Cold Dream Dawning

by A. R. Kahler

  I watch performers practice; even though some of these people have been working for the show for decades, they still practice daily. Probably because there’s nothing else to do around here. Contortionists wearing leg warmers and sweatshirts stretch beside three jugglers tossing knives to each other, while a lone handbalancer twists himself atop a stack of crates by the food truck. There are clowns in the corner practicing skits, and everywhere I go, I feel eyes on the back of my neck. No doubt it’s Kingston, making sure I don’t get into trouble. Waiting for me to show a sign of weakness so he can strike and demand I take my mother elsewhere.

  I wander the grounds and inspect the flow of Dream, trace the threads of it from the chapiteau to a small trailer that seems to be storing it. I don’t go inside. Mostly, I try to stay busy. I try to stay out of the way. I try to keep my thoughts from catching up to my footsteps. I don’t want to start worrying about what I’m supposed to do or what will happen if I fail. And yet, hard as I try, the place is small. It’s impossible to avoid my life forever.

  Especially when retribution comes in the form of a young girl in a baby-doll dress.

  “You’re back,” she calls. I’m out in the main promenade, idly looking over glow-in-the-dark swords and light-up tiaras at a souvenir booth. My blood goes cold at her voice. “I told you not to come back.”

  “Yeah, well, I suck at following directions,” I reply, turning to look at Lilith. “Especially when they come from bratty teens like you.”

  I expect her to grimace, but the girl standing beside the psychic booth just smiles. It’s not even a malicious smile. She actually seems pleased.

  “I like you,” she says. For some reason, that sends chills down my spine. It’s like a poltergeist telling you they want to be besties. “You have fire.”

  “I have a lot of things,” I reply, “but not one of those is time. So what do you want, Lilith?”

  The smile fades. She looks like some gothic Lolita, with her black frilled dress and curly hair pulled back with a ribbon. Despite the fact that she works for a show that very clearly involves work in the sun, her skin is pale as frost.

  “I like you,” she repeats, “but I do not like your friends.”

  “They aren’t my friends,” I say on impulse.

  “But she is your mother.” Once more, I wonder how much everyone in this show knows about me. I wonder if anything in my life is secret. Besides the stuff that everyone seems to be keeping secret from me.

  “What do you want, Lilith?”

  “I want her dead.”

  The silence surrounding her words is like a tomb.

  “What the fuck did you say?” I take a step forward, my hand automatically reaching for the dagger at my hip.

  “She should not be here,” she says. “She has broken so much. And she will only break more.”

  “She is under my protection. Under this troupe’s protection. If you so much as lay a finger on her . . .”

  “I would never harm her,” she says. She closes the space between us, and my resolve falters. But I don’t step back, even though I want to. “I would not need to.” She smiles again, but it’s nowhere near happy. It’s the smile of a murderer twisting the knife. “There are many who wish her dead. And by bringing her here, you have put her in the spotlight. She is not immortal, not anymore—the magic that protects us won’t shield her if she leaves these grounds. And unlike us, she cannot stay here forever. She won’t last long. No matter whose protection you say she is under.”

  Despite my natural aversion to her, I lean in closer. My blade is somehow in hand, and I press the tip into her gut. Gently.

  “If she so much as breaks a fingernail,” I grumble into her ear, “I will hold you personally accountable. And I don’t care what sort of contract you’re under. I’ll find a way to make your life hell.”

  She kisses me on the cheek. Presses her stomach to the dagger so it’s me who pulls back.

  “Don’t worry, Claire. I’ve been in hell since the day I was reborn.”

  Then she steps back and tilts her head to the side, as if she’s listening to something far away.

  “Speaking of,” she mutters, almost to herself. “I have heard you have let something loose. Something that should not be on this earth again.”

  “Again?”

  But she just smiles and looks me in the eye.

  “You won’t defeat her,” she says. “Even with the Oracle here, the pawns are not in their proper places. The queen will take control. You are not enough to stop her. Not on your own.”

