Laura Anne Gilman

by Heart of Briar

  Jan blinked at him. She had never felt brave.

  “You refused to believe your lover had abandoned you. You listened to strangers—and we know how strange we are, to you—and followed us into impossible places. You fought—”

  “I ran,” she said. “I left Toba there, and I ran.”

  “You allowed Toba to do his job, and leaped out of a window, trusting us to protect you. You got on my back and trusted me to keep you safe. You walked into fairyland, because you had made a promise. To save not only your leman, but all the others who have been taken. Jan, if that is not brave, then what is it?”

  “Suicidal,” she said. “All right, all right. I’m brave. Or incredibly dumb. So, what do I have to do?”

  He released her, but the feel of his fingers against her skin remained.

  “You need to withstand.”

  “Withstand?” Already, it didn’t sound good. In fact, it sounded worse than before. “Withstand what? I’m really not good with pain, Martin. I once avoided the dentist for four years because I can’t handle getting my teeth cleaned.”

  The kelpie didn’t take her bait, the seriousness in his expression making her attempt at humor even worse. “You have given permission for magic to be worked upon you. You must withstand. You need to resist what is done to you, and remain true to yourself.”

  Jan absorbed that, thought about it, and felt a chill grow in her bones, rising outward. Magic. “You mean...like what she did to Tyler, changing his form?” She had convinced herself that was just an illusion, glamour. “Can they do that? I mean, for real? I thought you said they didn’t cast spells, or anything like that?”

  Preters and supers both, they seduced, they didn’t tell the truth...but did the supers instinctively, intrinsically lie, too? Or did they just misdirect and avoid? Jan wasn’t good with words, not that way, but she thought there was a real difference between not telling the truth and lying. She looked at Martin with narrowed eyes, waiting for him to respond.

  “Maybe. Maybe other things. I don’t know.” He lowered his head until their foreheads touched. “Their magic...we don’t have it. Supernaturals just are. We don’t mess with the universe, we exist within in. Preternaturals—”

  “Mess with the universe. Yeah, I got that already. Holding open a doorway between worlds just to cause trouble was kinda a clue.”

  “Portal, not doorway. A doorway is a simple set, a portal—”

  “Now is no time to get pedantic on me,” she muttered. “So I just have to, what, be stoic?”

  A crease appeared between his eyes, and the flickers of gold and green disappeared into the brown again. “You can’t forget. Remember who you are, why you’re here.”

  “Right.” It seemed too easy, which made her suspicious. “Will it...will it hurt?”

  Martin might not always tell all the truth, but he never lied to her.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, joy.”

  Jan bit her lower lip and pulled away from Martin, needing space between them, away from his concern and his utter uselessness. He had never claimed to be the hero, never said he had the answers; she had no right to be angry with him.

  Anger didn’t do her any good, but it was all she had just then. She couldn’t bear looking across the chamber, either, where Tyler was surrounded by other figures, their capes and dresses flowing and moving around him, flashes of bright color against the otherwise drab stone walls, and so found herself staring at her feet, her sneakers oddly implausible in this setting.

  She shivered, crossing her arms around herself, wishing this were all over with, already. “I would have thought that the fairy kingdom would be, I don’t know, prettier. They don’t believe in paintings? Or rugs?”

  “Preters aren’t very creative,” Martin said, falling in with her attempt at distraction. “I think that’s another reason why they take humans. You create—we don’t, either, really. I couldn’t even imagine how to make something, visualize it and make it real.”

  Jan tried to imagine not being able to take an idea and translate it into a new site, a specialized design, and shivered again. She didn’t think of herself as being particularly creative, but to not have even that?

  “What do supernaturals do, then? I mean, other than steal cars and rescue kidnapped humans?”

  “Mostly, we cause trouble too,” Martin admitted. “We’re not big on what humans consider morality, or honor. Sometimes we pick sides and help humans who amuse or interest us, but we—”

  “Can’t be trusted. Yeah. I got that.”

  There was a rise in the sound level from across the room, and his hands tightened on her shoulders, almost to the point of pain. She lifted her arms, putting her hands on his shoulders, letting them slide down his arms until their hands were clasped, as close to an embrace as they could allow themselves here, with an audience. In front of Tyler.

  “It’s time,” Martin said.

  She took a deep breath to reassure herself that she still could, and let it out slowly, the way her yoga DVD said to. “Be here for me, when I’m done?”

