the edge of the bed, playing with one of my kitty toys. The squeaky mouse had become a favorite of mine and—even in human form—it made me grin. I shook it until it let out a string of loud squeaks.
Iris poked her head out of the bathroom.
“Will you stopthat damn noise? You’ve been obsessed with that toy night and day for the past two weeks. If you don’t put it down, I’m going to toss it in the garbage.”
“Not my squeaky mouse!” I quickly dropped it on the floor. I loved my squeaky mouse, and nobody was going to take it away from me.
Iris had fixed her makeup and, with a look that told me she wasn’t at all sure about our plans for the evening, she edged out of the tiled room and shouldered a smile. “Do I look okay?”
Grumpy notwithstanding, I could tell she was anxious. Six weeks pregnant, even though she wasn’t showing yet; her hormones were playing her like Jimi Hendrix played his guitar. Add to that, tomorrow she was getting married, and our Talon-haltija sprite was as jumpy as a cat in a thunderstorm.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
Iris was radiant, for all she was going through. Her ankle-length hair shone like spun gold, and her skin was smooth and flawless—pregnancy agreed with her. Her eyes were luminous, round, and blue as the early morning. And she still had her figure—she was curvy and buxom and for all her size, at three ten, she put me to shame.
She stared at me for a moment. As she cautiously dashed at her tears, trying to keep from messing up her mascara, she gave me a blissful smile. “You’re so sweet. Can you braid my hair for me? I sure wish I had Smoky’s ability to order it to fix itself.”
“I think a lot of people want a taste of Smoky’s talents.” I sat her down and divided her hair into three sections. “I know I’d love to come out looking peachy clean every time we fight a battle.”
After I wove one section over the other and finished it off with an elastic-coated rubber band, Iris coiled it around her head in an intricate pattern, leaving the tail end of it hanging down to her midback like a tidy ponytail. We added a brilliant yellow bow. It reminded me a lot of Barbara Eden’s hairdo in I Dream of Jeannie.
“I wish you could, too. Then I wouldn’t have so much laundry to do.”
She laughed and smoothed her skirt—a gorgeous cobalt blue number she’d paired with a pale gray button-down shirt and a pair of pumps that matched the color of her hair bow. The Finnish house sprite looked like a pretty secretary rather than the high priestess she was. Talon-haltijas were good at blending in. Even when they could whip your butt in a battle.
“Ready?” I stood, reaching for my purse.
She closed her eyes and pressed one hand against her stomach. “My stomach feels like it won’t ever be ready for anything again, but let’s get a move on.” As we left my room, she glanced up at me. “By this time tomorrow, I’ll be Iris O’Shea. Bruce’s wife. What the hell am I doing?”
I laughed at her panicked expression. “You’re marrying the leprechaun you love, Iris. And you’re going to have his baby, so you might as well get used to it. Life’s changing.” Cocking my head, I added, “So, you’re taking his last name?”
She nodded. “If Kuusi were my family name, I’d hyphenate. But . . . as much as I loved the Kuusis, they weren’t exactly family. I worked for them, I cared about them, but when it comes down to it, they were my employers. So I figure, I’m starting over yet another time, so I might as well start with another new name. Only this time, someone I love is attached to it. You’re right. Life is changing. And I’m embracing it.”
As we headed downstairs, I realized that was so true for all of us. Life was changing all around us. Some things for the better, some things not. And there was no way to stop the ride now that we’d all gotten on board.
The guys were sitting around the living room looking guilty. Not sure what they were up to, I gave them a sideways glance as we passed into the foyer and then the kitchen, where my two sisters—Camille and Menolly—were waiting with Menolly’s lover, Nerissa. A trail of wolf whistles followed, and Iris gave me a look and shook her head.
“They’ll be out like a light by the time we get home, want to make a bet?”
“I kind of hope so.” I really didn’t want to think about what kind of trouble they could get up to witho
ut us there to supervise.
Menolly’s coppery cornrows shimmered under the lights, and she was dressed in blue—tight jeans and a denim jacket over a rust-colored turtleneck. Her boots were even made of denim, and they sported thin stiletto spikes, almost as high as Camille’s.
Camille, on the other hand, was fully decked out in her usual fetish noir. Chiffon skirt, with a green under bust long-line waist cincher with black boning and silver hooks and eyes, beneath which she wore a shiny black spaghetti-strap top that left nothing to the imagination with regard to her DD breasts. She balanced on a pair of sky-high stilettos that I couldn’t even imagine wearing and was carrying a sparkly black wrap.
Nerissa, who was munching on a bread stick she’d found in the cupboard, wore a flirty, tiered, powder-pink skirt that barely covered her butt, and a glitzy tank top. Strong, lean, and muscled, she was an Amazon of a woman, a werepuma who wasn’t afraid to tackle life with my sister the vampire—and she was always ready to party.
Etched in Silver Page 9
