Elixir

by Ruth Vincent

“And I want to do something to help all those kids she’s stolen too . . .”

  “Mab, we’ve been over this—­you can’t save them . . .”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but he touched my shoulder.

  “Don’t you think I tried when I escaped?” he said gently. “I managed to free myself from their cocoon—­but maybe that was because I’m half Fey, so it didn’t have the same hold on me? But I couldn’t wake any of the other children up. Once they go into that enchanted sleep, it’s like they’re dead . . .”

  I shivered.

  He stroked my hair.

  “I still want to try, though. Maybe I could free my own Shadow at least.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for what the Queen did to her . . .” Obadiah began to say, but I cut him off.

  “I have to at least see her for myself.”

  He sighed, realizing arguing with my stubbornness was futile.

  “I’d like to go with you.”

  I shook my head. “It’s too dangerous for you. The Queen won’t try to hurt me. I’m her daughter.” I grimaced. “But she would try to hurt you.”

  “If you insist,” Obadiah agreed reluctantly. “But if by sunset tomorrow you’re not back, I’m coming in after you.”

  “I do not want you risking . . .” I protested, but he cut me off.

  “You may insist on seeing the Queen alone, but you’re not alone in this—­I’ll be looking out for you.”

  Sheepishly, I smiled.

  There was still an enormous amount of work to be done, and I didn’t know how we were going to accomplish it all—­but tonight had kindled a new optimism I hadn’t felt before. Maybe because I didn’t feel alone now. I had Obadiah by my side.

  Chapter 18

  Sunlight woke me in the morning, pouring in through the round window in the wall of the tree, making a gold circle on the floor. I blinked sleepily and stretched.

  “Morning.” I smiled, rolling over to greet Obadiah.

  But his side of the bed was empty.

  Obadiah was gone.

  I sat bolt upright.

  He was nowhere in the room. I looked around. My clothes were still scattered everywhere—­souvenirs from last night. I noticed my cast-­off bra had almost landed in the fireplace.

  But his clothes were missing from the floor. Wherever he’d gone to, he’d already gotten dressed.

  The morning-­after contentment crumpled up and disappeared, replaced with a sudden dread.

  Where was he?

  I threw the wolf-­skin covers back, shivering in the early morning chill. The flames in the little clay fireplace had burned out overnight. Maybe he had gone to do some errand and would be back momentarily? But why hadn’t he woken me to let me know?

  Stepping onto the freezing floorboards, I gathered up my clothes from the floor.

  I looked out the round window of the tree to check if he was outside, but the little courtyard out front was empty. The wind whistled through the branches, scattering leaves over the bare ground.

  A lump was forming in my throat and I struggled to push it down. He hadn’t left because of last night, had he?

  I tried to dismiss what the little voice in my head kept insisting. Obadiah knew I was the Fairy Queen’s daughter. He’d said last night he didn’t care. But still. You don’t get over lifelong prejudices in one night, no matter how good that night was. Was the knowledge just too much for him—­knowing that he’d literally slept with the enemy? Or had he just thought better of what we’d done? Did he regret it?

  I didn’t know. All I knew was that he was gone.

  I felt like crying.

  Mechanically, I put yesterday’s clothes back on and ran my fingers through my hair in lieu of a comb.

  Maybe he went out to hunt for some breakfast or something, I told myself hopelessly. Or he’d gone off to steal more Elixir. But I knew if he’d left for some legitimate reason, he would have said something. He would have told me where he was going. He would have kissed me on the cheek and said goodbye.

  Instead he had just left.

  Dammit, the lump was growing in my throat; I couldn’t hold it back anymore. What kind of idiot was I? How had I not seen the story ending this way?

  Everyone always said after you sleep with someone, nothing is ever the same, but somehow I never believed them. I thought it would be different for us. We understood each other—­we were the only two ­people who knew what it was like to be both Fey and human. We’d had something rare and precious. He wouldn’t just throw that away.