  “Clearly you don’t know me that well.”

  “I am not working as a psychic just for show. I know you better than you think. Just as I know you could never bring yourself to kill your own mother. No matter how hard you think yourself to be.”

  I open my mouth.

  “I’m protecting her.”

  She chuckles. We both know it’s a lie.

  “At least your mother had the decency not to understand her past or powers. She could be forgiven for feigning weakness, for thinking she was merely human. But you, Claire. You are pathetic. You know precisely what you are. You know how bright you burn. And yet you will not use your power.” She shakes her head as though it’s the greatest shame. “Your mother understood the nature of sacrifice. You are still just a child playing at being a hero.”

  “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  She shrugs.

  “Nor do you. What is the greater disappointment?”

  She steps back and turns away, but before leaving, pauses to say over her shoulder, “The Pale Queen will not let this slide, you know. Once she is secure, this will be the first place she strikes.”

  “How do you know?” I ask. But she doesn’t answer. She just walks away, leaving me wondering if maybe this wasn’t the right place to bring Vivienne after all.

  I hunt down Kingston shortly after Lilith’s vague threats. I’d tried hunting her down, but she as good as vanished. Miraculous, seeing as the performers were—to my knowledge—not allowed to leave the circus grounds under any circumstance. I still have no idea what my mother did, and Lilith seems to know more about the Oracle and the Pale Queen than even Mab. I should be torturing answers out of her. Instead, I’m trying to find the magician who can make my mother’s memories unravel.

  According to some performers, he’s holed up in his trailer; while everyone else in the show seems to double up on bunks, he has an entire trailer to himself. There’s even a star on the door. I’m not at all surprised. Diva.

  It takes a few knocks before he answers. And he definitely doesn’t look happy to see me.

  “You’re still here?” he asks.

  “It’s your lucky day.”

  I hop up the step and push past him, under his arm and into the trailer. It’s . . . definitely not part of the mortal world.

  The interior is spacious. And I’m not talking spacious-for-a-trailer. I’m talking literal mansion. There’s a sweeping staircase at the far end of the plush-carpeted hallway, and crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling. A dozen doors branch off to other parts of the place, and the hall is lined with suits of armor and Tiffany lamps.

  “What the hell?” I ask as I step inside.

  “Come on in,” he grunts. “Make yourself at home.”

  I look around, spinning slowly on the spot and using my limited abilities to trace out the corners of this place, the magic running through the walls and floor, the blueprint spreading out in my senses like a water-stained map.

  “What is this place?” I ask. Because there’s an energy here that isn’t part of the mortal world—this is definitely in Faerie.

  “My retirement plan,” he says coldly, stepping up beside me. “A castle in the woods. Just like I always wanted.” Despite that, he doesn’t sound the slightest bit proud or excited.

  “Retirement, eh? Almost at the end of your contract?”

  “Not quite. But I’m no longer in the triple digits, so it feels lik
e tomorrow. Why are you here?”

  “People keep asking me that,” I say, turning to him. “Can’t a girl just visit?”

  He smiles. It doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes.

  “You can’t.”

  I walk deeper into the mansion. Definitely not a bad place to retire to. It would give me something to look forward to. Maybe I should talk to Mab.

  “What does Oberon want with my mother?” I ask. “Rather, why does he want her dead?”

  I glance back at him just in time to see him calculate his next words. When he speaks, I have no doubt that it’s mostly a lie.

  “She’s dangerous,” he replies. “She almost destroyed his entire kingdom before. In a way. He wants revenge.”

  “Right. Because he’s not dealing with enough right now—he’d totally go out of his way to kill a woman with no memory or powers while his kingdom starves.”

  “How bad is it?” Kingston asks, his voice heavy, and I know he’s not talking about Oberon or my mother.

