by C. E. Mutphy
An image of Alban wrestling with Janx against a backdrop of fire flashed through her mind and Margrit curled a lip. That would have been infinitely worse. Even she’d been frightened and angry. “I would’ve told you,” she said with a sigh, pulling her thoughts back to what had actually happened instead of dwelling on more dreadful might-have-beens. “You guys are my best friends. I didn’t want to keep secrets.”
“But you did.”
“Biding time isn’t quite the same as keeping them.” Margrit brushed away the cautious suggestion. “No points for lawyering my way out, huh? Sorry.”
“It’s not that I don’t understand, Grit…”
“I know. It’s just that with things as they are, there’s no real way out. I don’t think it’s anybody’s fault.” Optimism crept into her voice, but faded before she was finished speaking. “I hope Cole can forgive me. That you both can.”
“What if he can’t?”
Margrit looked away, regret knifing through her gut and cutting into her lungs. Janx’s insistence that she hadn’t yet crossed an irrevocable line, that she could still return to the world and life she’d known, rang in her ears. “I know I’m supposed to say I’d choose my friends, Cam. That I’d choose my life. But I don’t know. I really don’t know.”
Cameron pushed off the doorjamb, sorrow in her face and voice. “Yeah, you do. You just don’t want to say it out loud because you don’t want to hurt my feelings, and maybe because you’re not quite ready to make it real. But you said it the other night, didn’t you. Alban lets you fly.” She spread her hands, then let them drop as she shrugged. “If he turns out to have wings of wax, I’ll try to be there to help catch you when you fall.”
At least her headache had faded. Margrit leaned against the train window as it left the station, grateful for the few minutes of dark before it climbed up to ground level, and for the cool, fresh air that blew in from somewhere. Her mind still felt awash with static, though that, too, was less distracting than it had been. Cam’s promise, full of friendship and concern, had followed Margrit out of the apartment and still haunted her now. Cole’s anger had heavily tempered Cameron’s enthusiasm, and Margrit had few illusions as to whose side, ultimately, Cameron would stand on.
Not that she blamed her friend; she, too, was finding herself choosing sides, and leaning toward the one that inevitably cut her off from most of the world she’d known. That her old friendships might not survive cut deeply, but Cam was right: it seemed to be a sacrifice Margrit was willing to make.
As was her job. Margrit turned her wrist up to glance at her watch. It was creeping past seven. If meeting with the twins went extraordinarily well, she might make it back into the city by nine. In hopes of doing so, she had dressed professionally. Even a brief appearance at work was better than nothing. Her coworkers had planned a going-away party for her that night. Margrit wondered if it would still be held if she’d failed to come into work at all for her final two days at Legal Aid. The calendar would read eight hours left, if anyone had bothered to tear off pages while she wasn’t there.
The train’s automated voice announced her stop and she got off mechanically, glad to hail a taxi and let someone else worry about getting her to the specific address. It seemed as though it had been a noticeable portion of forever since she’d last gone for a run, though careful counting told her it had only been two days. Maybe at lunch, if she had a period of time as defined as lunch that afternoon.
The cabbie pulled over at a well-kept brownstone. Margrit studied it out the window for a few seconds, as if she could learn something about the women who lived inside by doing so, then paid the driver and climbed out, hesitating at the walkway for another moment.
Not much could be deduced from their front yard: it was neatly mowed, with a scattering of just-blooming snapdragons and tiger lilies against the house, their scent carried by a brief twist of breeze. There was no evidence of children, something Margrit wouldn’t have thought of had there not been tricycles and play sets in other yards. The idea of locating not only a dragon or vampire heir, but an entire litter of grandchildren and great-grandchildren brought a smile to Margrit’s lips, and, buoyed, she opened the gate and made her way to the front door. Another quick glance at her watch told her it was still far too early to arrive unannounced on a stranger’s doorstep.
Her other choice was to stand there waiting for the hour to grow later. Margrit set her jaw and pressed the doorbell firmly, then took a step back to wait out its ring.
