by Ana Mardoll
Nor can I find a sense of self within the few fractured memories which have returned to me since our escape. I have little flashes sometimes, quick glimpses of a previous life, yet all of unidentifiable relevance: the sensation of lying on Berber carpet, the flickering light of a candle and the soft smell of wax, the feel of an iron skillet in my hands. None of this tells me who I was before the May Queen altered me. I do have instincts, but few conscious memories to bolster them. I knew how to drive a car when Elric let me sit in the driver's seat. The cellphone was a little more complicated, but I was able to pick it up in about a week, with Lavender guiding me. Sometimes when music comes on the radio I know the words to sing along, even though I don't remember ever hearing the song before. Celia calls it our subconscious, and says that's how we knew to make our human appearances when we crossed over.
Yet I can't seem to piece together these sparse memories and instincts into a recognizable identity. I feel stuck in this limbo with Lavender between who we were and what the May Queen made us, unable even to decide upon new names. Mina told us indecision was normal and that probably half of the altered never manage to give up the only names we know. There was no rush to decide, she assured us; if ever we tire of being 'Rose' and 'Lavender', everyone would gladly switch over to whatever names we choose. Mina had run her soft full fingers gently through our hair and reassured us that we had the rest of our lives to decide who we are.
I sigh and hop into the shower, remembering that I don't have time to dawdle. If we're going to drive all over the city in search of Lavender's car, I need to rush or I'll be late for work. I should be annoyed, but in a weird way I'm grateful to have an excuse to spend time with her. Lavs is out as often as she's in, busy with her waitressing and clubbing and doing all the things she wasn't allowed to do before. When we are together—shopping or cleaning or just hanging out watching movies on our days off—there's a distance between us, a gulf caused by neither of us being able to forget what I can do. I can't even hug her when she has nightmares; I'm too afraid I'll touch her with my lips by accident. We'll have this morning, though, and there's no danger of such accidents in the car. We can talk and catch up on our lives. I'll tell her stories about Athena and the customers at the bookstore, and she can tell me how waitressing went last night.
I'm almost excited at the prospect; I miss talking. Athena is kind at heart but determinedly abrasive, and Jing is sweet but so quiet as to almost be unnoticeable in the store, besides the fact that she works the evening shift alternating with mine. Lavender and I could have stayed longer at Celia's house after she picked us up that first night, and Mina would happily have taken us in for as long as we desired, but we'd wanted our own place to make a stab at being independent. I think we made the right choice, but I hadn't expected to feel so lonely. I don't suppose my newfound depression helps; it's hard to find the energy to call Mina for a coffee date when I wake from nightmares that leave me more tired than I'd been before I slept.
But maybe my isolation is for the best. I need to remember to be careful around others; Mina, especially. The raw sexuality she exudes is on a whole different level from anything an Ornamental could muster. Visits with her always carry the risk that I might give into temptation and kiss her lovely lips, and my dreams are haunted by images of the pretty Indian girl dying in one of a dozen different ways.
Nor has Mina made my abstinence pledge easy. Early on, she tried with her unwavering gentle cheer to talk me into experimentation: we could make the attempt with doctors on hand, she suggested, as there were several good altered healers in the metroplex area. And if I didn't want to try with her, there were plenty of nice boys and girls whose powers might lend themselves to romantic exploration with someone like me; why, there was the prettiest undead zombie boy in Arlington, or she could introduce me to this darling snake-girl she knew, because Mina could personally vouch for the value of a forked tongue. I'd thanked her, demurred as strongly as I knew how and fled back to the safety of our apartment.
She was right that I was lonely, but I couldn't let someone take a risk like that for me. Celia had shared my concern, explaining that some of us came out as safe as newborn lambs, but many retained all or much of our previous powers. Often there was no way of knowing our limits until after someone had been seriously harmed. She'd made me promise that I wouldn't try any 'experiments' without talking to her first, and said that in the meantime she'd speak to some of the healers about my situation. I wasn't getting my hopes up.
