by A. R. Kahler
Then, at the very end of the hall, is another door. This one locked.
“That was yours, in a way,” Kingston says from behind me. I nearly jump out of my skin.
“How did you sneak up on me?” I ask.
“My home, my rules.”
I look to the door. If my insides were knotted before, they’re a total mess now.
“What do you mean, this was mine?”
He steps up beside me. He’s in his pj’s, but in here, in his own castle, he looks regal. If not a little sad.
“I was stupid,” he says. “When your mother was taken away from me, well, you already know I kept a pretty close watch. And when she had you . . .” He sighs and looks at me, then back to the door. “I imagined that maybe I could convince Mab to let me take you. I mean, both of you. Bring you guys back to my castle so you could live as queens. She wouldn’t have any of it. Said it was against Viv’s contract and mine as well. I didn’t tell her I’d already built this place for you. I’d watched you, those first few years. I even came dressed up as Santa once.”
He chuckles to himself, and in the far off corners of my mind, I can almost picture it, this red, jolly blur of memory. But it’s also rather creepy. He was still stalking us, well-intentioned or not.
“Anyway, that never happened, but I never could convince myself to get rid of the room. Or the wing. Who knows? Maybe I’ll still get my happy ending.” I study him for a long moment, at the way he stands there, hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes wavering over the door. It’s easy to convince myself that he’s an asshole. But it’s also easy to convince myself that he really did love my mother.
“Why didn’t Mab let you two stay together?” I ask. I know it’s dangerous territory, but my entire life is dangerous territory right now.
“She didn’t. I mean, she didn’t decide that. I did.”
“What?”
I mean, okay, Austin’s charming and hot and reliable. But Kingston has magic. He has a fucking castle waiting for her.
“When the time came for her to sac—to save us, I told her it would burn everything out of her. If she lived, I’d be nothing more than a memory. But she gave that up to save the world. After, I was able to contain a little bit of her life, keep the power from destroying her completely. But I knew I had to keep her away from any sort of triggers. The circus. Magic. Me.” The last word comes out as a choke. “I gave her up. Because if she stayed with me, the chances of her remembering her true past, of burning up . . . they were too great. So I crafted her a life with Austin. He’s a good guy; they’d been high school lovers, and he would have followed her to the ends of the earth and back. He even came to the circus to find her once. Which is impressive, since I personally made him forget she existed. He’s not good enough for her, but he tries. And that’s more than I could hope for.”
He sounds bitter as he speaks, but he shakes his head and changes the subject. I feel I should mention that Austin is once more remembering things—the guy must have some sort of magical brain to be immune to Kingston’s literal charms.
“I know you’re going to go through with it,” he says. “I’d hoped . . . I’d hoped there was another way. But you’re right—there isn’t. And Mab did choose you for a reason.”
“You don’t need to tell me I’m heartless again,” I mutter, glancing at the row of rooms. I could have grown up here. It feels more like home than Mab’s castle or Vivienne’s house.
“No. It’s not that. You’re necessary.”
I glance back to him. His words drag from his lips, as though he doesn’t want to admit to any of it.
“When she gave birth to you, a small piece of her power transferred.” He doesn’t look me in the eyes when he talks. He doesn’t take his gaze from the door. “It’s part of the reason Mab kept you two apart—when you’re together . . . you amplify each other. If you’d grown up with Viv, you both would have died before you hit fifteen. The power is too volatile. It doesn’t like being restrained.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” I can’t tell if I’m pissed or sad.
He blinks. It’s not my imagination; a single tear drips from his eye and falls to the ground.
“Because I wanted to believe there was another way. The Oracle can’t exist in two bodies. The fragment in you is weak—it’s what grants you your strength, your ability to sense magic and the Fey. It wasn’t all training, because you aren’t entirely mortal.”
“So, what? She dies, I become the Oracle?”
“No. No, you’re not conditioned. The Oracle is born into a body—it can’t just fully transfer to an existing one. You’d die from the power flux instantly.”
“So what’s the problem here?”
“She’s going to need your blood,” he says. He does look into my eyes. “She’s going to need to drink it. That’s what the Oracle feeds on, and moreover, your blood should transfer that little spark within you back to her. She should get her powers back. But I wasn’t lying earlier. The magic restraining her powers and memories is strong. You’re going to have to weaken her enough that the bonds break entirely. Once that happens, she’ll start burning up. Fast. That’s when you have to feed her.”
I’ve seen and done many terrible things in my life. This is the first time I’ve actually felt queasy.
“That will do it?” I ask. “That will bring the Oracle back?”
“It should. For a moment. That much power will kill her pretty fast. So I guess . . . ask your question quickly.”
“Will it kill me?”
He shrugs. “Does it matter?”
I don’t say anything after that, and neither does he. Not for a long while. He’s right. It doesn’t matter—my life is Mab’s, and I will do this no matter what. I just need to ensure someone is there to pick up my slack.
“What about my mother?” I finally ask. “When the Oracle is reborn, is it going to be my mother again?”
