Forever

by Pati Nagle

  Len didn't keep any heavy-duty cleaning sprays in the house; she mostly just used vinegar. I figured that wouldn't cut it in this case, so I put some bleach in a spray bottle from the laundry room, added some water, and went to work. I sprayed and rubbed down every surface that had come in contact with blood, including the whole bathroom, sink and shower, and the laundry room. By then I was seriously in need of some fresh air, so I went out back.

  The moon was up, hanging gibbous in a black sky. Waxing or waning? I couldn't tell. I had never really cared much about that kind of thing, but I knew that Len did.

  I wondered where Lomen was. Halfway to Mora County, probably. I was tempted to call him, but the conversation we needed to have wouldn't be good over the phone.

  Maybe he'd already written me off. Maybe I was too much of a pain for him to put up with.

  Stop it, I told myself.

  I should just go to bed and get some rest. What the hell time was it, anyway?

  I heard the screen door from the kitchen open and close. Savhoran joined me on the lawn, looking up at the moon.

  “Thank you for helping my clan-brother.”

  I turned to look at him, saw only the shadowed edges of his face. “Is he?”

  “Until he declares himself otherwise.”

  Or you do.

  “He came here seeking help,” Savhoran said, a little stiffly. “You gave it. On his behalf, accept my thanks.”

  I nodded, aware that the ælven took this stuff seriously.

  “You think he can be redeemed? If he survives, I mean.”

  Savhoran’s brow creased. Weariness, worry—maybe hunger, too. “I hope so. I cannot afford to lose him, if Clan Ebonwatch is to continue.”

  “Do you like Pirian?”

  A wry smile curved his lips. “No more than you. But I pity him. He has borne this curse for centuries. Little wonder it has made him bitter.”

  I swallowed. I knew that Savhoran drank human blood, but that didn’t bother me. He obviously cared, obviously hated having to do it. Would he stop caring, as the years went on? Would he become like Pirian, a predator who made my hackles rise?

  “We should go in,” he said gently, and something in his voice reminded me of Lomen, which gave me a twinge of emotional pain. He headed for the house, and I followed.

  The kitchen smelled like chocolate. Len had made some hot cocoa, New Mexican style with vanilla and a pinch of red chile. The four of us sat in the dining nook with mugs.

  Pirian hadn't moved. I looked at him, realizing I wasn’t as terrified of him as I had been. He was in rough shape at the moment. I could almost pity him, especially when I remembered the mess of cuts on his torso.

  “What do the cuts say, Len?” I asked quietly.

  She frowned. “It starts with 'You are mine.' I don't know all the words.”

  “She did this to the last guy, too, probably,” I said. “Caeran said the cops were freaked out about the knives.”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  “Which means the police have a sample of alben script.”

  “Oh, crap!” Manda muttered.

  “And a sample of alben DNA. We've got to fast-track Project Ebonwatch as much as possible.”

  “We're still a minimum of two years away from starting any meaningful work,” Len said.

  “Are we? What if we don't wait on the classes? I don't mean skip them, but start working ahead. We can get texts for the future classes, for the research we need to do. We don't need the degrees, just the learning.”

  “And the practice. We've got to do the lab work.”

  “So we ramp up the lab.”

  Len gazed at me, lips pursed, then nodded. “Yeah. I'll talk to Caeran about fixing the location.”

  “And we might consider enlisting some help.”

  She shook her head. “No one outside the clan.”

  “I was outside. You've got that confidentiality agreement. Maybe we can pick up someone with more experience.”

  “Humans in general don't have a great track record for keeping promises.”

  “You took a chance on me.”

  “Because of Lomen.”

  Oh.

  They'd figured they had me by the nuts. I felt a flare of resentment, but let it go. It was basically true, after all.

  I finished my cocoa and took my mug to the kitchen. The clock said eleven. I ought to study, but instead I just went to bed.