  “Bad. Mab thinks she’s lost half her citizens, and more are leaving by the day.” I turn and lean against a doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest. I don’t know if it looks seductive or badass, but I’m hoping for a mix of both. “What do you know? About what’s happened?”

  His eyes dart around as though he’s looking for eavesdroppers, but this is his pad. He’s a witch; this place is definitely better protected than even my own. Not that I’d ever tell him that.

  “Something’s loose,” he replies. “I felt it. Last night. Mab refuses to tell me what it was, but everyone with a stitch of magic in their veins felt the pull. Something or someone was raised.” He looks at me, raises an eyebrow. “What did you summon?”

  I want to tell him it wasn’t me, that it was Roxie, but that’s a line of conversation I don’t want to explore with him. And it doesn’t really make a difference—I was a part of the ritual that brought this thing back. Apparently, I was the one who started it. After all, I was the one gathering the blood.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Eli says it’s some astral creature, bound to the lower levels. She calls herself the Pale Queen.”

  I can’t tell why his features tighten—maybe it’s the mention of my astral ally, or maybe the name Pale Queen rings a bell. I don’t get a chance to ask him.

  “And that’s why your mother’s here,” he says. “Because Mab needs her powers back.”

  I nod.

  “You think I can just undo it,” he says. “But memory magic doesn’t work like that. And this wasn’t normal magic. I can’t just go in and make the magic that I’ve spent years layering go away.”

  “Why not? And hell, what did you even do? For that matter, what did she do?”

  He sighs, runs a hand through his hair.

  “It’s complicated. Like everything involving your mother. Or Mab, for that matter.” Despite looking like he wants to launch into a story, he doesn’t offer me a comfy seat or move from the hallway. Clearly, he doesn’t want me going deeper into this place.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I say. “So please, don’t spare the details.”

  Another sigh.

  “When your mother came to us, she had . . . she had done something. Something terrible that she wanted out of her life. Everyone who comes to the show is a similar story—running from a bloody past that’s two steps from catching up to them. Mab offered to take it all away. But your mother was different. There was a power in her that Mab had spent a very, very long time searching for. The Oracle isn’t so much a person as an energy, a singular force that manifests in different creatures. Your mother was the latest host.

  “The last time the Oracle was seen, she was under Oberon’s control. She was always a tiebreaker in their scrabbles for Dream. She could foresee any attack, see into the heart of any enemy, and learn how to defeat them. Moreover, she could manifest whatever power was necessary to do it.”

  “No wonder Mab wanted her,” I mutter. She puts my own powers to shame. Or, did. “So that . . . thing. That power. That’s still inside of her.”

  He nods, his eyes tight. Whatever he’s seeing in memory, he doesn’t like it. “For the most part, yes. But it was too much for her. I locked that part of her away when she joined the show—it was already eating away at her. But then, when shit hit the fan . . .”

  “Convince her your love is strong enough to die for,” I mutter.

  His reverie snaps. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Around,” I reply. “So, what? You convinced her that letting her powers go was worth it? Letting the Oracle powers or whatever kill the woman that was left?”

  Again, that short, cold nod.

  “There was no other choice. She knew the risks and she took them. We let her powers go. And she saved us.”

  “But she didn’t die.”

  “No. Not quite. Once the demons were gone, I stepped in. Tried to force the power back down. I nearly lost it, but I managed. And I locked those powers deep inside her.”

  I don’t ask about the demons, because that’s not relevant right now. I can’t imagine the end of the world happening because of a few stray astral creatures. Then again, the Pale Queen seems to be trying for that on her own.

  “She seems okay to me,” I say. “A little off, but functioning.”

  “You don’t get it. Her memories were burned out of her when the Oracle took over. Everything that made her human, gone. She lost most of who she was, and I had to fill in the rest. She’s no longer the woman she once was. She’s new. She’s what I made her to be.”