  I didn’t know what to think anymore. The fact of the matter was he was gone. I was alone in this strange House Tree, with a burned-­out fire and an empty bed.

  I tried to tell myself I didn’t care, that I would move on, as I threw on my jacket reluctantly. But my eyes were blurring as I looked around the room once more, hoping to find a note, or some little sign, anything, to show that he’d thought of me, that he’d tried to get in touch . . . that he’d cared. But the room was empty.

  Wiping my eyes with my fist, I shut the door behind me and slowly tromped down the winding stairs, all the while thinking about how Obadiah had carried me up this same staircase not twelve hours before. At last I reached the bottom.

  As I made my way out into the little patch of grass below the tree, I turned to cast a last glance over my shoulder, hoping in vain that a window would pop open in the trunk and Obadiah would stick his head out. But of course, that didn’t happen.

  You can’t think about him, I told myself. You have work to do. I needed to go back to the Queen’s chambers. I needed to get Eva from her enchanted sleep. Plus, I was going to find my Shadow. I didn’t care what the Queen said. I was going to find the girl I was switched with. And I was going to try to set things right. But the more I tried not to think about Obadiah, the more he was all I could think about.

  Had I been deluding myself this whole time?

  Was there nothing special between us?

  My heart felt leaden in my chest as I set forth down the road that would take me to the Queen’s palace.

  The same Goblin guard met me at the door, this time with a low bow, and began the most ridiculous kiss-­up greeting, but I put out a hand to silence him. I was in no mood.

  He got the message, because he quickly ushered me inside.

  I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as I walked behind the Goblin up the gleaming stairs to the Queen’s private chambers. Obviously word traveled quickly here, because I could see in everyone’s eyes that they knew. They knew I was the Queen’s daughter. And they all gave respectful bows. Still, it was very uncomfortable. I could hear them whisper as I walked past. The tone was chilly.

  They don’t like you, the little voice in my head whispered. Perhaps I was being paranoid, seeing coldness and disdain in what was really only curiosity. But then again, why should they like me? The Queen had all sorts of courtiers and advisers around her—­Fey who had trained for years to be her ears and eyes, to be the most learned, the most well-­versed in court intrigue. They weren’t just trying to be the best at what they did. They were vying with each other to be next in line for the Queen’s job. Korvus Korax wasn’t the only one who hungered for the throne. There were dozens more like him. They used to stand a reasonable chance. The Queen was childless, heirless, or so everyone had thought—­until yesterday.

  I wasn’t going to be very popular at court. The thought just added to the feeling of dread in my stomach.

  We reached the door that led to the Queen’s chambers. The Goblin opened it and I stepped inside. The Queen was standing at the far end of the room, turned towards the clear quartz window, staring at the spires of the city below.

  She must have not heard me come in, because she hadn’t turned around. Instead, she continued to stare vacantly down, her expression so unbearably sad I almost wanted to
go to her. But instead I just stood there, frozen. She was wearing a dress of coal-­black raven plumes that seemed to have gotten the rainbow sucked right out of them, for even in all their elaborateness of layers and poofing fronds, the color was merely dull black, making her skin all the more deathly pale. She must have not bothered putting on her glamour spell this morning, not realizing I’d be back so soon, because she looked frightfully old. There were worry lines across her forehead, and sagging, aged wrinkles down her neck. Her bosom was withered like dried-­up rose petals and her spine slumped forward as she leaned against the crystal wall. She was so incredibly old and tired and careworn—­nothing at all like the all-­powerful monarch she pretended to be—­that I genuinely felt for her.

  I must have exhaled a little too loudly, because she whirled around.

  And then in a fraction of a moment, her glamour was up again. She was a stunningly beautiful woman now, her face a flawless mask of perfection. Chiseled cheekbones, delicate nose, opalescent eyes burning cold fire, pert marble bosom, standing in a gown twinkling with black raven rainbows.