  The shades of gold and green were back in his eyes, hot and sharp. “I’ll be here.”

  To carry her home in victory—or bring her body home in defeat. Jan squeezed his hands once, then stepped away, his hands letting her go without resistance.

  The space in the middle of the room where she had stood before was now larger, the crowd pushed back, the stone floor cleared of anything that might impede movement—or interfere with the sight lines of the audience, Jan thought grimly. All that was missing was the popcorn, and this could be a Saturday afternoon matinee. Or a day at the Roman Colosseum.

  Stjerne was already there, waiting. The preter had taken off the cape and looked almost ordinary in her brown skirt and cream-colored blouse, brown leather boots rising to her knee, just a few inches under the hem of the skirt. As ordinary as anyone that striking could ever manage, anyway. She’d had time to change; those weren’t the clothes she’d been wearing in the coffee shop, back home. In her mud-dried jeans and long-sleeved shirt, knowing her hair was a tangle and her eyes probably red-rimmed, her skin blotchy, Jan suspected she looked like a joke in comparison.

  Tyler had been taken back into the crowd, half hidden by other bodies, but Jan looked over the bitch’s shoulder and found him. His eyes were wide and his face was ashen, but she could not tell who he feared for.

  Glamour could make you believe things. Could make you feel things. Were they real? Were they true?

  Did it matter? You could love more than one person, and sex and the heart didn’t always go together. Tyler loved her, and she loved him, and she was taking him home, where he belonged.

  “And thus, now or never, do or die,” Jan muttered under her breath, and stepped forward into the cleared circle. She found a spot that seemed comfortable, although it was no different from any other spot, set her feet the way she’d been taught in self-defense classes back in college, touched the inhaler in her pocket for reassurance, and lifted her chin. “Bring it, bitch.”

  There was no warning, no lifted hands or willow wand pointing, no incantation or sparkles, just a malicious twist to the bitch’s mouth and Jan’s body caught fire, agony whipping through every vein. Her eyes dried out, and the lining of her nose turned to sand, the moisture in her body evaporating as though she were in the center of a blast fire.

  And inside that fire, the curling heart of it, the whisper “Give in. let go. All this will end, if you only let go.”

  “Bitch,” Jan pushed out through gritted teeth, her fingers curling into her palms, giving her a real pain to focus on. “I don’t think so.”

  The pain intensified, although she would have sworn that was impossible. Like lava chewing at her bones, destroying and renewing so that she could never actually die, never be at peace. She tried not to believe it, tried to reject it as illusion, but the pain was too much.

  In agony, Jan thought of Martin, but the strange half guilt she’d bee
n carrying turned on her then, lashing her with accusations and insinuations.

  I wasn’t. I didn’t....

  Her heart ached, so badly she thought it would crack, and she lifted her hands to her chest, as though to force it back in.

  Her fingers touched the silver of her bracelet, slid against the cool metal, seemingly untouched by anything else, smooth and supple, like Martin’s skin, splashed wet with sweat...

  And she remembered being carried on his back through his riverine home, of cool water splashing over her, encasing her, and waking up wet but sound. Wet and safe.

  She could trust him, even when he didn’t trust himself.

  Slowly, too slowly, the fire sizzled and went out, her sinuses dry and burning, but her skin soaked with sweat.

  Jan wanted to say or do something to show her defiance, but here was barely enough time to breathe in relief before the next attack hit, twisting her arms and torso, bending her knees and sending her to the floor.

  She looked up and saw the bitch staring at her, that cruel quirk of the lip now a full-blown snarl, like the one she had shown in the alley, before the portal. Jan had time for a fleeting thought—she’s not underestimating me anymore—before something broke her spine and sent her facedown on the cold stone floor.

  The pain was different this time, coming not from the inside, but out. Her body cramped and changed, fur sprouting from underneath her skin, her hands resting on the floor, her entire sense of self and gravity shifting until she had the urge to howl, to grovel to her pack master for release, to accept her role and let go....

  A dog cowers, the pain whispered to her. A dog heels. A dog—

  A dog was cousin to the wolf. Jan thought of AJ. Proud, fierce. Determined to do what needed to be done, no matter the cost.

  “You are not my pack leader,” she managed to force through jaws that felt odd and heavy, the wrong shape for speaking. “I do not give in...to you.”

