Simon grimaced. “There was no physical mark,” he said. “I felt something, though. A kind of… smudge, only when I looked with my Witchsight. Nothing I’d ever seen before. I haven’t seen it again since.” The discussion sounded old and well-worn — as though he’d gone through it with himself a hundred times.
Zoe knew that memories were racing through his mind again, vivid and terrible. “She was simply… gone, with no warning,” Simon murmured. “I wasn’t there. No one was. The doctors said that her heart had stopped beating. That’s what they say when they don’t know what happened. Of course her heart stopped beating. That happens when you…” He struggled, cutting himself off. His hand gripped at his chest, where Zoe knew there had to be an old wedding ring, hanging at the end of a silver chain.
Zoe swallowed. Before she could stop herself, she’d reached out to run a whisper of magic through that blackness. Grief — helpless, awful grief — hit her like a freight train. She forced herself to stomach it, to siphon it away. She was a Scorpio: darkness was tied up in her magic, an inextricable part of her power. A Sagittarius didn’t know how to live with it, inside it… but Zoe knew how to hold it without breaking.
Simon sucked in his breath. He closed his hand on hers. “Zoe,” he said. “You’re hurt—”
“I can handle it,” she whispered. “I’ve seen worse, Simon. Much worse.”
There was a hole in him where his wife had been torn away. It was filled with regret, uncertainty, confusion. What happened? Why don’t I even know that much? Could I have stopped it? Bit by painful bit, Simon had forced himself to heal, confronting all the worst parts of that loss head-on. But something in Arcadia had ripped it all open again, as fresh as the day he’d first felt it. And Zoe, bleeding out in the street, had looked too much like another unexpected failure.
What happened to my wife? That was the question that Simon had asked Dorian, she was sure of it. It was a question that Dorian still couldn’t answer.
Zoe had seen worse. That much was true. But she had never healed worse. Where could she even begin? Simon needed closure — but there was no closure. Worse, his idea of what the world was like had shattered all at once. He’d been forced to learn that terrible things could happen to him and the people he cared about for no good reason. Zoe had been forced to learn that lesson too, once… but she had been prepared to endure it. At heart, Simon was a gentle, optimistic soul — the realization had crushed him.
In the absence of closure, she supposed that he might make do with reassurance. Bad things happen. But not always. Not every time. “You made it in time,” she told him quietly. She grasped the knowledge firmly, pressing it into his heart. “This time… you’re the reason that something bad didn’t happen, Simon. You changed things. You can change things.”
His hands trembled on hers. His breath came short. For the first time, Zoe saw the anguish clear on his face, no longer hidden behind a smile.
She reached out and tugged him closer, wrapping her arms around him. Gently, she tugged his glasses from his face, and set them aside.
Simon cried quietly, his tears staining the shirt he’d loaned her. Zoe stroked her fingers through his hair, pressing her cheek to the crown of his head. Some devilish, detached part of her noted that his hair was just as soft as she’d always wondered. She hadn’t intended to find out quite like this. She smiled wryly.
That’s the difference between us, she thought. You looked into the darkness and broke your soul. I just got myself a handful of phobias and a shitty sense of humor.
For once, Zoe thought, she was all right with that dark part of herself. Without it, she wouldn’t have survived. She certainly wouldn’t have been strong enough to take on Simon’s grief and painstakingly knit him back together.
I could be very bad for you, Zoe thought at him. That’s what I’m most worried about.
But she wouldn’t be. Just for Simon, at least — just around him — she could be better. He deserved that.
Fixing up someone’s soul wasn’t exactly light work. Zoe woke up in the darkness with another splitting headache, groaning lightly. You just keep borrowing trouble, she thought.
Next to her, Simon shifted, tugging her closer. She blinked blearily. If fixing Simon’s soul had been hard on her, it was probably even worse for him. He’d fallen asleep on top of the covers, utterly drained. She dimly remembered tugging the blankets up over both of them, muttering about how the moron was going to catch himself a cold.
