Laura Anne Gilman

by Heart of Briar

  Jan had not been the first human to come to the Center, either. Some found their own way, others were brought. Very few ever returned. But very few did not mean none.

  “I am here to voice a protest,” the old man said.

  “Your protest is noted.”

  The human sat down on the log next to the fire pit and stretched his legs out, placing the wooden cane alongside him, within reach if needed—the force of old habit, more than any indication of distrust. They had a long history, the old man and AJ. “Noted, and ignored. As usual. You should not treat her so.”

  “What would you have me do, old man?” AJ didn’t bother to ask how the old man knew. It was the sort of thing the human kept track of. He scraped his fingers along the leg of his jeans, watching the fabric whiten slightly under the pressure. The moon was almost full: a lupin was not bound by the phases, no matter what legend claimed, but he felt them, deep in his flesh. That was what he told himself, anyway, feeling the tension ripple inside. “We needed her—and we have kept her alive. The turncoats would not have been so kind.”

  “Kind.” The human let out a scornful noise. “Your sort are many things, but kind is rarely one of them. You’ve lied to her, used her, binding her to you. I know how well that ends.”

  “You seem to have survived well enough.” But the response was flat; they both knew the human would not have chosen his life, although he now could not imagine changing it.

  “She came into this of her own free will.” AJ paused. “Mostly. Technically.”

  “Don’t you try word games with me, old wolf.” The human glared at AJ, and AJ glared back, wolfen eyes meeting faded blue without flinching.

  They both relented at the same moment, the way they always did.

  “She’s not a child. I didn’t know what else to do,” AJ said, not admitting wrongdoing, but no longer denying it, either. “We need humans to do this. Only you have the passion that can change worlds.”

  “And well I know it.” The human had been young once, and handsome, before age had stooped his back and sagged his face. He had chased a dryad through a forest once and been caught in her grasp, and if he did not regret never escaping, he did not wish that fate for anyone else. “Still, this is beyond need. You left her in the care of a kelpie!”

  “Luck of the draw.” Luck, where luck was damned bad fate. “Martin...” Martin was impulsive, headstrong and occasionally an idiot. “Martin cares for her.”

  “Oh, that reassures me immensely.” The human’s dryad had cared for him, too. The affection of a supernatural was not something to be wished for lightly, or at all.

  “Blast it, Huntsman, I’ve done the best I could. But we need her, and she will serve, and it’s done.”

  The two were silent for a while. Around the clearing, others were setting up their campfires, preparing meals, meeting, and taking their leave in an endless cycle of social and political reinforcement. They avoided the central fire pit, out of caution as much as courtesy; the human and the lupin were old, and known to be cranky even on good days.

  “And after? If she survives, if she fulfills your requirements, what then? Do you leave her for the kelpie’s mercy?”

  “No one is ever forced onto a kelpie’s back,” AJ said, exasperated and defensive. “Humans have free will.”

  “That’s not an answer, old wolf.”

  No. It wasn’t. Mainly because AJ didn’t have one to give. There were so many things that could go wrong, and so few likely to go right.

  The sun shifted, a cloud passing, and the air chilled, reminding the lupin that time was passing. “I have to get back.”

  The human raised one gray, bushy eyebrow. “Not me keeping you here, is it?”

  No. He had come to soak in the peace of the Center, but peace was not his to be had, not now, not yet. “Will you come with me? This is your battle, too.”

  “It was my battle decades ago,” the Huntsman said. “When I could raise my axe and scare the bejasus out of a young, dumb wolf.”

  “We’re both too old for this shit,” AJ said, almost smiling. “Give my best to Red.”

  Chapter 11

  The sun moved overhead, the people kept passing by, and Jan grew increasingly agitated when Tyler didn’t emerge from the coffee shop. He had never been the kind of guy who just lounged around; one cup and he’d be ready to move on, do the next thing. She had been the one who was lazy, who would curl up for hours at a time.

  “Calm,” Martin said.

