by A. R. Kahler
Maybe he has.
“Viv has . . . powers. She can tell the future, that sort of thing. And I’m looking for someone who is very, very good at hiding. I can’t find this person on my own. If Viv could tap into her powers, I could find my hit.”
“You can call her ‘Mom,’ you know,” he interjects.
No, I can’t. My mother is the woman who raised me, and she’s the icy queen of a kingdom you’ve never heard about. I can’t tell if that’s the truth, or if I’m just trying to convince myself of it.
“That’s complicated, too,” I say. I wish I didn’t sound so defeated by it. I really, really need a full night’s sleep. And a meal. And probably a really good lay, just to get my mind off of things.
“What . . . what will happen to her?”
“The woman I’m after? I’ll kill her. Obviously.”
“No. Vivienne. Your mother. What will happen to her?”
“Why would anything happen to her?” I counter.
“If what you’re saying is true, these people have gone to a lot of effort to keep her in the dark. No one does that for nothing. There has to be a risk.”
I open my mouth to tell him that there’s a good chance she’ll die in the process. Then I see his face. He might not know the full extent of his partner’s past, but he still loves her. I know that look; he’d be crushed if something happened to her. I can’t even imagine how he’d feel if he knew I might kill her in the process.
“Nothing,” I say. “She’s a bigger risk to those around her. That’s why her powers were hidden.”
“If that were the case, why can’t whoever hid them just undo it?”
“Complicated.”
I set down the mug. The tone in his voice says he’s looking for an argument, and I don’t blame him. This would be frustrating as hell, to know you’ve been right all along but to still be kept in the dark on why. I look at the clock. Already wasted an hour here, and who knows how Eli’s entertained himself.
“I should probably go,” I say, rising from the stool.
“What happens next?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, they’re going to come back. Viv and that . . . that thing. What do I do, now that I know the truth?”
“I don’t know,” I lie. “But we’ll figure it out.”
His scenario won’t happen. No matter what. Because if Viv does live through this, I’m going to ensure she doesn’t come back to this life. As for Austin . . . I look him up and down. There’s a resilience to him I admire. Something in his face tells me he’d go through hell and back again for his wife. And for me.
He can’t remember this, though. Not for his own good.
I walk over and give him a very awkward, very brief hug.
“We’ll work it out,” I say. Or, rather, Kingston will.
Eli’s waiting for me outside, sitting on an elegant wooden chair that I’m positive doesn’t belong here. The moment I step out, he stands, and the chair vanishes with a crackle of blue embers.
“Well?” he asks, gesturing to the house.
“Nothing,” I reply. Just like last time, when hunting for answers about the mysterious buyer of all the Dream, this feels like grabbing at crumbs. I know Mab knows more than she’s letting on. I also know she’ll never divulge until she absolutely must. Or wants to. Maybe she should be the next person I interrogate. But no. I can’t risk the interrogation going the other way. “He knows absolutely nothing. Save my identity, which means Kingston’s not as in control of his own magic as he thought.”
“And yet you stayed in there for so long.” He pushes up his glasses to give me an appraising sort of look. “You didn’t . . .”
“No!” I say, pushing him aside as I walk around the house. “You’re sick, you know that?”
“I do. So what were you discussing?”
I grab some chalk and start sketching the portal as I talk.
“Just telling him what he already suspected—his wife isn’t who he thought she was, his daughter isn’t even human, and he’s not as crazy as he’d hoped. Viv’s been completely static. No slipups or memories as long as he can remember. He has no clue how we’d undo it, and even less clue how her powers could be brought back. The magic binding her is tight.”
“And yet, his slipped.”
I shrug, complete a constellation of Draco, and turn to him.
“Everyone’s been focused on keeping Viv’s memories stable. It’s not surprising that Austin’s slipped—he’s not a threat to anyone.”
“So where are we going?” he asks.
“Back to the circus.”
He sighs. “I feel like you’re just going around in circles here. Weren’t you just at the show?”