  “Mab!” She walked towards me, the feathers of her skirt rustling across the gleaming polished crystal floor. It was transparent; you could see through the floor down into the room below—­the effect made me dizzy.

  “Your M . . .” I stopped myself, and then said awkwardly, “I mean, um . . .” I couldn’t say it. Mom.

  “Mother,” I muttered. The word sounded thick and awkward on my tongue.

  The Queen’s face broke out into a beaming smile, and I could tell even through all her glamour that she was ecstatic to hear me call her that.

  “Forgive me, I wasn’t expecting you,” she said. “I mean, I’m very glad you are here.” She beamed. “I just hadn’t put my face on yet.”

  I nodded. When human women said they hadn’t put their face on, they didn’t mean it quite so literally.

  “I came to check on my friend Eva.”

  The Queen’s smile faltered.

  Then I realized how harsh that had sounded. She thought I’d come just to visit her.

  “She’s still under the sleep spell,” the Queen said quickly.

  “I know, but I’d like to see her again,” I said. Truth be told, I just didn’t want to be alone with the Queen, my mother, right now.

  “As you wish.”

  She led me into another room.

  Eva was lying inside the cocoon, her eyelids twitching in dreams.

  I wished I could tell her about what happened last night. I bet Eva could give me some advice about Obadiah. More than anything, I just wanted to be able to talk to her. The cocoon rocked in the breeze from an open window. Eva twitched but didn’t wake up.

  “What is this cocoon thing you have her in? I didn’t think that was necessary for a sleep spell,” I said. The shimmering white fibers made me think somehow of Eva’s hospital bed back in New York City. I didn’t want anything to remind me of that.

  “It was more expedient,” said the Queen. “We make these cocoons to store the children in. Not that your friend is like those children, of course,” the Queen added quickly, seeing the horrified expression on my face. “We could have put her under the sleep spell without one, but occasionally humans sleepwalk, and we wanted to keep her nicely confined.”

  “I really don’t think that was necessary.”

  “It was just more expedient,” she said quietly.

  Still, I was troubled. Maybe this wasn’t a normal sleep spell she’d put Eva in. Surely my mother wouldn’t kill Eva? She had no reason to. She knew Eva was important to me. What if she had no plans to ever let Eva go; what if she continued to hold her like collateral to keep me in the Vale, keep me beholden to her?

  I turned to the Queen, who was regarding me with expectant eyes.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like a moment alone with my friend,” I said again.

  The Queen opened her mouth as if to protest, but then must have thought better of it, because she nodded.

  “As you wish,” she said again, though I could tell by her tone she wasn’t thrilled about this. “I will be in the next room, if you need me.” She smiled hopefully.

  Chapter 19

  I exhaled a long sigh after the Queen left. I couldn’t help it; I still felt nervous around her. She’s your mother, I reminded myself. But it didn’t feel right. My mother was Beverley Jones. Hell, even my bear nurse, Ursaline, had been more of a mother to me than the Queen had ever been. It’s not like she’s your birth mother anymore, I told myself. My genes were the genes of Mabily Jones. But what if you take the Queen up on her offer and become a Fey again? the little voice in my head whispered. Then you’ll be flesh of her flesh, magic of her magic. The thought terrified me. If I was truly the Queen’s daughter—­was I going to become like her someday? Was I going to turn into the kind of person who killed ­people, who imprisoned them and tortured them because it was “expedient”? If I was the Queen’s daughter, did I have the seeds of that Machiavellian evil lying dormant inside me?

  I looked at Eva in her translucent cocoon. I wanted to talk to her so badly. Eva was the first one I went to when something was on my mind, when I felt overwhelmed and just wanted someone to listen and then offer some common-­sense advice. She would have something wise and sensible to say—­she always did.

  I watched her, wondering what she was dreaming about in there. She stirred a little in her sleep, her head shifted, and I heard her let out a long exhale. But I knew she wouldn’t wake up; the spell would prevent that. Her face twitched, grimacing. Perhaps her dreams were growing troubled.