  “This is calm,” she said, trying not to grit her teeth. The kelpie looked like someone had given him a Quaalude or something, his body loose and relaxed, legs sprawled in front of him, his arm draped around her shoulder, his right hand clasping hers, resting on his thigh, to all observation a young couple enjoying the crisp autumn air.

  The truth was, he held her hand as much to remind her to stay put as to give comfort.

  Eventually, exhausted, Jan closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent she now identified as his, something musty that should have been unpleasant, but wasn’t. She wondered, briefly, what she smelled like to him.

  Finally, Martin tapped her hand with his thumb, indicating that their prey was leaving the café. Jan opened her eyes but didn’t otherwise react. She breathed in, then out, letting her gaze rest on their hands, the iridescent black of his nails against the dun of his skin.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  Jan just glared at him, which was no answer at all, and they both knew it.

  He nodded. “All right. Come on. And remember what I said!”

  He pulled her up from the bench and then dropped her hand, letting her walk half a step in front of him. They followed the other couple for a while, keeping a safe distance back. Jan was acutely aware of the distance and the people around them, afraid that they’d lose track of Tyler, or that something would happen to alert the couple.

  She tried not to stare, but her gaze kept returning to the pair as they walked along the sidewalk. It seemed as though half the city was out, heading home from work or out to dinner. The preter was holding Tyler’s hand, leading him along through the crowds. Jan’s blood sang with rage, looking at that slender, too-pale hand circled around his. But the rage was coated with a tissue of doubt, a niggling of honesty that made her remember, just then, Martin’s hand holding her own.

  Her hand, clinging to Martin’s.

  He—they—had trapped her, as much as Tyler was trapped. Different reasons, different intents, but...she had slept in a bed with Martin’s arms around her, his breath in her ear, and had been comforted. Had felt safe, protected...cared for.

  “Not the same. Not the same at all,” she whispered, not sure what she was denying, even to herself. She moved faster, as much pulling away from Martin—and her own thoughts—as trying to catch up with her prey.

  Then the preter and Tyler turned a corner, heading on to a smaller side street with far fewer people, heading into the more run-down part of town. Jan followed, anyway, Martin two steps behind, their pace slowing slightly to avoid being obvious without other pedestrians to mask them. If the preter sensed Martin... Could he pass for a random supernatural, innocently crossing paths, or was it always a confrontation?

  There were, Jan realized, way too many things she hadn’t thought about, hadn’t known to wonder about. And it was too late to stop and ask now.

  The street was lined with boutique-looking storefronts, rising above into brick-faced buildings that looked like apartments, their windows closed and curtained. Most of the stores were closed now, and the few people on the street seemed intent on their own business.

  The preter and Tyler had disappeared. Jan bit back a gulp of disappointment, even as Martin grabbed her hand, tugging her forward. There was an alley she had missed, across the street, barely wide enough to drive a car down without scraping the sides. Their prey had gone down there.

  “Is that...” Jan asked in a hushed breath, pointing toward t
he end of the alley. A faint haze hung over it, as though fog had rolled in from somewhere else. It made her skin prickle, the same way the preter had.

  “Wait here,” Martin said, and pushed Jan against the wall of the building, the brick cold and damp through her sweater. Then he stepped into the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a car. The driver honked and swore, but Martin kept moving, heading into the alley as though drawn by a line directly to the couple, his head down and his shoulders squared, as if he was intent on getting into a fight.

  There was no way she was staying put. Jan followed, dodging another car, praying to a god she didn’t believe in that her asthma wouldn’t kick up now, not now of all times please god.

  Martin had just passed the mouth of the alley when he must have made some noise, or gotten close enough that they could sense each other, because the woman stopped and turned, swinging Tyler with her.

  Jan paused, pressed against the wall, and held her breath, hoping not to be noticed. Please, god, she thought again, aware that she didn’t actually believe in god but she hadn’t believed in elves or kelpies before, either, and look how well that had turned out.