“I don’t really know. But I don’t think so. Human bodies, souls . . . those are something apart from the Oracle. I don’t know what I believe. But I think that when Vivienne is gone, she’s gone for good. Whatever is reborn in Oberon’s kingdom will be something, or someone, completely different.”
The small hope I’d had—that maybe I could rescue the Oracle from Oberon’s kingdom and somehow have my mother back, at least by proxy—vanishes. Coldness creeps over that spark of hope. When I do this, I lose whatever’s left of my mother. Forever.
After a bit, he sniffs and wipes his nose, then steps forward. He puts his hand on the door and sends a small current of magic through it. Locks click away on the other side. Then he steps back.
“I don’t think you’ll like it,” he says as he walks away, his voice cracking and his eyes avoiding mine. “You’ve changed a lot since I met you. But I guess it’s yours all the same.”
When he’s down the hall and out of sight, I turn my attention back to the door. My fingers itch to touch the handle, to see inside. To get a glimpse at the child I once was.
Then I remember Eli’s lesson.
Remembering the girl I was won’t help me now. If anything, it will only make it harder for me to do what has to be done.
I close my eyes and turn away from the door, leaving whatever remains of my childhood behind.
Sixteen
Eli wakes me in the morning. Normally, that would entail him slipping into the bed and being all creepy while he wished me good morning. But today, he seems to catch on that I’m not in the mood. I’m curled up on the massive velvet sofa in one of Kingston’s many living rooms when he comes in. Whatever dreams I’d been having vanish the moment he knocks on the doorframe.
“I didn’t think you’d sleep,” he says. “You actually looked peaceful.”
“Doesn’t happen very often. The sleep, or the peace.”
He waits for me to push myself to sitting, then comes over and sets a mug of black coffee in front of me. The fact that he’s being this kind is frightening. Either he r
ealizes last night crossed a line, or he knows that today will leap over a dozen others.
“Are you ready for what you must do today?” he asks.
“Are you suddenly worried about my well-being?” I eye the coffee but don’t take it. I learned early on not to take any gifts from the Fey—especially food-related ones—and Eli’s only a few degrees separated from them.
“I’m worried about your mental state, yes. But not necessarily because I care about your well-being. Remember, I only get fed if you live. The moment you’re gone, I’m sent back to the netherworld.”
“I don’t think this will kill me.”
“True. But what you’re about to do might unhinge you.”
I take the coffee and inhale. I don’t smell any poisons, and Eli’s right—he needs me in sane mind and sound body; otherwise his contract is nullified. When I drink it, I’m honestly surprised—it’s the best thing I’ve tasted in days.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say.
“Any time.”
He waves his hand, and the fire in the hearth roars back to life.
“Eli?” My voice has lost its usually cocky tone. I hate to admit it, but I sound scared.
“Yes?” he asks. He actually sounds mildly concerned.
“Am I doing the right thing?”
It comes out as a whisper, as though maybe my contract won’t hear it. But save for the fear of his answer, I don’t suffer any pain. Maybe because I’m not considering bailing. I’m just asking about morals.
He doesn’t answer right away. He stares into the flames for a long while. I take another drink of coffee. He flicks a finger absentmindedly, and the mug refills.
“I told you earlier,” he finally says. “There is no such thing as right or wrong. Good or evil are based on perspective.” He looks at me. “You know I don’t give two shits about duty or family. And you know I’ve been around much longer than your world, so what happens here is of little consequence. But. You and I have been through many terrible things, Claire. I’m hoping we encounter many more. You’re doing what you can to serve out your contract and serve your queen. You aren’t doing the right thing. You’re doing what you must. To you, that is the right thing. Between you and me, it seems to be the only thing that will allow us to continue these happy adventures of bloodshed and misery. So yes. I will be self-serving with my answer: you are doing the right thing.”
I take another drink. I can’t laugh, not at what I’m about to do, but I appreciate the gesture.
“If you’re saying it’s right, it’s probably wrong,” I mutter.
“Yes. Probably. But if I remember correctly, we’ve had a lot of fun doing the wrong things.”
“There won’t be any pleasure in this, Eli.”
“Perhaps not. But imagine how avenged you will feel when slitting the Pale Queen’s throat.”
“Which you say I can’t do.”
He shrugs.
“I was being hypothetical, and you are just being difficult.”
“I have to kill my mother today.”
“Let us be honest, Claire. Your mother died to you the moment she gave you up.”
“You’re right.” Except he’s not. Because a part of me is still holding on to her image. And I don’t think I can ever let it go.
I shove down the doubt and nerves and fear. It doesn’t take magic to calm the nerves that threaten to make me shake. I’ve killed thousands of times in the past. I’ve trained for this. The only thing I don’t have training for is to be a good daughter.
Today, that serves me well.
I drink the rest of my coffee and stand.
“Let’s go,” I say. “We’ve got an Oracle to crack.”
He stands by my side and offers me his arm. I take it. If he’s being chivalrous, I’ll milk it for all it’s worth; it won’t last long, I’m sure.
“There’s no going back,” he says as we leave. “The magic binding her was faulty at best. Now that it’s unraveling, there’s very little chance it can be stopped or mended. This is the only way forward.”