Simon had his arms around her now — his breath tickled at the back of her neck. Zoe groaned again, for different reasons this time. Past Zoe really needed to stop borrowing trouble against Future Zoe. No wonder she hadn’t had a single nightmare; she’d been tucked into Simon’s blissfully comforting aura all night, breathing in his scent. Hell, she was still wearing his shirt.
Great progress putting some distance between you, Zoe noted. Bang-up job.
There wasn’t much she could do about it right this second though, was there?
She turned in Simon’s arms, ducking her head beneath his chin. He accommodated her instinctively, reaching up to cradle the back of her head with his hand. Zoe closed her eyes and breathed him in, allowing herself the guilty pleasure.
Chapter 6
“Simon.”
The voice that spoke was soft, feminine… odd. Like the rustling of wind through many leaves.
“Simon.”
Slowly, Zoe swam back to consciousness. She knew without needing to open her eyes that she was still tucked into Simon’s arms. His chest rose and fell softly against her cheek; that clean, masculine scent surrounded her, along with the ever-present comfort of his aura. It was, she decided, the best way by far that she had ever woken up, even with the lingering twinge of pain in her wrist.
Unfortunately, there was someone else in the room along with them. Maybe… something.
Zoe had grown used to Simon’s aura blocking out the rest of the world when she was this close to him — but the crush of something eldritch and overwhelming had managed to pierce even that. Zoe’s Witchsight screamed at her, not about soft rain and distant lilies, but of a frantic, maddening bouquet of clashing fragrances, and the ominous creaking of branches in a windstorm.
Slowly, Zoe opened her eyes, her heart in her throat.
The woman that currently leaned over Simon was tiny in physicality. Her hair, woven from willow reeds, was tangled with a hundred flowers of varying origin. Her skin, a soft lavender color, ensured that she couldn’t possibly be mistaken for human. Her eyes — a shade of impossible green that shouldn’t have been able to exist — were strange and alien as she looked down at the warlock. Atop her head was a tall crown of tightly-woven briars.
Zoe had thought that Simon was overwhelming to her Witchsight… but she’d had no idea. This woman, this creature, was like a wild hurricane of power and imagery. In the face of that power, all she could do was stare, huddled and hoping for the storm to pass her over.
She dug her fingers into Simon’s shirt. She tried — once, twice — to open her mouth and speak, but nothing came out. Finally, Zoe managed a faint croak: “Simon. There’s…”
“A faerie lord in my apartment,” Simon mumbled, his eyes still closed. He sighed lightly. “Of course there is.” That’s my luck lately, his tone implied.
The Lady of Briars tilted her head at that. “Simon,” she said. “I was worried. You used my token, but I did not find you. Instead, there was a dead leech tangled in my thorns.” She reached out one strange, long-fingered hand to rest it upon his head. “Are you injured? Are you… in distress?”
Zoe swallowed. She began counting to ten, breathing in with each number. She’d never actually expected that she might find herself in a position to talk to a faerie lord directly. Once or twice, she’d fancied what she might say in such a situation, but it was the sort of thing you wondered about in the shower — the equivalent of giving the Prime Minister a piece of your mind while you shampooed your hair.
It had certainly never occurred to her that she might someday have to face down a faerie lord without any pants on.
Simon opened his eyes and focused on her. Compared to the Lady’s outlandish appearance, he suddenly looked strangely mundane. “Zoe,” he murmured. “Did you open your Witchsight?”
Right. We didn’t discuss that part. Zoe nodded mutely, wide-eyed.
Simon pushed himself up with a wince. He gently took the Lady’s hand in his. “I’m fine,” he said reassuringly. “I admit, I should have thought to let you know. Others were injured at the time, and I got distracted.” He glanced toward Zoe. “Could you possibly… er… turn it down a bit, Mother?”
Mother?
Zoe’s mind blanked. The word stirred a special, immortal terror in her. Several strange, leftover questions suddenly wrapped themselves up in a neat little bow.
Oh god. She’d just been cuddled up with a faerie lord’s son.