  The preter drew back her teeth, less a smile than a snarl, and stared at the kelpie, intensity—and malice—radiating from her. Tyler, confused, looked first at her, and then at Martin, then took a step away—not too far, but enough that he was out of range if fighting broke out.

  Now, something, some instinct told Jan. She darted forward, slipping along the wall past Martin, swinging up and grabbing hold of Tyler from behind, the way she used to when sneaking up to kiss him while he was making dinner.

  “Hey!”

  It wasn’t Tyler’s voice, not the voice of the man she knew and loved. It was flat and cold, and he twisted and fought her grip.

  There was a flash of uncertainty: was she wrong? Had they grabbed the wrong person? No. She kept her arms wrapped around him, under his arms, around his rib cage. “Ty, it’s me, it’s Jan.”

  “Let go of me.” Cold, his voice and his skin, cold as though he’d been sitting in snow. Tyler, who loved to sit in the sun and soak up warmth like a lizard, whose body always seemed to run hot; again, Jan thought she might have grabbed the wrong person, and was about to let go and apologize when Martin’s words came back to her.

  “Don’t let go. Whatever you do, don’t let go.”

  “Tyler, I love you. It’s me, Jan. I love you.” She kept repeating those words over and over again, hanging on to him, her fingers locked together over his stomach, her body snug up against his, as though that familiar pressure would reach into his memory, recall her to him.

  Like a thorn, she thought. Like briars. Get under his skin and hang there.

  “Let him go!” a woman’s voice cried, commanding her. Jan dug her face into his back, refusing to look up, refusing to let that creature see her face, catch her eye. Would the preter attack? Martin hadn’t said anything about that, just that she had to hold on, no matter what.

  “I love you,” she said against the fabric of his shirt, rougher than his usual cotton T-shirts, rougher and smelling not of his detergent but something else. “I love you and I won’t let you go.”

  And then that cold body chilled further, chilled and changed, and Jan had to adjust her grip as his body seemed to grow narrower, harder, even as she held on. She pulled back enough to see what was happening, and almost screamed when, instead of a human body, she saw the massive form of a serpent, its scales green and gold, a wedge-shaped head turning to stare at her, a long forked tongue flickering out, hissing at her in warning.

  “Don’t let go. No matter what happens.”

  “I love you,” she said, and tightened her grip, sliding her arms tighter around that thickly muscled snake-body, not letting it slither away. She had seen Martin change form, she had seen Toba grow wings, she knew that magic could do things, and never mind that it was Tyler and he wasn’t magic, she had to believe. She had to hold on.

  The body twitched and shuddered, changing again under her hands. No matter how much she tried to keep her eyes open, she couldn’t, feeling the change rather than seeing it, the dry scales turning to something warmer, softer, furred.

  Then a snarling scream nearly broke her eardrums, and she jerked back even as the giant tiger’s jaw snapped shut where her head had just been tucked against the snake’s body.

  Unlike the snake, which had been limited by its bulk, the massive tiger was lithe and far stronger than she, and one paw came free, slashing at her arm. Sharp pain hit her, and dark red blood dripped from the shreds of her sleeve, making her feel woozy and faint.

  Tyler was trying to kill her.

  “Jan!” Martin’s voice: too far away, and useless. He couldn’t help. He’d refused to help. Jan bit her tongue against the pain, let the tears run down her face but did not acknowledge them. She held on, her fingers now tangled in the thick ruff of the Tyler-tiger’s fur, even as hot breath raked across her face and it tried to paw and bite at her again.

  “I love you,” she said, and then cried out as his paw caught at her shoulder, tearing the flesh again. “I won’t let go. Not even if you tear me apart.”

  The body shivered under her fingers, and she tried to tighten her grip, preparing for another change. How long could this go on? How many changes could that bitch put him through, before she got tired, ran out of energy, gave up?

  The fur shifted into something else; Jan’s fingers slipped, unable to maintain their grip. She shifted, trying to get a better hold, and felt herself shoved off balance as the form under her reshaped into wings that spread out, beating wildly in a desperate attempt to get away.