After a quick shower, I throw on a white spaghetti-strap blouse with layers of ruffled lace over a denim skirt barely longer than a mini. I kick on a comfortable pair of flat sandals and pray that the air conditioner at the bookstore will behave itself today. If it does go out again, at least I'm dressed for the Texas heat.
"Lavs, are you ready?" I call, and she pops out of her bedroom looking as fresh as a rose despite the fact that she hasn't slept tonight.
"After you," she teases, springing in step behind me. "Are you sure the RAV will start?"
"It had better," I mutter, catching up my purse and keys. Elric hooked me up with a used Toyota RAV4 a month after we came over, an elderly relative to the model he'd found for Lavender after he'd learned the nicknames we'd given each other. The vehicle ran, but unreliably, and the days were numbered before it inevitably died on me and I would need to go to him for another. "You have your keys?" I ask her. "We don't want to find your car only to—" My sentence ends in an abrupt halt as we step over the threshold.
We're standing on a front porch that ought to be bathed in bright rays of orange sun. Instead we're faced with a mass of thick fog. Mist suffuses the parking lot, spreading into impenetrable walls of opaque white that surround us on all sides. Amongst the cars and the aluminum shelters which the apartment complex provides as protection against summer hail, insubstantial trees flicker hazily in the dim light, looking for all the world like shadowy illusions I could pass my hand through. The trees are much too tall and thick to be native to Texas, and I know we are looking at the landscape of the otherworld.
"No," I breathe quietly, my panicked eyes flicking to Lavender. If she doesn't see what I see, then I'm either hallucinating or still having nightmares. If she does see it, then we're in serious trouble.
Her bright green eyes stare anxiously up at me, as unsure as I am whether to run or hide. "Rose, why is there a portal in our parking lot?"
Chapter 6
Summer in Texas is hot and dry, the morning air usually much warmer than the ground beneath our feet. Mist should not be covering our parking lot, and certainly not forming white walls that reach to close high above our heads. Tendrils of fog engulf the parking lot with thick clouds that obscure vision and muffle sound. The atmosphere feels charged with electricity: heavy and dangerous and full of magic potential.
The towering trees brought over with the mist are shadowy and insubstantial, their trunks poking out of the cement and pushing through the rooftops of nearby cars. In many cases, the bases of the trees are wider than the cars they so impossibly superimpose. In the distance, by the manager's office, I hear a babbling brook that I know shouldn't be there. We are two worlds caught within an enormous dome of white fog, like the snow globes they sell to the tourists.
Beside me is the strong scent of bitter lemons, Lavender's sharp fear infecting the air. "Rose," she hisses, clutching my arm with her sharp green nails, "what do we do?" Her voice is as terrified as her scent, and I waste precious seconds stupidly wondering why she's asking me when I was hoping she would know what to do.
I bite the inside of my cheek against the pain of her nails, grateful for the sharpness of sensation to clear my thoughts. There is a portal in the middle of our apartment complex. That means we're in danger, because hunters and faeries travel through portals.
I wrench my gaze away from the misty landscape before us, and turn my head to catch Lavender's eyes with mine. Silent communication passes between us: a quick gesture, a nod, a tug on her arm
—gently, so as not to scrape her with my own thorny nails. We pull backwards into the meager shelter offered by the brick walls of our apartment porch and my lips hover near her ear, as close as I can come without touching her.
"Can you tone down the scent?" I whisper, fighting to stay calm despite the wash of lemon-soaked fear forcing its way into my nostrils. She frowns and slowly the scent dissipates, though it is still stronger than I would like. I know Lavender can't shut down her emotions on a dime, but her magic heightens my own fear and makes it harder for me to think. If anyone is looking for us in this fog, they'll have a direct bead on us if they have a sense of smell.
"Back inside?" she asks quietly, gesturing towards our door.