It opened much more quickly than she expected, revealing a snow-haired woman hobbled with age. Margrit blinked in astonishment, realizing she hadn’t asked Alban how old the twins appeared to be. She’d assumed they’d be like their Old Races parent: unaging. “Well?” the woman demanded irascibly.
Margrit pulled herself to attention, feeling a blush mount her cheeks. “Hi, sorry. My name’s Margrit Knight. I’m a friend of Alban Korund’s, and I’m looking for Kate or Ursula Hopkins…?”
“Never heard of ’em.” The woman began closing the door.
In a fit of surprised panic, Margrit slapped her palm against it, crying, “Wait!”
The woman stopped, clearly more annoyed than alarmed, and glowered at Margrit, whose blush intensified. “I’m really sorry. I might’ve gotten the names wrong, but I’m looking for two sisters who used to live here. Maybe you bought the house from them…?”
“I’ve lived here since 1962,” the woman snapped. “Now go away.”
“Oh.” Margrit fell back another step, confusion and concern bubbling within her. “I’m really sorry. I must’ve been given the wrong address.” She looked at her watch a third time, as though the hour might deny the already-risen sun. There would be no calling Alban for an explanation until nightfall. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you. Thanks for the information.” Bewildered, she retraced her steps to the sidewalk and found herself looking both ways, as though a clue might lie within sight. The old woman closed the door with a resounding click, making Margrit jump.
Bad enough that the twins weren’t there. Worse, this was a residential neighborhood, one taxis didn’t run through every few minutes as a matter of course. Margrit sighed, wishing she’d worn shoes more meant for walking, and pulled her cell phone out as she struck back the way she’d come. At least if she called a cab and was picked up, she could make it to work on time.
An auburn-haired young woman in a bathrobe came out of the house at the end of the row to retrieve a newspaper. Margrit nodded a hello and shook her phone, as if doing so would cause someone to pick up. “Come on, c’mon, why aren’t you answering?”
The woman’s voice followed her in response: “Sometimes we don’t want everything answered.”
Margrit twisted around in surprise to see the woman’s smile as she added, “Never could resist a rhetorical question.”
“You may as well come in,” she continued. “Crank your jaw up first. Wouldn’t want you to trip on it.”
Margrit snapped her mouth shut and said, “Never mind” as the cab company finally answered. She hung up, still staring at the woman. “I saw you a couple days ago in the city.”
“Yesterday, actually. Yesterday afternoon.”
“Is that all?” Margrit thought back, realized the woman was right, and shook herself. She was losing time badly enough to wonder how the Old Races, effectively immortal, dealt with the slip of one day into another. It seemed possible that the woman standing before her might be able to answer that question, but another one surfaced first: “Were you looking for me?”
The woman’s eyebrows rose. “Should I have been?”
“No.” Margrit pressed a hand to her forehead, then let it fall. “No, it’s just that it never rains but it pours, so in retrospect I thought you might be. You are Kate or Ursula Hopkins, right?”
“I used to be.”
“I’m sorry,” came an annoyed female voice from the house behind the auburn-haired woman. “You got the cryptic twin.”
&nbs
p; A second woman, this one with darker hair than the first and already fully dressed, came out of the house to elbow past the redhead and open the gate. “She’ll keep you out here for a week, being mysterious at you. I’m Ursula.” She shot a look at her sister, and, clearly to keep the peace, said, “Or I was.” Then, back to Margrit, “If you’re a friend of Alban’s, there must be something wrong. Come on inside.”
Margrit, feeling light-headed, said, “Because Alban doesn’t have any friends, or because he’s sent one to find you?” and came through the gate.
Ursula latched it behind her. “Both, and on top of it you’re here during the day, which isn’t when anybody he’d usually call friend could visit. Kate, go get dressed.”
“And miss something? I don’t think so.” Kate padded past both Margrit and Ursula, moving with ordinary human fluidity. Margrit lurched into step behind her, wondering if she could turn the Old Races grace on and off, or if her human upbringing had tethered her to the earth.