The Lady of Briars considered Zoe directly, and the witch did her best not to whimper. There was a distinct dislike in that alien gaze. Visions of poisoned spindles and Montreal overgrown with thorny briars danced through her head.
Still, the Lady’s overwhelming power calmed very slightly. The furious storm within her became unnaturally still. Like the eye of a hurricane, it was a tenuous balance, apt to disappear again at any moment. But it was enough for Zoe to suck in a breath and find her voice.
Be polite be polite be polite, don’t use the wrong spoon.
“Hi,” she managed. “It’s… nice to… meet you.”
The Lady’s eyes narrowed slightly. Zoe cringed. Any moment now, she was certain, she was going to be turned into a tree.
“I am the Lady of Briars,” she informed Zoe, with her leaf-rustling whisper. “Who. Are. You.”
Simon pressed his palm to his face. Zoe had little doubt that a headache was growing behind his eyes. “Mother,” he mumbled.
“I’m Zoe. Zoe Ca — uh.” She stuttered over the last part, stopping herself just in time. Giving your full, true name to a faerie lord was the sort of mistake you only ever made once. Granted, Carter wasn’t really her last name… but no one else in the room currently knew that.
The Lady smiled, but there was something missing in the expression — some human feeling that she was only so capable at imitating. “Are you courting Simon, Zoe Ca-uh?” She enunciated the stutter contemptuously.
Zoe’s mouth opened, but she found herself oddly unable to answer. The obvious answer — the smart answer — was no. She’d spent hours trying to convince herself of that. But something inside her refused to confirm it. Maybe I want to, some rebellious part of her wanted to retort. Thankfully, that small, suicidal part of her wasn’t quite strong enough to take control in the moment.
“Zoe is injured,” Simon replied for her. He pushed himself up from the bed, picking up his glasses from the side-table. He’d placed himself between Zoe and the Lady — a subtle gesture for which Zoe was currently infinitely grateful. “I am watching over her for La Voûte.”
The name instantly garnered the Lady’s attention. She snapped her eyes back to Simon. “He has found the answer?” she asked. There was, for just a moment, a very awful, human desperation in her voice.
Simon winced. “No,” he said gently. “He is still looking. But he will do so more effectively if he isn’t distracted by his employee’s situation.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly… but Zoe noted a small streak of guilt in Simon’s aura as he spoke. He wasn’t confident that the Lady would understand any other explanation.
The strangest thing happened to her aura in turn. Zoe watched in real-time as the Lady’s riot of color… wilted. A small splinter of that familiar black grief stabbed at her like a needle.
Zoe stared. Holy shit. It’s true. She’s been infected with humanity.
Simon’s words came back to her then.
“The Lady would pay any price, I think, for the question that I asked.”
Was that grief for Rose? Why would the Lady be so upset about Simon’s late wife?
“You work for the secret-keeper?” the Lady asked Zoe. Her voice was far more subdued now. “Perhaps you can tell me why this secret eludes him.”
Zoe pressed her lips together. “He wants to find the answer,” she said. “He’s never stopped looking. It upsets him, that he doesn’t know.”
Simon glanced her way, surprised. It wasn’t the sort of thing she should have shared, perhaps. But she didn’t like the suggestion that Dorian hadn’t put enough effort into the search, or that he didn’t care.
“Then perhaps he is simply useless,” the Lady said coldly.
Zoe’s mouth dropped open. An angry retort started on her lips — but she caught the worry in Simon’s aura from the corner of her awareness.
You’re talking to the magical equivalent of a little kid with a nuke, Zoe reminded herself. The Lady might have intentionally calmed her aura, but it wouldn’t take much to set her off again.
With great reluctance, Zoe changed her reply. “You’re entitled to your opinion, of course,” she said tightly.
Simon let his breath out, relieved. Very carefully, he put his arm around the Lady’s shoulders, turning her toward the kitchen. “Would you like some tea?” he asked quickly. Thank you, he mouthed to Zoe, just over the Lady’s shoulder.