“I wasn’t planning on going back,” I say. “That’s never been a choice.”
“You speak as though you have one.”
I can’t fight him on that one. I don’t have a choice in what I do. Not this time. But I do have a choice in how I go about it. I’ll try to make this fast. For her sake. And mine.
We leave the mansion without sight of Kingston and step out into the bright light of afternoon.
“I thought you said it was morning?” I hiss at Eli as we hop down from the trailer.
“Colloquialism,” he replies. “I thought I’d let you sleep. You looked like you needed it.”
I shake my head but don’t reply. Nor do I head over to the food cart to down any leftover breakfast. I don’t think my stomach would take it in. I want to get this over with.
The grounds are crawling with performers, but there isn’t the usual hustle I’d seen before. It doesn’t click until we round the corner of the trailer and see the promenade: normally, at this hour of the day, there’d be a line of some sort, people coming to collect tickets or check for open seats in the matinee. And sure, there are a few people milling about the booths and vendors, but not nearly as many as there should be. Kingston was right—staying in one place definitely isn’t good for business.
We reach the trailer that Viv’s held in. And this time, there’s no changeling girl waiting for me outside.
“The first blessing of the morning,” I mutter. “I don’t have to put up with her. Though I thought the changeling bitch would be keeping better guard.”
“Perhaps she got bored?” Eli replies. “I can’t say I blame her. There are much prettier things to look at in this show than the back of another trailer.”
I shrug and knock.
“Hello?” The voice is timid, but it’s definitely Viv’s.
“Vivienne?” I ask. “It’s Cl—Melody. Can I come in?”
There’s no response, just the shifting of the trailer as Vivienne comes over and opens the door. When I see her, it’s clear that the magic is starting to fade; she looks . . . well, she looks as if she’s coming apart. Dark shadows ring her eyes, and her skin is oddly pale and flushed, splotchy. She looks Eli and me over.
“What is it?” she asks. Her voice is raspy.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Really bad headache,” she replies. She winces when she says it, as if the words are painful. If she thinks it’s bad now . . . “Did you need something?”
“Yeah. Could I talk to you for a moment?”
“It’s not a good time,” she replies.
“Just a minute. Please? It’s about . . . it’s about Claire.”
“Claire? She just left a few hours ago. Said she needed fresh air.”
I glance to Eli, who shrugs back. Fresh air my ass. What is the faerie up to?
“Right. Well, I just . . . Can I come in, please?”
It’s the last time I’m going to say please, but of course I don’t tell her that. I take a step forward, making it impossible for her to shut the door without slamming it in my face. I know her well enough—she won’t do anything that rude. Just let me get this over with.
“Okay. But it’s awfully cramped in here. Can he wait outside?”
Eli shrugs again.
“Of course. It will only be a moment.”
I hope.
She steps back into the trailer and lets me come inside. The door clicks shut behind me, and this time, it’s not like stepping into Kingston’s trailer. No, this place is definitely a part of the mortal world, and definitely no larger than it appears on the outside; there are narrow bunk beds on one wall and, across the foot-wide path, a closet and desk. Barely room for one person, yet apparently it’s built for two. Vivienne sits down on the bottom bunk, gesturing for me to take the chair. When I sit, our knees are inches from touching. Already, the heat in here is unbearable, and even with the shade drawn I can feel t
he sun burning against the roof and walls. Go figure—I have plenty of magic for personal warmth, and none for cooling.
I look at the woman sitting in front of me and let all the emotions bubble up: the misplaced nostalgia, the desire for love. The need to be held in those arms and told it will all be okay. My heart aches as I stare at her darkened eyes and sallow skin. My mother. My mother. This is the only way.
“Melody,” she begins, “what’s wrong?”
It’s only then that I realize there are tears in my eyes. Thank gods Eli’s outside.
I take a deep breath, and when I force the tears down, I stab back each of those emotions. Each one makes me weak. Each makes this situation dangerous. I am the only danger here. I am the only threat.
“Vivienne Warfield,” I say, the words heavy on my tongue and her maiden name curling with power. “We have a lot to discuss.”
Normally, when I take on that tone, people start to quiver. She just looks more confused.
“O . . . kay? What about?”
Kingston said I needed to break down the magic binding her memories. And one of the triggers Mab had kept her from was magic. Which, by my estimate, is probably the swiftest way of bringing this about, short of physically torturing her. If she sees magic at work, it should begin to break the seal. I flourish my hand toward the door, which immediately locks. The tiny window over the top bunk slams shut. And suddenly, the room is very, very silent. She can’t see the invisible wave of magic I’ve sent through this place to keep out prying ears and still outside noises, but she can feel the effect. It suddenly feels as if we’re the only two people left alive.
“What was that?” she asks.
“Magic,” I reply.
She laughs.
“Melody, you’re being ridiculous. There’s no such thing as magic.”
I’m not a witch—I can’t just summon fire or make pretty lights appear. The magic I have is all geared toward a purpose. Which means my next trick is a little more hands-on. I press a small bit of magic through the runes on my spine, and when I cast my hand forward, ropes appear from nowhere and bind Vivienne’s arms to her torso.