  First night in a while I had slept alone. How easily I’d been spoiled. I lay there feeling sorry for myself and thinking about Lomen until I fell into a restless sleep.

  My alarm woke me. I fumbled to turn it off, dragged on some clothes and went out to scare up some breakfast. The living room was dark, curtains drawn over all the windows and only one lamp on in the corner. A stranger looked up at me from Manda's chair and I caught my breath.

  He was ælven, but unlike the Clan Greystone guys he did not look like a clone of Caeran. His hair was black and long, down to his waist, and he wore it loose. Fine features, pale skin but with a golden tint as if he'd been in the sun. Blue eyes. He smiled and my heart flipped over.

  “You must be Steven,” he said in a rich, deep voice.

  I nodded.

  He stood and came toward me, extending a hand. He wore a kind of loose caftan, floor-length, that clung a bit to his slender frame. His movements were graceful, like a dancer's.

  “I am Madóran. Thank you for your presence of mind in helping Pirian. Lenore has told me what happened.”

  I looked at his hand. “Maybe you shouldn't touch me. I was covered in his blood.”

  Madóran shifted, bringing up both hands and running them through the air around my head, shoulders, and down my body. His fingers were long. I felt a tingle, like a hint of static electricity.

  “I sense no trace of the curse in your khi. I think you need not worry.”

  I stood staring at him. He was gorgeous, and my body was reacting. I felt a flush climbing up my neck.

  “Um,” I said, and ducked into the kitchen.

  Jeez. Stupid.

  He didn't follow. I felt like an idiot as I put cereal in a bowl and ate it without tasting it. Had he noticed my reaction to him? Probably.

  I shielded, belatedly. He'd probably notice that, too.

  God, these ælven. I'd never be able to look at a human again.

  I felt guilty for being attracted to him, even though Lomen and I hadn't made any promises. Just the thought of being with someone else—though the temptation was strong—made me feel disloyal.

  That wasn't something I'd felt before, in any relationship. Jealousy, yeah. Guilt, no. But then, I was usually the one who wanted more of a commitment.

  I rinsed my dishes and put them in the washer. Ran a hand through my uncombed hair, then stepped out into the living room.

  Len was sitting with Madóran beside the couch. Pirian was propped up on a heap of cushions, and his eyes were open. He was sipping cautiously at a mug of tea. He looked up as I came in, and said something in ælven to Len.

  She came over to me. “Pirian would like to talk to you.”

  A stab of fear ran through me. I told myself he couldn't hurt me, not in his current state, and besides, Len and Madóran wouldn't let him.

  I walked over and took the chair Len had been sitting in. Madóran glanced at me. I saw that he had a hand on Pirian's wrist.

  Pirian looked better. Still pale, and still not well, but not like a corpse. He met my gaze.

  “I owe you thanks,” he said.

  I gave a nod, not trusting myself to speak. My primary reaction to him was still a wish to get far away, fast.

  “I did not betray Clan Greystone,” he said.

  Madóran murmured something to him in ælven and he closed his eyes. That little bit of talking had exhausted him.

  I got up and headed toward Lomen's room. Len was standing by the kitchen doorway, looking a little forlorn, so I stopped.

  “Where’s Caeran?” I asked.

 
“He went to try to get a better look at—where Poppy—”

  I nodded. “Savhoran and Manda go home?”

  “Yeah.”

  I glanced toward Pirian. “Looks like he’ll live.”

  “Now that Madóran is here. We nearly lost him.”

  Didn't seem to me like it would have been a huge loss, but I shoved that thought deep. They were dying out; they needed every salvageable gene they could muster. If Pirian’s were salvageable, which we didn't know yet. As a person, he hadn't impressed me.

  But by damn, if I could find a way to make his DNA viable for the continuation of the species, I'd do it. I wanted the ælven to survive.

  These ælven, these individuals that I'd met, would outlast me by a long way—by centuries—yet they were doomed if we didn't successfully intervene to preserve the species. They had multiple problems: the curse (which needed a real name), their low birth rate, possibly a scarcity of females (I needed more data there), the tendency to commit suicide after living a long time, and the various pressures resulting from the dominance of humans on the planet. Maybe others that I didn't know about as well.