I hesitate. Either this portal is targeted at us specifically, or it is coincidence. If someone is escaping as we were three months ago, they might need help—or they might be chased by dangerous creatures. Lavender and I aren't armed and ready the way Celia was on the night we escaped, and I know we would never stand a chance if it came to a fight with faeries. In which case, we should follow our instinct to scurry back into our apartment and hide under a bed or behind a strong door. Of course, this supposes that rampaging faeries or a hunter on the prowl for fresh goods couldn't sense us through solid walls or smell our magic; we don't really know the limits of their powers.
Yet we have to assume the worst case: the portal has landed on our doorstep for a reason, and something is here for us specifically. If a hunter has come to kill or recapture us, a simple retreat inside our apartment isn't going to stymie them for long. If they were able to locate our parking lot, then narrowing down our residence isn't an overly challenging proposition. Better to stay out here where we can run or drive away, rather than hole up in a trap and wait for them to extract us.
"Get ready to run," I hiss at Lavender, crouching slightly in preparation for a spring.
She mimics my crouch as I scan the fog and consider our approach. Once we leave the shelter of the porch, we will be visible and vulnerable. My eyes sweep the parking lot, straining to identify a spot where something might have emerged from the otherworld, while my ears prick for the smallest sound of approach. There is nothing; no spot of color, no flash of movement, no footfall on the cement. Either we are alone or something is lying in wait. I feel a sudden stab of doubt; if our attackers are watching for movement, will it be foolhardy to flush ourselves out by making a run for it?
Lavender presses closer to my side, her lips finding my ear. I'm momentarily startled by her touch, but of course she isn't poisonous and has no fear of hurting me. Her mouth is warm against my skin and I waste precious seconds wishing we had other, less terrifying reasons for her to touch me like this. "Do you think they're here to take us back?" she whispers. I don't have an answer for her—or perhaps I simply don't want to turn my head because that would dislodge her lips. Her closeness is comforting right now, despite the fresh rush of lemon-scented fear she brings. I slide my hand down her arm, lacing my fingers through hers and squeezing her hand in a manner that I hope will be comforting.
Has someone come to take us back? Celia warned us that sometimes people are recaptured, although no one is ever certain when it happens. There are never any witnesses left behind, and an altered could leave town unexpectedly for a thousand mundane reasons. Yet there is undeniably a portal here right now, threatening to draw us over. And if they take us back, they'll separate us. The sudden realization knots my stomach. If they don't kill us outright, will they wipe our memories again? We'll forget we ever knew each other.
The thought of standing here indecisively waiting to be taken away from Lavender is far worse than the fear of being caught while trying to flee. Even if we can't get away, can't drive through the thick white walls, we have to try. I squeeze her hand again, harder this time, and turn to look at her. A fresh rush of fear stains the air as our eyes meet, and I know she understands. I crouch again, straining to listen. There is only silence around us, and my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Praying that we're not making a mistake, I kick off from the porch at the quietest sprint I can manage, Lavender hot on my heels.
My car is fifty feet from the porch, parked under one of the open aluminum shelters. I dart for the driver's door, keys clutched tightly in my hand to muffle the jingling of metal. I pull Lavender along with me, not daring to separate from her. She can crawl into the passenger seat from the driver's side; it'll be a tight fit to slide in, but she's nimble enough to manage.
We're almost there; I can actually feel the nearness of the car as my body aches to slam to a halt against it. Then a flash of light catches my peripheral vision. "What's that?" Lavender hisses softly beside me. I twist my head in time to see something emerge from the fog just as we skid to a frightened halt near the car. My hand automatically gropes for the lock, but my movements are clumsy without the benefit of sight. Frantically, I study the creature who has stepped out of the mist, my eyes straining to gauge this newest source of danger.
It is a person, or at least he is person-shaped. He seems almost like a decoration, looking exactly like a man who has been dipped in molten silver; a walking metal mannequin or statue come to life. The flash that first caught my eye was the glint of sunlight from the contours of his shoulders. Now that he has emerged from the fog, every curve of muscle and outline of sinew on his body reflects the tiny traces of light that filter through the dome. He stumbles towards us across a parking lot that has been temporarily transformed into a grassy lawn.