The Lady frowned. “I do not wish to stay,” she said petulantly. The abrupt change in subject didn’t seem to faze her. “I despise this city. All of this snow reminds me of Blackfrost. Why do you stay here, Simon? You could come home. I could ensure that the sun never sets on the Briars again.” Her eerie green eyes fixed on him intently. “You would be safe in the Briars.”
Simon sighed. “I don’t want to be safe,” he said. “You want me to be safe. And I appreciate that. But I need a dose of reality every once in a while. I don’t enjoy the same things that you do. You understand that, don’t you?”
The idea that Simon’s interests weren’t identical to her own seemed a difficult one for the Lady. Her frown deepened. Her aura lashed about in confusion, like the tail of a frustrated cat. But there was the curious sense that she was trying to grasp the concept. It was like watching a child struggle over a complex math equation.
“…Blackfrost hurt you,” the Lady said finally. “You should stay with me until you are better. After that, you could leave.” Zoe allowed herself to be impressed for just a second. The mad faerie had somehow discovered the concept of compromise.
“I will think on it as soon as matters here are finished,” Simon promised her.
The Lady’s frustration welled up again, speckled with worry — but she held it in check. There was a centerpoint to all those strange emotions, Zoe realized — a seed from which the rest of them steadily grew. Buried deep, just beneath a thin veneer of possessiveness was…
Something soft. Gentle. Hesitant.
My god, Zoe thought. She really loves him.
Faeries didn’t love, though. They couldn’t. Oh, sure, sometimes they would claim to love — but what they called love was generally just a combination of obsession and possessiveness. Most faeries would use and discard even their children with barely a thought. But it was that seed of real, genuine love that kept the Lady from simply spiriting Simon away for his own good, whatever his opinions on the matter.
Zoe shook her head, burrowing back down into the blankets. For some reason, the understanding made her embarrassed and uncomfortable. No one’s ever looked at me like that, she thought dimly. Not so I could see it.
But Simon wasn’t very difficult to love. Even a faerie lord could find it in her heart to care for him.
“I do not wish to leave you,” the Lady said. Her voice broke on the words, suddenly anguished. “Every time you leave my sight, I wonder if I will not see you again. What if you disappear, Simon?”
The look that Simon gave the Lady was… heartbreaking. He hugged her very gently, smoothing down the tangled branches of her hair. “I know,” he said softly. “I’m so
rry. I wish that the world didn’t work that way, but it does.” He hesitated. Then, very carefully, he said: “I wasn’t hurt this time. You gave me power, and I used it to protect myself.” He closed his eyes. “You are the reason that something bad didn’t happen, Mother.”
Zoe stared at him.
Is that what I said to him? she thought. I think it was.
“Oh,” said the Lady of Briars. Her voice was soft again. “I am glad, then.”
The faerie stayed silent for a long while, her willowy arms encircling the warlock. Zoe didn’t blame her. She knew firsthand how reassuring that place was.
Finally, the Lady disentangled herself. She frowned. “I will go. But Simon…” Those alien eyes flickered toward Zoe. “Are you courting the secret-keeper’s vassal?”
“I don’t intend to have this conversation right now, Mother,” Simon said with a sigh.
Zoe blinked.
That wasn’t a no.
The Lady sniffed suspiciously. “I hope not,” she said. “She is not nearly as lovely as my Rose was.”
Zoe gritted her teeth. Magical nuke, Zoe. Remember the magical nuke.
Thankfully, that seemed to be the Lady’s last word on the matter. In the next instant, the too-still power that suffused her opened up once again, howling into being. Somewhere on the other side of reality, an endless briar reached out its fingers, curling them around the Lady’s form and pulling her back to its bosom.
Zoe closed her eyes tightly, but the terrible majesty of the sight remained, imprinted on her Witchsight. Even after the room fell into empty silence, she had to take a few extra moments to compose herself.
Distantly, she heard Simon putting on a kettle. Eventually, his footsteps returned in her direction. When she opened her eyes, she saw that he had placed a mug of hot tea next to the bed.
“Peace offering?” he said, with a sheepish look.
Zoe didn’t trust herself to speak. He didn’t say no.
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