  I heard the door to the garage open. Len darted through the living room to meet Caeran, and I followed, keeping my distance from the couch. Caeran came in, looking grim.

  “Everything OK?” I asked.

  He grimaced, and headed for the kitchen. Len and I hovered in his wake.

  Caeran didn’t answer until he’d poured himself some tea and taken a sip. “I went to the latest murder scene. There are fewer police there today.”

  “You found khi?”

  “Yes. Both of the alben were there.”

  I nodded. Our conclusions confirmed.

  “And so was Pirian.”

  = 13 =

  “Pirian was in on the murder?” Len whispered.

  “He was present,” Caeran said. “I don’t know that he participated.”

  I could believe it. And we'd saved his life. Sonofabitch.

  Poppy's flashing grin came to mind. I'd seen her a week ago. She hadn't deserved that horrible death.

  I muttered a curse.

  “He does have much to answer for, when he is able,” Caeran said.

  I headed back to Lomen's room. I didn't want to look at Pirian.

  How did the ælven handle criminals? There was stuff in Len's creed translation about atonement. Nothing about punishment.

  I took out my laptop and made a quick list of homework I had to do over the weekend. Added reading a couple of the books I'd picked up to the list. The book I’d checked out from the library—the last time I’d seen Poppy.

  I sat staring at the screen and thinking about Lomen. When would he be coming back?

  Telling myself to chill out, I dove into the homework. A couple of hours later I set the computer aside and went to the kitchen looking for lunch.

  Curtains had been hung over both the doorways into the kitchen, one from the hall and one from the dining nook. I assumed it was to keep light from getting through if someone opened the back door from the kitchen. Madóran was stirring a small pot of something on the stove that smelled salty and looked like soup with a lot of spinach in it.

  The sleeves of his caftan were rolled up above the elbow. Something about his forearms made my mouth water.

  He looked up at me and smiled. “Are you hungry? There is chicken salad in the fridge.” He saw me looking at the pot and added, “This is for Pirian.”

  I turned away, not wanting to think about Pirian. Got out the bowl of chicken salad and scooped some onto a plate. There was a loaf of fresh-baked bread on the counter, and I carved off a chunk of that, then retired with my plate to the patio.

  Len and Caeran were there, talking quietly. Caeran looked up as I came out.

  “Do you have time to talk?”

  I nodded, mouth full of bread.

  “Good. We have much to discuss.”

  Len picked up two empty plates from a side table, making room for my lunch. She took them into the kitchen and came back with a pitcher of iced tea and three glasses.

  “What are you going to do about Pirian?” I asked Caeran.

  “Hear his explanation, first of all.”

  Len glanced at me. “Madóran says he's too weak, still.”

  “Nice for him,” I said.

  “He will explain,” Caeran said. He was wearing his head-of-the-clan expression, a grim face of endurance.

  “Does the creed require atonement for doing harm to someone other than an ælven?” I asked.

  “The creed requires us to treat all living beings with respect,” Caeran said. “If harm is done, atonement must follow.”

  “What kind of atonement makes up for killing a human?”

  Caeran's face got grimmer. “That is for the one atoning to decide.”

  The criminal got to choose his own punishment? That was convenient.

  I didn't say it out loud, but Caeran must have sensed the direction of my thoughts.

  “If an ælven refuses to atone, or offers insufficient atonement, a council of adjudication may be called,” he said.

  “Adjudication? The ælven have laws?”

  Len shook her head, but it was Caeran who answered. “Not like your body of law. The creed serves that function for us, and enforcement is generally left to the conscience. But there are occasions when someone's peers—their family or clan—disagree with their decisions. In those cases, a representative group is chosen to negotiate with the offender until all agree upon a satisfactory atonement.”