“Yes,” I say, crumbling the chalk in my palm. “But that was before you gave me your little lesson. You were right, Eli—I was weak. My mission is getting my mother’s power back. And that’s going to involve getting a little dirty. Mab said I was the key, but I’ve been too afraid to get close enough to examine why.” I blow over the chalk, watch it billow and swirl into the portal I’ve drawn. “I was scared to hurt her. But you’ve reminded me. Hurting people is what I do best. Maybe that’s why Mab put me on the job in the first place—she knew I’d do whatever it took.”
Before I can see his reaction, I place a hand to the wall and step through.
I don’t teleport into the circus itself, but to an abandoned shed a few hundred feet away. Not because I’m worried about breaking a rule or being rude, but because I want to get a good look at the guard Oberon’s placed around my mother.
Sure enough, the moment the world clears and I’m facing the darkened big top, I smell the unmistakable tang of lightning and cut grass: Summer. The clouds are still there, the sky heavy, and it feels like a storm is about to break. In more ways than one.
Eli’s at my side a moment later, swirling into focus like a cloud of white ash. His sunglasses are gone, and his blue eyes take in the field with a slow burn.
“How many?” I whisper. I might be able to sense the Fey, but getting an exact count is difficult.
“A few dozen,” he replies.
I glance around, funneling a small bit of magic into some of the runes along my spine. My vision clears despite the late hour, and suddenly I’m able to make out the trees jutting from the landscape, their silhouettes vaguely humanoid and their auras glowing neon green. They spread around the circus in a wide circle, like a faerie ring of oaks and elms rather than little mushrooms. Between the trees, hiding in shadows or curled into grassy mounds, are the other Summer Fey. Wisps and goblins, Shifters and dryads. A small army.
I fully expect one of them to attack us; they don’t. Nothing moves as Eli and I walk toward the darkened sprawl of the circus, the sky on the eastern horizon just beginning to glow with dawn. The light is thick and diffused through the clouds. For some reason, I know the clouds won’t burn off in the light of day. There’s a magic settled up there, one that seethes and refuses to shift. It even tastes wrong. I keep my hands in my pockets, fingers tight around the knives stashed there. I don’t trust these calm interludes. They usually spell disaster.
And yet, we make it to the unlit neon sign over the promenade without any interruption.
We don’t make it through, however.
I’m so distracted by my focus on the Summer Fey that I don’t even notice the charms and wards over the entrance until I slam right into it. Like a solid glass windowpane stretching across the iron arch, the wards hold strong. No flash of light, no sparks of magic. Just an invisible barrier I can’t step through.
“What the hell?” I mutter. I refocus my attention on the gate surrounding the circus. Sure enough, countless glyphs and runes are twined through the iron and buried in the grass. It’s not Summer magic—that would be a violation of the rules. No, this is Kingston’s work. He’s ensuring that no one gets in. And the Summer Fey are imposing enough that no one will want to get out.
“Apparent
ly things have worsened in your absence,” Eli says. “The martyr is no longer enough to keep the monsters at bay.”
“Her name is Melody,” I reply. My gut drops. Kingston said she had maybe a week left. What if it’s worse than he was letting on?
“If the Summer Fey have been attacking,” Eli says, hitching onto my train of thought, “her health will be failing. The tithe is far from perfect; if she is healthy, the magic keeping the circus safe is healthy. But she also receives the full impact of any blow. If she is already beginning to fade, they would definitely have need for such reinforcements as these.”
“How do we get in?” I ask. I’m already running through the dozen or so counter-runes and spells I could place on the gate to make it all come crashing down. But that seems a bit extreme. Especially if it will weaken Melody further.
“You ask nicely,” Kingston says from the shadows. “Or else you’re invited.”
He walks down the promenade, a few lights flaring to life as he passes them. He’s in loose gym shorts and a hoodie, his serpent tattoo twined around one calf. He definitely isn’t happy to see us. Well, me in particular.