His approach would be more frightening if his movements were not so unsteady. He walks as though he were wounded or very drunk, unevenly meandering through the mist. He looks nothing like a hunter capable of determined pursuit, nor does he seem to be actively fleeing any immediate danger. His gaze is wobbly and unfocused; his feet shamble in our direction more from a lack of alternatives. That doesn't mean he's not dangerous, of course, but it might mean we're faster than he is.
"I don't think he's a faery," Lavender whispers beside me, her own nervous concern echoing my own. "Is he escaping?"
"Maybe?" I whisper back to her, not turning my face from his approach. I wish I could have a breath of clean air to clear the pounding fear from my head. "There could be something behind him, though," I point out, my hands still gripping the car door. We need to reach safety; I want to be sure that Lavender is beyond reach of anything in pursuit of the man.
"We've got the car right here," Lavender whispers, the air around her shifting subtly to the scent of warm honeysuckle on a hot summer day. "He's so close. We can't just leave him; Celia didn't leave us."
I draw a shaky breath and grit my teeth. She's right, and if we're going to help him we need to move fast. Anything could come through the portal after him, and if we're not long gone we'll all be lost. I press the keys into Lavender's hands. "Get in the driver's seat, but don't turn the engine over yet," I whisper, and she nods.
With a courage more faked than genuine, I leap forward across the slick grass, grabbing the silver man gently around the waist as he stumbles drunkenly into me. "Careful! I've got you," I hiss, my head swiveling around to look for signs of a pursuit that fails to materialize. "Are you hurt? Can you speak English?" My voice is a steady stream of reassuring murmurs as I guide him as quickly as possible to the passenger side of the car.
"Am I out of Avalon?" he mumbles huskily. His voice is thick and warm, like dark buckwheat honey, with a hint of an accent I can't quite place. The words don't make a lot of sense; there's an Avalon in Ellis county about an hour away, and my unreliable memory pops up to helpfully supply that Avalon is also the last resting place of King Arthur, but I very much doubt he's referring to either of those places. I can hear the sharp fear underlying his exhausted voice, and it's not hard to guess what he means.
"You're out. You're free," I murmur as we reach the passenger door. He's panting as I struggle to guide him, leaning over to brace himself against the car so that he can gulp in air. I fumble with the door handle, my movements
awkward with him slumped over me like so much dead weight. "Hold onto the car, okay?" I slip my arm away from him and manage to pull the door open before he can collapse to the ground. "In you go. We need to get out of here."
The parking lot around us is still covered in silent mist. While I'm grateful that we haven't been set on by hunting dogs or screaming spiders or homicidal trees, I'm deeply unnerved by the continued presence of electric magic in the air. Why is the portal not yet dissipating? None of the possible answers are good ones, so I shove the thought from my mind, struggling to guide him into the car seat. He doesn't seem to understand what I want him to do, or maybe he's too disoriented to think straight, because when I put my hands on his waist to move him, he just stands there looking woozily at me.
"Into the car," I hiss, urgency making my voice sharp. "Can you sit down?" If I can just get him halfway into the car, I think Lavender could pull him the rest of the way. But the metal that comprises his body is smooth and cool to the touch, and it's impossible to get a good grip on him. He feels heavy in my hands, and when I push against him to demonstrate how he should move the pressure doesn't even seem to register with him.
He stares down at me with silver eyes that shouldn't be able to see and yet clearly have working irises and pupils, differentiated from the surrounding sclera by subtly darker shades in the metal that coats him. He studies my face with dizzying intensity, blinking softly in the misty light. At this short distance I can see that they've even given him silvered eyelashes, as thin and delicate as wire filaments. "Clarent," he whispers softly.
My ears don't catch the word at first, and it takes a moment for my mind to grasp the fact that he's trying to introduce himself. He's dehydrated or drugged, I can see it in his eyes, or perhaps just exhausted from running for goodness knows how long and how far. I nod my head, anxious to get him into the car.
