“Now you know that question doesn’t really work here.”
She had eaten here, yes. But she now understood that she was Seelie, and that her choosing to eat or not would have no effect on her leaving. Either that or the Seelie had fooled her. But no, once they had explained things, she understood what she was: a Door into other worlds. It was not only a skill she had, but was a part of her very being. Her fondness for in-between places, like busses and trains, her love of the quiet and the dark, they were part of being a creature that was neither here nor there, of one place or another. The thought was comforting and disconcerting. She knew what she was now, but was uncertain exactly what it entailed.
And she understood that she was a prisoner. The Seelie could pass through the gate at the front of the house which was opened and closed by an elaborate mechanical lock. Gerard or Ghislaine were the only two who came to see her, and they always arrived in an old-fashioned car that had no electrical parts. The car even had a crank at the front that Gerard or Ghislaine would turn over and over to start the engine when it was time to depart.
She wanted to leave, but they did not allow it. This memory was fresh. Cold iron waited around the house, in pieces, embedded underground, except near the high front gate, which was always locked. The yard may as well have had an electric fence around it, for even approaching the boundary was intensely painful for her. She had wondered if other fey people had been imprisoned here. Or had the house been built for her specifically?
Her parents, whoever they were, never came.
She took a breath to ask what time it was, and then sighed. Another useless question. She poured herself a glass of strawberry tea and gulped half of it down in the kitchen. Gerard shot her a disapproving look. She was supposed to learn etiquette, as she might one day be summoned to see the queen. He was offended by the very notion that one of their kind had been raised by barbarian humans and he insisted that she dress appropriately, and learn her people’s customs.
But she had not learned enough. Not enough to find a way to get free. And she would get free. Even if she never learned to control her abilities as a Door, she would not remain a prisoner forever. She concealed her desire from Gerard and Ghislaine, though how could they not guess at it? They encouraged her abilities in Door-making and tried to keep her company, one at a time, seeing as they shared a body. But they were not what she would call friends.
“Is there anything you need before I go?” asked Gerard.
“No thanks.”
The apricot sky was a darker shade. Sunset. She had tried to leave before and had failed, but her knowledge of making Doors was improving. The drawing upstairs had moved, and it gave her an idea.
Gerard finished up, and cranked his mechanical car out front. She listened as the engine popped and banged, and then rattled down the road. In her world, he rode on the Pacific Coast Highway, though she had not asked what it was called here.
The sun was lower now, and there wasn’t much daylight left. She hurried up to her room and found her purse, full of reminders of her past life. The tiny sketch book inside was partly filled now, and she took it out with the pink clamshell mirror.
Ghislaine had brought mirrors for her to work with, but she had not been able to do any more than make the mirrors flicker or bend. Ghislaine had been delighted and had clapped her manicured hands, but Astrid was not satisfied. Later, she noticed that both Ghislaine and Gerard refused to leave mirrors at the house with her.
And then she had gone into a period of quarter-sleep, unaware of time passing, hunger or any desires at all, simply of following instructions from her tutors, eating, sleeping, bathing outdoors in a little spring beside the house. An outhouse stood outside too, though nothing like the ones in her world. This was a little hole in the ground surrounded by a narrow silken tent, pegged down, at the far corner of the property.
And now, the drawing had awakened her. She felt like she was becoming more accustomed to the Seelie world. Ghislaine had told her she would, eventually. Or was her rebellious human nature surfacing? She didn’t feel Seelie, but still felt like herself, a girl, a young woman. And there were differences, immunities beyond cold iron. She could eat salt, for instance, with no ill-effects and be near magnets. The human world was still very much a part of her.
She found her shoes and put them on without socks, laying the socks to one side. Then she slipped her purse strap over her head so the strap ran diagonally across her body and ran her waist sash through the strap and retied it, securing it to her. The socks were too thick to tie easily, but she worked at them until they hung from her sash with three knots tied in each. They looked ridiculous and lumpy, but she wasn’t finished yet. Taking the long piece of sash that hung down at her side, she tied three more knots. Three sets of knots with three knots each. Of course, the knots did not bother or confuse her. Immunities indeed.
She kept the clamshell mirror, her sketch pad and a pencil in her hand as she closed the front door behind her and cut around to the back of the house. She faced the sea now, deep green with white foam while the evening sky was a deep autumnal orange. This place, this world, might be a prison, but it was a beautiful one. It always seemed to be summer at night and springtime during the day. The temperature was remarkably consistent, and unlike in the human world, no thick fog moved in and out over the ocean. Their sea, she had learned, contained no salt, and she wondered what creatures might live in it.
She walked to the edge of the lawn, where the property tapered off and joined the golden sand of the beach. Just as she started to feel ill, she crouched down. This was going to be tricky.
Mirrors could be Doors, and similarly, Doors could be mirrors. She had figured that out herself, having drawn so many of both. She held the clamshell mirror and inched forward, squinting as the pain in her head increased. The cold iron made it hard to breathe, but she forced air in and out of her lungs. She aimed and tossed the mirror. It landed in the sand, its two mirrors facing upward, glinting in the last rays of the sun.