“Why do I have a feeling I’m not invited?” I ask. I rap my knuckles on the ward between us to emphasize my point.
He doesn’t answer, but his weak smile is enough.
“I didn’t think you were coming back,” he finally replies. He stands only a few feet away, but doesn’t make a move to remove the magical barrier.
“We got delayed,” I reply. I look to Eli. “We’re both perfectly respectable people. Well, creatures. I don’t see why we don’t get warmer welcomes.”
“No one likes inviting in Death,” Eli responds. He doesn’t take his eyes off Kingston.
“And yet here I thought we were trying to save everyone,” I say.
“Blood still trails in your footsteps,” Kingston replies.
I actually laugh. “Oh please. Like you’re any different? I know about your history. Accused of witchcraft in Salem, sentenced to burn. And what did you do? You kill everyone there, and Mab takes you on, demanding a year of service for every life you took. Salem was an awful long time ago, Kingston. Don’t even pretend you’re all high and mighty.”
“People change,” he says.
“Not our kind of people,” I reply. “Now, let me in before I break my way in.”
He sighs and makes a few hand gestures that I know are more for show than spell casting. The glyphs at his feet fade, and he gestures us inside. The moment Eli and I step in, he waves his hand and the wards buzz back into life.
“How’s she doing?” I ask the moment the seals are in place.
“Who? Your mother? Still alive. Though I have to be at her side practically every minute now. She’s in a lot of pain.”
“Actually, no. Melody.”
This makes him pause.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. She’s fine. I’m just surprised you actually care.”
I want to defend myself and say I’m not that coldhearted, but after tonight, that would be a lie I can’t even convince myself of. I also don’t want Eli to think he needs to give me another lesson. It’s going to take a lot of alcohol and magic to get those guys’ sleeping, peaceful faces out of my head.
“Just wondering why you need all the extra defenses.”
“There we go,” he says. “She’s fine, thanks. Tired, but fine. As for the wards, well, you saw our little entourage out there. They grow by the day. They can’t get through, but they could seriously damage us. So I’ve reinforced things. Discover anything useful out there?”
I shrug. I should tell him about Austin, but I want to wait. I want to ensure the blow comes at the most opportune moment—if I’ve learned one thing about magic users, it’s that they hate learning their powers are faltering.
“Where is she?” I ask.
“Sleeping.”
“Then wake her.”
“Why?”
“Because we need to talk.”
“She doesn’t know anything, Claire. Don’t you realize that? I already told you—she can’t just become the Oracle. It doesn’t work like that. And you can’t force her to make a prophecy. It will kill her.”
I round on him.
“Mab sent me on this mission because I could pull that spark out of Viv. I thought maybe it was a metaphor, you know? Just be in her presence and she’d remember. But that clearly hasn’t worked, and unless you’re fucking blind, you’ve realized that there’s no way out of this. I can’t bring her to Winter. We can’t get her out of this circus. And in a few days, Melody’s going to die, and all your defenses are going to go down. And then Oberon gets in.” I point to the field where the Summer Fey wait. “If you think those Fey out there will be nice to her because she’s important, you’re wrong. They want her dead.
“There’s no way out of this, Kingston. She’s going to die no matter what. At least if she dies at my hands, it will be for something important. She’ll save a lot of people because, hello, there’s clearly some serious shit going on out there.” I point to the sky. “If I can feel it, so can you. The Pale Queen isn’t just raising an army, she’s disrupting life on earth. Which won’t bode too well for ticket sales, I can assure you.”
He stares at me like a shocked fish.
“What are you saying?” he asks.
“I’m saying I’ve tried everything I could think of. I’ve confronted Oberon. I’ve talked to Austin. I’ve even begged the Pale fucking Queen. But there’s no way out of this besides my dagger. Mab chose me for a reason—not because I’m related, but because I’m a killer. That’s why she sent me on the job. She knew that no one else would be—”
“Heartless enough?” Kingston asks. “To kill her own mother? Just on the chance it could help find this Pale Queen?”