  I walked around the cocoon. It was hung like a hammock from the center of the ceiling, so I could walk in a complete circle around it. Eva’s body had gone still, so still that I was worried for a second she wasn’t breathing. I leaned close to the cocoon, peering inside, my heart in my mouth. There was a faint mist on the cocoon fibers, enough for me to see that she was alive. I didn’t like to see her so still like this. Eva was always in motion, her face showing her every thought. And seeing her prostrate just reminded me of seeing her in the hospital room. Eva’s Fetch was still lying in that bed, deteriorating by the day. We needed to get her back.

  As I looked at her blank face, a thought kept haunting me. The Queen knew I didn’t entirely trust her yet, that I didn’t feel comfortable accepting her as my mother, and might not for a long time. Eva’s imprisonment could be her way of keeping me here, knowing I wouldn’t leave my friend. The thought made me angry.

  But how could I find out? I couldn’t trust the Queen to tell me. I couldn’t trust my own senses, as a human, to know the difference—­and I could no longer do my own detection spell. I wished Obadiah was here to help me, but he wasn’t.

  There was only one way to know.

  I had to try to wake her up. If I could wake her up, it was just a sleep spell. If I couldn’t, she’d been put in some much more serious magical paralysis, and if that was the case, then I was going to march back in to my birth mother and raise some hell.

  I heard the Queen’s voice in my head. Your friend is safe here in her cocoon. You must understand—­tiny human minds can’t handle seeing our world. It would be too much for them. It’s better to let her sleep.

  But I wasn’t sure the Queen was right. “Tiny human minds . . .” The Queen had a pretty prejudiced view of ­people. I was human, and my head hadn’t exploded just because I was in the Vale. I gazed down at Eva, her eyes moving beneath her lids. All her life she’d wanted to travel, wanted to see other places, wanted adventure and never had the chance. If she found out that she’d been in Fairyland and never gotten to see it—­she’d be pissed! She’d be pissed at me for not waking her up—­and maybe she’d be right. She deserved the chance to see the Crystal Spires, the Animalia, the House Trees, and see the fairies dancing like fireflies. And then we’d go home.

  What if she d
oesn’t want to go home with you? What if she wants to stay here? the little voice in my head whispered.

  But if she didn’t go home, her Fetch body would die—­she would die, and never be able to get back to the human world. Surely, that would be enough to make Eva go back. She knew her family would miss her terribly. As marvelous as I was sure she’d find the Vale, I knew she’d eventually want to go home.

  I reached out gingerly to touch the cocoon. As soon as my fingers brushed it I drew back and winced. It was like touching a spiderweb, leaving a crawling sensation on my hands. What had the Queen made this out of? I’d seen the Queen wear spider-­silk gowns—­she was probably the only one who could tolerate that kind of texture on her skin all the time.

  But if I was going to get Eva out, I needed to get over my squeamishness.

  I reached my hand out again, forcing myself to touch the crawling fibers. I tried to thrust my hand inside, even as everything in me wanted to draw my hand away.

  But I couldn’t get through the cocoon. The dent my fingers had made in the fibers was quickly absorbed, as if the cocoon was some kind of living thing. What the hell had the Queen done to Eva? I was pissed now. I jammed both hands into the cocoon, trying to rip the fibers apart, but the instant I made an opening it knitted itself back together again.

  Inside, Eva didn’t even stir.

  I pushed the cocoon, rocking it harder and higher back and forth, like a hammock out of control.

  But that seemed to have no effect.

  “Eva!” I called out as I tried to reach my fingers far enough in to touch her. But I couldn’t, and the sound of her name had no effect either.

  She went right on sleeping.

  It wasn’t natural, this sleep she was in. She might as well be in a coma.

  I put my head in my hands. What the hell had the Queen done to her?

  I was about to turn away, march back into the other room and ask my birth mother to undo whatever the hell spell she’d put on Eva and demand she take her out. I was her daughter. Surely she could do that for me?