Then she backed up, away from the painful barrier. After she caught her breath, she opened her sketch pad to a drawing she had made of the compact. It was as detailed as she could make it and she had even made a little mark so she would know which side was the magnifying mirror and which was the normal one. She got to work, sketching the sky and the beach in the blank white spaces that were the mirror’s surfaces. She looked at a white gull overhead, and included that. She tried to imagine she was inside the compact in the sand, looking up. What did the mirror see? She drew.
And then she stood and started toward the barrier, keeping her eyes on the sketch she had made. It was time. She ran, and the pain increased, blinding in its intensity. She could not breathe, and her vision blurred, but she ran, keeping the image of the mirror in her mind even when she could no longer see it clearly.
She leapt, and though she had no breath to scream, her ears filled with sound, like a blasting train whistle shrieking one long note. This would kill her. It had to. Nothing could be this painful and not kill.
The mirror. The sky. The birds. The green water. Gold sand. Hiss of waves. Scent of the sea. She tried to think, but the pain seared her mind. There was only the pain.
She fell then, and kept falling. It took a few moments, and then she was on her knees, and the ground was sand. She grabbed the compact through which she had just come and crawled away from the barrier. She kept moving on her knees, even after the pain abated, until the sand became smooth and dark with water. The knees of her pants were getting wet. A wave slid up the beach and swirled around her wrists, knees and feet before retreating back, pulling at her. The sketch book clutched in her hand was now soaked and ruined.
Had it worked? Or had she just traveled through the barrier, her own momentum carrying her through? No, it had worked. The drawing of the mirror had become like a mirror, a Door. She had felt the f
alling sensation, like when she had entered Seelie from the mirror house.
Now, she had to get back to Luna Park and that mirror house. For though she may have been able to transport herself a few feet, she could not yet make a Door between worlds on purpose. And the only person who was on her side was a little fox who had vanished, who knew how long ago?
Chapter 35
Astrid hurried down the beach in the direction of Luna Park. She put the clamshell mirror and the soggy sketch book into her purse. The pencil was lost, probably still on the other side of the cold iron barrier.
The city of Malibu existed on a tiny promontory, more of a bump really, that pointed due south. The coastline around it faced south also, and it would be miles before the beach curved and became westward-facing again.
She looked back at the house in which she had been imprisoned. It was rectangular, white and without trim or embellishment. The rectangular windows and flat roof gave it a box-like, geometric appearance. It was not what she would have expected from a sidhe house at all, either Seelie or Unseelie. It looked very modern, like some of the architecturally experimental homes from the 1980s. Perhaps they thought she would have been happy in a house like those from her own world? Or maybe there was another reason. It didn’t matter. She was free.
An oil lamp shone in the upstairs window and she wondered if she had left it on. As she watched, a second light blinked on downstairs. The Seelie knew about her escape, they had to, or they would not have sent anyone. In the distance ahead were other lights, these also non-electrical.
She ran, which was exhausting in the soft sand, so she ran along the water where the sand was harder, pausing to walk now and then to catch her breath. She had already known that there were no neighboring houses close to her own, but as she went, she found that she only passed one house in twenty minutes. In the human Malibu, there were plenty of houses. Could it be that there were fewer Seelie than humans? The thought had not occurred to her until now. Or perhaps the fey preferred not to live in houses. That would make sense as well.
She found that the lights in the distance surrounded a small marina. As she drew closer, she saw that some of the boats had sails, others had oars, and some had both. None had motors and all were small or medium craft, suitable for only a few passengers.
She passed through the place, spotting only two other people. They would not sense her humanity, as she was not human, she reminded herself. No one had bothered her on the boardwalk, and no one bothered her now. With luck, the knots in her clothing would confuse them enough to allay any of their suspicions. A little lawn ran along the far end of the marina near a few benches and a group of six swan-shaped boats tied up to posts. She was reminded of the flat, open boats at human lakes that two people could rent and then peddle around in the water.
The swan boats had no such peddles, nor did they have oars or sails. From close-up, they looked lightweight and floated high on the water, bobbing and bumping into each other as they tugged at their ropes.
“You want to rent one?” said a man to one side. He sat on a little stool and his skin, hair and clothing were all a brownish color that made him blend into the dark.
“How much?” She had no Seelie money. Did they even use money?
“You make the offer.”
Ah, so she must offer something in trade. She unzipped her purse and rummaged through. She had a little pot of cantaloupe-flavored lip balm with a cheery orange lid with cartoon fruit on it.
“How long could I get it for this?”
The man took it and unscrewed the lid. He sniffed it, dipped his finger into it and put it in his mouth.
“Odd jelly,” he said, skeptical. “And too little of it.”
She explained how lip balm worked, and extolled the virtues of having a pleasant scent and taste available for many hours.
He sniffed again at the pot. “Four hours. Then you bring it back.”