“I was going to say ruthless, but sure. That works, too. Now. Where is she? I want to get this over with.”
“I told you. She’s sleeping.” He looks me over. “Please, Claire. Just give her one more night.”
“Why?” I ask. “It’s not like she remembers any other nights, thanks to you.”
“That’s not fair.”
“None of this is.” I look to Eli. He watches the whole thing as though he’s watching a tennis match, a slight grin at the corner of his lips. Then I turn my attention back to Kingston. “She’s my mother. Or was. But this is bigger than both of us. We have to be what we were raised to be, not what we were born to be.”
“What?” Kingston asks.
“I wasn’t born a killer,” I respond. I may not remember my childhood before Mab, but I know enough from Austin and Viv that I know it’s true. “That’s what Mab made me. Just as she made you into . . . well, whatever you are. So don’t hate me for following through with my orders. I don’t have a choice. I’ll give her another night. Make your peace or whatever you have to do. In the morning, she and I talk. And I’m not leaving this show until I know how to find and kill the Pale Queen.”
Kingston shakes his head and looks as if he’s about to fight, but then stops. Because his eyes land on someone beside me. I glance over.
The changeling stands in the shadows, arms crossed before her chest.
“That goes for you, too,” I call out to her. Then, before she or Kingston can try to change my mind, I grab Eli’s arm and begin walking away.
“That was inspiring,” he muses when the others are—mostly—out of earshot.
“I learned from the best.”
“Will you really torture her? Your own mother? Just to get to this Pale Queen?”
I think of what the Pale Queen showed me—her land of bliss and harmony amongst the Fey. Her offer to make that mine. And Vivienne’s. I think of Mab’s empty kingdom, and Oberon’s slipping reign. Most of all, I think of my damned contract, and the simple fact that I can’t back down from this, even if I wanted to. Mab has me snared. Right where she wanted me all along.
I never played an exalted role in Mab’s
eyes. I see that now. I was just there to do her dirty work. The illusions of grandeur were all on me. As were the illusions that I deserved something more.
“Yes,” I say. “I am the weapon. And I will do what weapons do: kill.”
Despite my exhaustion, I don’t sleep. The runes on my back have me wired, and that’s not a magic I can just shut off. At least, that’s what I tell myself. I know it’s more that I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want tomorrow to come, to have to interrogate my own mother as if she’s another traitor to the throne. Moreover, I don’t want to dream. I know the Pale Queen would be waiting. Or, worse, my own treacherous imagination.
Instead, I roam the halls of Kingston’s mansion. It should feel strange, but I’m used to going into places and making myself feel at home. He’s nowhere to be seen; he’s probably hovering by Vivienne’s bed, creepily cataloging the face he’ll never see again. I feel horrible thinking that. I should be doing the same. She was my mother after all. No. She’s not. Mab is.
Clearly, being in a place on my own isn’t healthy, even if there is a great deal to distract me. The place is sprawling, at least four stories tall (it’s hard to tell, as some of the staircases loop around) and too massive to keep track of. Red-carpeted hallways and grand ballrooms; indoor pools with glass ceilings enchanted to look like an arctic sky; kitchens straight out of a medieval castle, save for the top-of-the-line appliances; and bedrooms. So many bedrooms.
Including the wing that was clearly for the children he’d never have.
I walk this one slowly, my heart thudding heavily in my chest. It makes me feel like an intruder, but I explore anyway.
The halls are painted in pastels—pinks and blues and greens—and enchanted balloons float about the low ceiling. I pass under dirigibles and teddy bears and a glowing sun that plays soft music as it drifts. I glance into a few of the rooms as I go. One looks like a tree house in a jungle, complete with vines draped from the ceiling and clockwork monkeys slowly doing acrobatics across the beams. Another is the command center to a spaceship, the full cosmos swirling outside the window. There’s an undersea sand castle with stingrays drifting through the sky and a true medieval castle with a dragon latched to the ceiling, the flames from its maw dancing over the brickwork and providing an eerie light.