Kate led them into a kitchen-dining room at the back of the house, where a bowl of cereal was growing soggy on the table. She picked it up and dropped into a chair, then gestured with her spoon. “There’s water or juice if you want some. Or cereal. Or toast.”
Ursula gave her sister another hard look and went to fill a glass with water, handing it to Margrit. “Would you like anything else?”
Margrit curled the glass against her chest and shivered as a draft caught her. “No, this is fine, thanks. I ate breakfast before I came out here.”
“All right.” Ursula poured granola into a tub of yogurt and joined Kate at the table, inviting Margrit to join them. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, she did, and clutched her water glass as she studied the sisters.
They weren’t identical, but nor did Margrit doubt they were twins. They looked to be somewhere in their twenties, younger than Janx and certainly younger than Daisani, though like them, there was something about their hazel eyes that hinted at more years seen than their faces acknowledged.
They shared a high roundness of cheekbone that must have come from their mother: neither Janx nor Daisani had any such roundness to their features. Kate’s hair was a flawless shade of auburn, so perfectly caught between brown and red it was impossible to say one or the other dominated. Ursula’s was black, reminding Margrit that she’d heard red hair was only one genetic marker off being black. Even though Kate was barefoot, they’d both stood taller than Margrit. Given that they’d been born in an era where the average height was considerably shorter than in modern day, that struck Margrit as unfair.
“So whose are we?” Kate said when she evidently thought Margrit had looked long enough.
Ursula rolled her eyes. “Don’t be rude.”
Margrit, too curious to be cowed, shook her head. “I honestly can’t tell. Don’t you know?”
“Of course, but we hardly ever get to ask. What are they like?” This time, despite Kate’s bluntness, even Ursula sat forward, a shard of interest changing the color of her eyes.
Surprise thumped through Margrit. “Alban hasn’t told you?”
“Of course he has, but he’s a gargoyle. Ow!” Kate glowered at Ursula, whose weight shifted again as she drew her feet back under herself. “This woman wouldn’t be here if she didn’t know about all of us, Urs.”
“Margrit,” Margrit said. “Margrit Knight.”
“I knew that,” Kate said with asperity. “You do know about us, right? You see?” she added in triumph at Margrit’s nod. “So tell us about them.”
“Katherine, if she’s here, she’s got something more important to discuss than their personalities.”
“Oh, now I’m in trouble.” Kate rolled her eyes, making her look even more like Ursula. “She dragged out the full name. Mother got to do that successfully, not you, Urs.” She turned her attention back to Margrit, expectation lifting her eyebrows.
“Janx eats up all the air in the room,” Margrit said. “Just by being there. It’s hard to breathe, as if your chest weighs a hundred pounds more all of a sudden. He likes to tease. Eliseo’s sort of more ordinary, except he bulldozes you to get what he wants and you’re kind of left wondering what hit you. They both subscribe to getting more flies with honey, but Janx is better at making people laugh. They’re lonely,” she said, surprising herself with the qualifier. “And they just learned that you survived.”
CHAPTER 23
Both women went still with a fullness that removed any question of their heritage. It wasn’t a gargoyle’s absolute immovability, but it went far beyond human, coming from their centers and moving out until they were wholly encompassed by it. Their gazes were locked together, giving Margrit the eerie sensation that they communicated wordlessly. Twins, she knew, were reputed to share each other’s thoughts and mental processes to a greater degree than other siblings. Adding nearly four centuries of practice to that made her imagine their ability to come to silent agreements was quite literally inhuman. A draft spun through the air, chilling Margrit as she watched the two.
Ursula, clearly the dominant of the pair, broke away and returned her attention to Margrit. “What happens now?”
The question, so pointed and pragmatic, surprised her. “I’m not sure. I don’t think anyone will come hunting you, if that’s what you’re worried about. The injunction against breeding with humans was lifted just a few weeks ago.” She hesitated, struck by the enormity of what she was about to say. “I think you’re basically full citizens now. You could be part of Old Races society, if you wanted.”