“Great,” she said and glanced back along the beach. The sand was empty, but if Iolanthe, Ghislaine or Gerard were coming for her, they wouldn’t be walking along the beach. “Which one should I take?”
“Are you new to this?” he said. “You never had one before? There’s one that wants to go already.”
One of the boats bumped against its post while the others floated at the end of their ropes.
“I need to learn how to operate it,” she said. “How do I steer and make it go faster?”
He laughed. “You tell it, love.”
“They’re alive?” She thought of the Dragon Swings at the boardwalk that seemed to fly on their own. Were there other objects here that were alive?
He looked at her as if she had asked if the boats were made of green cheese. “Just tell it.”
He held the rope for the closest boat and Astrid climbed in, sitting down on the wooden plank that served as a bench. It sunk lower in the water and the man untied it.
“Four hours,” he said. But he spoke to the boat, not to her. A little necklace of white lights lit up around the swan’s curving neck. They were neither electrical nor fire, but they were bright.
She felt bad stealing, but maybe the boat would be able to find its way home after she no longer needed it. The boat glided out into the water and the man went back to his stool.
“Take me to Luna Park,” Astrid said, and the boat started moving. The craft bobbed up and down as it got farther into the ocean, but kept upright, and she held onto the brass railing that ran along the inside.
The sky and water grew dark. She thought she could see the boardwalk in the distance, but there was also the Seelie version of Los Angeles. If they like illusions, luxury and madness, then she could see the attraction. Yukiko had said they liked instability, and there was plenty of that as well.
The water grew choppier, and the wind grew cold, colder than she had ever felt it here. It felt like winter, a biting chill, and the wind grew stronger the longer she rode.
“Faster,” she said to the swan. “Go as fast as you can. I think a storm is coming.”
The boat sped up, and she tried encouraging it, telling it that it was doing a great job and was very beautiful. She wasn’t sure if it would help.
Behind them, little spots of light appeared on the water, spreading out, following her.
“Turn off your lights. We’re being followed.”
The lights stayed on, but then after a few seconds, they blinked off.
“Thank you. You’re the best.”
The swan’s painted eyes stared out from its immobile wooden face. She put her hand on the base of its neck and stroked it.
The storm came up over the next few minutes, first a light sprinkling and then getting harder. She was within sight of Luna Park and rain pelted down, soaking her to the skin. Some of the waves washed over the sides and filled the bottom of the boat, soaking her shoes and making her feet numb.
She thought she caught sight of something in the water. It looked like a head, but as soon as she focused on the thing, it dropped out of sight. She caught sight of it twice more, then a slick hump, like a sea serpent with a pointed fin broke the water’s surface and was gone.
“What’s out here with us?” she said to the swan and then held on to the railing tight as a wave tipped the little craft sideways. It teetered upright, and dark water sloshed in. The waves were getting higher, and the boats behind her were getting closer. She could hear the shouts of the riders, calling to one another. Lights or no lights, they knew exactly where she was.
There was a bang and the boat lurched, as if it had been hit from beneath by something large and strong. Oh God, a shark. She had heard of sharks attacking boats. She hung onto the railing and knelt on the bottom of the boat, begging for it to hurry. The thing bumped her again, and the side of the boat shot so high up that she almost fell out.
A
wave crashed over her, and cold water slammed her body and face, filling her mouth and nose. It tasted like murky lake water, and she spat it out. The sky was completely black now, as were the waves, and the rain came down in needles, stabbing at her skin while the freezing wind tried to push her into the water.
The Seelie were doing this, she knew. It was how they were going to stop her. That was why it was always pleasant and warm. The Seelie kept it that way. And now, they were using the weather to stop her.
She hung on as the thing beneath the water slammed her boat again, and the swan dipped sideways, wavered there, and then continued a slow, agonizing tilt. She scrambled to climb up the boat, to shift the center of gravity and force it upright, but the waves lurched hard, the boat was too slick for her to grip, and she slammed into the freezing water.
Something slid up behind her. She felt a tail, muscular and sleek, slide against her legs. She grabbed at the boat, which now floated on its side, trying to get a purchase. And then she felt something strong, like the tail, but thinner, wrap around her waist and pull her under.
Chapter 36
Elliot sat in the living room across from Neil, who leaned back with his hands clasped behind his head, and Hazel who chatted with Mr. Escobar, the capuchin monkey.
Neil was Elliot’s partner in the Time Corps, in Elliot’s future and Neil’s past, present and, presumably, future. And since Elliot knew nothing about time travel or the work of the Time Corps, Neil was training him.
So far, he had met Seamus and Felicia, who tended to work together and who had been there to take him from his trailer. Seamus Doyle was an Irish inventor, born in 1825, and had created the machines that they used to travel in time. Felicia Sanchez, who was born sometime in the late twentieth century and had been in medical school, had somehow fallen through a time rip of Seamus’s creation and was hoping, some day, to find a way home. Hazel, an orphan from the mid-nineteenth century, was Seamus’s ward.
The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series) Page 78