  “What if the offender doesn't agree?”

  “He is given a choice: he may accept the atonement offered by the council, or be banished.”

  “Cast out,” Len said softly. “Forever.”

  I wondered if being cast out would bother someone like Pirian. Seemed to me he lived on the fringes already.

  “The alben were cast out of ælvenkind long ago,” Caeran said. “If Pirian cannot adequately explain and atone for his actions, he will be named alben.”

  “There are some who say it was unjust to cast them out,” said a deep voice behind me.

  I looked around and saw Madóran coming out of the kitchen, a glass in his hand. He reached for the pitcher of tea, but Len jumped up to pour for him. The crackle of ice in the glass was the only sound for a moment.

  I watched him drink, a swallow moving that long throat. Behind him, the garden and one of the pergola's carved pillars—carved by him, I remembered—made me think of lush places in other countries. I reached for my own tea, wanting distraction.

  “That is an old argument,” Caeran said.

  Madóran nodded, black hair rippling over one shoulder. “A very old one.”

  He pulled up a chair to join us, his face more serious than I had previously seen it. “Here is what I have learned from Pirian so far, as I was healing him. I have his leave to share it with you.” He set his glass on the table by my plate.

  “Pirian spoke privately with the two alben on two occasions before the recent killing. They invited him to join them, and he was persuaded to do so.”

  Caeran let out an exasperated sigh.

  “He was present at the killing, and fed from the victim, though it was mainly the alben male who fed upon her. When she was dead, the alben turned their attention to Pirian. He became their new victim.”

  Len made a small sound and shook her head.

  “They took him to a place he had not been before—he believes it to be another motel. The male controlled him, while the female...” Madóran frowned. “She fed upon his khi, taking pleasure in causing him pain while doing so. I have heard of such perversions among the alben before, but they are rare.”

  I struggled to comprehend what he was saying. The female had sucked away Pirian’s khi while she was carving poetry into his torso? Sick, sick, sick.

  “How did he escape?” Caeran asked.

  “When she had all but drained him of khi, she turned to her partner. While they coupled, Piri
an found the strength to escape.”

  “How did he manage to get here?” Len asked.

  “I am afraid he controlled a human driver, a vehicle for hire...”

  “Taxi,” I said.

  Madóran's gaze shifted to me. “Yes.”

  “To bring him here?” Len said, looking horrified. “Jeez, the cops will be here any minute! I'm surprised we haven't seen them already!”

  Madóran shook his head. “I doubt they will come. Pirian placed fear in the mind of the driver. He will most likely seek to avoid thinking of the event.”

  “That's not right!” Len said. “He can't do that!”

  “He will atone for that as well as the rest,” Caeran said.

  She turned on him. “You're taking him back? I can't believe you're even considering it!”

  “If he offers atonement—“

  “I'm sorry, he doesn't belong in this clan!” Len got up and paced a few steps along the patio. I'd never seen her so mad.

  “He is not of our clan,” Caeran said, watching her. “He is Ebonwatch.”

  “I don't care,” Len said. “I don't want him around!”

  “Len,” I said, keeping my voice gentle, “You just helped save his life.”

  “That's different,” she said, turning to me with angry eyes. “A healer is obligated to save a life. That doesn't mean I want him in my family!”

  Caeran reached a hand toward her. “He is not—”

  “Or anywhere near it!”

  “Lenore,” said Madóran quietly.

  She stopped her pacing and turned to look at him. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking up at her.

  “I think this may be the making of Pirian.”

  Len’s frown deepened. I felt myself frowning, too, and and realized I didn’t want to hear that Pirian could be redeemed.

  “It has given him a disgust of the alben and the curse that he did not feel before,” Madóran said. “He is angry with himself for being deceived, and for causing needless pain. And he is bitterly angry at the two who used him.”

  Len's chest rose and fell with sharp breaths. “I suppose you want to try and save them, too!”

  “More DNA for the gene pool,” I said, keeping my tone unemotional.