“And if we don’t?” Ursula asked, words weighted and cautious.
Margrit shrugged. “I don’t know. Janx and Eliseo are going to start looking for you now they know you survived. But you’ve got a three-hundred-fifty-year head start on hiding. You can probably keep it up for quite a while.”
“But not forever.”
More dourly than she intended, Margrit said, “Nothing is forever.” Ursula arched an eyebrow and Margrit passed her own moodiness off with a wave. “There are, what, seven billion people on the planet? I honestly don’t think that’s enough to hide among if Eliseo Daisani really wants to find you. He’s got unlimited funds, a great deal of motivation, and he’s faster than a bat out of hell. I think he’ll catch up with you eventually, and maybe even sooner rather than later. In fact, if you’re really unlucky, he’s already having me followed and knows where you are. Sorry,” she added to two near-identical expressions of shock. “I only just thought of it. I’m not that good at cloak-and-daggering.”
“What would you do in our position?” Ursula had evidently been voted spokeswoman in their unspoken discussion; Kate still sat wrapped in a thoughtful silence.
“I’d decide what I wanted from the Old Races and then present myself, fait accompli. Everybody is going to want something from you. You may as well start out as strong as you can.”
“When you say everyone…?”
“You can assume pretty much all the Old Races in the city know about you by now.” Margrit sat down, explaining how the twins had been discovered as briefly and thoroughly as she could, then outlining the chaotic state that had developed over the past few weeks. The twins absorbed her words with little more than occasional glances at one another, waiting until Margrit finished before Ursula nodded.
“We’ll consider your advice. And you won’t find us here again, Margrit Knight. Don’t bother looking.”
“Should I tell Alban anything?”
The not-young women exchanged looks again, Ursula finally replying, “Tell him we’ve gone home.”
“I will.” Margrit stood and found herself fighting the urge to bow slightly, as Janx might have done. “I’m glad to have met you. Good luck.”
“Thank you.”
“Were they glad?” Kate’s voice arrested her at the kitchen door. The auburn-haired woman sounded young and uncertain, as if preparing herself for a disappointment she didn’t think she could face.
Margrit turned back, one hand on the
doorframe. “They were both furious with Alban for not telling them your mother had survived the fire. That you’d survived. They were…I don’t know if glad is the right word. Greedy. They were greedy for news of you.”
Kate nodded, and after a moment Margrit took that as her dismissal and slipped away.
She turned back at the street, looking at the twins’ home; looking at the other houses that stood straight and tall alongside it. There was nothing to hint that the women who lived at the corner house were anything less or more than human.
Four centuries of pretending. A shiver lifted bumps on Margrit’s arms. She had enough trouble with a few weeks of hiding and lying. Being condemned to a lifetime of it—more than a lifetime—was difficult to contemplate.
But that was what she was signing on for, if she wanted to make a life with Alban. It would be a lifetime of secrets and hidden worlds, and despite some bold words to Daisani weeks earlier, Margrit doubted that the Old Races would ever see the kind of emancipation that slaves once had. Slaves, at least, had been a part of society, ignorable but not actually invisible. It was far more difficult to bring fairy-tale creatures into the light of day and create for them a chance to survive long enough to build tolerance and acceptance. Margrit would be alone in a fundamental way, if she went with Alban.
Less fundamental, though, than what the twins had faced, perhaps. Daisani’s gift of one sip of his blood only brought health, not long life: he’d been very clear about that. She wouldn’t face the near eternity the twins had already lived, and the Old Races, at least, knew who and what she was. She might have to disguise her life from the human world, but she could belong, as much as any human could, within the hidden world she’d been shown. The twins had been cast aside from both, unable to share their true natures with humanity and forbidden to join the world their father belonged to. Unlike them, Margrit wouldn’t be forbidden either world, only forced to be cautious in both.
That, she thought, was a price she could live with.