  She opened her eyes and found herself face-to-beak with a giant crow...no, not a crow, as much a crow as the tiger had been a house cat, a massive beast with glossy black feathers and an evil-looking beak designed to tear flesh from prey, and talons that were wickedly sharp and raised to strike at her face.

  Jan cried out, her fingers slipping against the feathers, their pinions cutting into her flesh. The wings beat again, and her arms were knocked away, almost breaking her hold. Desperate, she lurched forward, ducking under talons and beak, so that it could not strike at her without harming itself, and throwing herself at the exposed breast.

  “I love you,” she said, her words muffled against the feathers that still, somehow, smelled of Tyler, not the cheap aftershave he refused to give up, or the faint trace of his dandruff shampoo, not anymore, but still, somehow, the smell of him. But there was another smell there, too. Cold, and dry, and with the definite tang of sex.

  Her. He had been sleeping with the preter, that bitch. Not just sleeping. Fucking her.

  Bile rose in Jan’s throat, and a pain worse than the claw marks on her arm and shoulder wracked her, making her fingers numb with agony, her body falling backward in denial even as she called out, her voice hoarse and faint, “I love you.”

  The wings beat again, that beak came down like a scalpel against her neck.

  She had let go, she had no choice but to let go or die, and he was gone.

  * * *

  “Janny!”

  “I have to find him. I have to go after him.” She was blinded by tears, her body screaming in agony, but all she could think about was that she’d lost him, that she’d let go. She’d failed him. “I have to...I have to...” She choked on the words, her breathing tight. A cough caught in her throat, and she flailed, chest squeezed tight, unable to breathe.

  The hands holding her shifted, her body turned until she was resting against something warm, and then the familiar shape of her inhaler was pressed into her hand and instinct raised it to her mouth, sucking the medication into her throat, her lungs.

  The panic subsided, then flared again. “Tyler!”

  Martin’s scent wrapped itself around her, his voice warm in her ear, his hands holding her upright, cradling her gently. “He’s gone. They went through the portal.”

  “I can’t... I let him go.” Guilt
bludgeoned her, replaying those last seconds over and over again. “Why did I let him go? I suck so hard, I let him go—”

  “Janny!” Martin’s normally gentle voice rang out so harshly that she had no choice but to stop babbling and look at him. Everything was blurred. She wiped her eyes with the back of her arm, then swore when the blood got into her eyes.

  “No, let me do that.” He wiped her eyes clear; his touch was firm, but not gentle, and she winced a little, feeling the anger in him. At her? Why was he angry at her?

  She wanted to crawl back to her apartment, hide underneath the covers, and she couldn’t even do that, didn’t even know if her apartment was still intact, if the landlord had evicted her for damages.... “I can’t do this. I can’t, I’m not strong enough. I suck.”

  “You have to be. Jan, you promised.”

  “What?” She shook her head, not understanding.

  “The portal’s closing, Jan. The mist is fading. We can’t open it, once it closes. We have to go, now. Just the two of us.”

  “I can’t. We can’t. You saw...”

  His gentleness turned fierce, almost bruising her. “Janny, you promised me. When I asked, you said you would do it.”

  Her nose was running, the snot mixed with blood. “That’s not fair.”

  “I’m not fair. I’m a kelpie.” His words had an odd echo to them, the anger, worry, and...sorrow?

  “You let him go because you had to. You wanted to live, more. There’s no shame in that. But you can have another chance,” he said, and his voice was urgent, almost panicked. But Martin didn’t panic, not ever. “If we go now, we can find them again. But the portal’s only open now, Jan. We have a chance to stop it, find a way to end their incursions from that side, rather than waiting for them here. But the mist is thinning: we have to go now.”

  There was something wrong with his logic, something that didn’t fit with what AJ had said, what Elsa had said, but Jan hurt too much to argue. The thought of moving, of doing anything—she had failed. What more could they expect of her, when she couldn’t even hold on to the man she loved?