  His voice actually seems to hitch when he says this, and he looks away. If he weren’t such a damned good actor, I’d have fallen for it headfirst. As it is, I know he’s only doing it for show. At least . . . I think it’s just for show. He manipulated your mother. He’s still the asshole who ruined my mother’s life, no matter what emotions for her he might have harbored.

  “If you made her, then you can unmake her,” I say. I realize how horrible it sounds before the words even leave my mouth. Once more, I’m no better than he is; maybe I should stop treating him like he ruined my mom’s life, when I’m probably going to be the one who ends it. “We need her to find the Pale Queen. She’s hiding in the Wildness, and we can’t find her without Vivienne’s powers. We need the Oracle. Before this bitch bleeds the kingdoms dry.”

  “I can’t help you.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”

  “I know very well what I’m asking you to do.”

  I step forward then, my veins filled with hatred. And no, it’s not all directed at him. I’m pissed at myself, pissed I’m asking him to do this, pissed I’m trying to unravel the little bit of a life Viv was given for Mab’s and my own ends. I want to let her live in peace. I would let all of Faerie die before I let Kingston hurt her again.

  But I signed a contract. I’ll fight for Mab until the end.

  “Don’t even pretend you love her,” I whisper. “I know it’s a lie. I know Mab had you manipulate her. Because of you, she sacrificed everything. You don’t even know what her life is like now.”

  “I do,” he says.

  “Bullshit. You’re safe in here with your little illusions and pretty playthings. You don’t give two shits about her.”

  “Really? Then why do I visit her every month?”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am I?” he asks. “She doesn’t remember, of course. But I do. I remember watching her age. I remember her falling deeper and deeper in love with someone else. I’ve watched more of her life than you have, Claire. Hell, I even watched her bring you home from the hospital. You didn’t know that, did you? That I was there for your birth.”

  My mind reels.

  “You’re not—”

  “I’m not your father,” he says. He looks at me, clearly remembering the night we spent together. “I’m not that sick. No, I was there in the delivery room. F
aeries and Shifters aren’t the only ones who can disguise themselves. I watched you grow, right up to the day Mab had me take you away and hide you in Winter. And then, I watched your mother move on and forget. Do you know what that’s like, Claire? To watch someone you loved forget who you are so completely, you don’t even have to disguise yourself anymore in their presence?”

  His eyes are wild, and there’s a breathlessness in his voice that tells me quite clearly that this isn’t an act. He’s been waiting to air this for a long, long time.

  I step forward, until we’re close enough to lean in and kiss. And maybe we will, maybe this will be one of those I hate you so much I’ll bone you moments. Or maybe I’ll just punch him. I’ll get something out of it either way.

  “Let’s get one thing straight, magic man,” I hiss. “I don’t give a flying fuck about your feelings toward my mother. I don’t care if you miss her. Or if you regret screwing her over. And I definitely don’t care if you watched me grow up. You are going to help me get her powers back. No matter what it takes. You’ve manipulated her before to get what you want. I have no doubt you can do it again.”

  “I told you,” he whispers, the hurt in his eyes and his words palpable. “I can’t just undo it. Not without killing her outright. The magic that binds her memories in place will dissolve in time. That’s why I visit. Don’t think it’s just out of misplaced nostalgia. I have to replenish the magic every few weeks. Left to itself, it would dissolve.”

  “So we let it dissolve.”

  He shakes his head.

  “If it dissolves, she dies. Simple as that. She can’t become the Oracle again, Claire.”

  “Mab says she can.”

  “Mab’s kingdom is dying. She’s desperate. And you haven’t seen Mab when she’s desperate.”

  “Faeries can’t lie,” I say, suddenly aware that neither of us has moved a step. His breath smells like coffee, and not in a bad way.

  “She’s not lying if she thinks it’s true. If I let the magic in her dissolve, she’ll simply fall apart. It’s not just giving her a false personality, Claire. It’s keeping her alive. The power within her is literally eating her up. I let it go, and she goes out, too.”