  Pain flared again, forcing her eyes wide and her mouth open, gasping for air. The shape changed, twisting her around again, throwing her onto her back and making her legs spasm. Her spine arched in ways it shouldn’t be able to, and her head hit the stone floor hard enough to make everything go silent.

  Her arms sealed to her sides, her legs useless, Jan felt herself go cold as doubts sifted their way in. She was useless. Abandoned. Alone all day in a room, moving digits around for things no one would ever notice. Pale and too soft, too gentle, too needy. No wonder Tyler went elsewhere, found someone more exotic, more fascinating, more experienced.

  Someone better suited to him, the doubts whispered, poison dripping sweetly. You were never enough for him; let go, let him go his way, and you be on yours....

  Jan stretched, her muscles still working even in this new form, and lifted her head along the huge serpent’s body, turning to stare at her opponent, lidless eyes unflinching. Her tongue flicked out once, twice, and caught the taste of fear. Her own... And her opponent’s... And more.

  The entire room was filled with fear.

  It was a revelation for the bit of Jan still aware within that massive form. All this, all their magic, their glamour, and they were afraid...of her.

  They were afraid of humans. Of what humans could do.

  The icy fog in her brain lifted, faded and melted, just enough. All right, Tyler had wandered. The lure of something different, something out of reach or forbidden, had been too much to resist. Maybe it was magic, maybe it was his own weakness, maybe she wouldn’t be enough for him in the long run. But. Her tongue flicked out again and tasted memories of Tyler. She remembered his sleepy arms around her early in the morning, the way his legs tangled with hers while he slept, the look in his eyes when she glanced up and saw him studying her, intense and hot.

  Her legs. Her eyes. Her hands, fixing and typing, touching and holding, creating and destroying. Her mouth, to speak, to sing, to shout.

  She remembered them in the shower together, him singing, teaching her the words, while his hands moved over her skin....

  Her throat couldn’t form the words, but she remembered the song.

  The snake’s form shuddered and then cracked open, like shards of iridescent crystal shattering, flying across the room. The surrounding preters ducked, almost instinctively, even as Jan thought, in passing, distracted, “I must have been beautiful like that.”

  As though summoned by her own fleeting enjoyment, a blow hit her out of nowhere, this time nothing but rage, a heavy blow into her ribs, forcing her to double over. Nothing subtle, nothing transforming or delusional about this, only the very real pain, worse than before because there was no pretense, no distraction of a new form, only the searing, venomous rage.

  And then another blow landed, this time from the backside, just above her hip. Jan fell to her knees again, not even aware of having stood up, tasting blood in her mouth. Had she bitten her tongue? Or was she starting to cough up blood?

  Her throat closed up, her chest congested, all the warning signs of an asthma attack approaching. She could die here. She probably would die here. Tyler would be lost, Martin...what would happen to Martin?

  AJ knew they had never had a chance.

  You cannot win, the rage told her, a searing whisper like an iron clamped to her ears.

  I will not lose.

  Foolish mortal. Always foolish. Always losing.

  Toba had lost. He had died, standing against the tide of turncoats, giving her time to escape. Giving her the chance to be brave when her time came. Was that really losing?

  Only if she screwed this up.

  “You cannot resist us.”

  Jan forced her eyes open, forced herself upright on her knees, unable to do more, and stared at the woman who had stolen her lover. “That’s not the way our stories tell it.” And that wasn’t how it had gone for their queen.

  Stjerne’s lovely face twisted in a snarl, as though she had heard that unspoken thought. Maybe she had. Maybe Jan had actually spoken it, not just thought it. The preter raised her hand for another blow, her knuckles already stained with blood. Jan’s blood.

  Jan was pretty sure that this blow would break something important, but couldn’t bring herself to brace for it.

  “Let go,” the preter said, “and I will let you live.”

  Jan shook her head, remembering the terms. If she agreed to something else, anything less, she could lose everything. “I came here for Tyler.”

  The preter spat the words, the venom almost visible, the air trembling around her. “You don’t deserve him.”

  Jan laughed at that, and blood dripped to the floor. “What makes you think love has anything to do with ‘deserving’? What makes you think love has any logic to it at all?”

  The pain relented just a little, as though her defiance had pushed it back to—almost—bearable levels. Jan got to her feet, slowly, one hand on the floor to push her up. Things crackled and popped, and a line of fire ran from her calves to her neck, reminding her that magic or not, the damage had been real. She ignored the woman standing within arm’s reach, fought down the desire to wring that beautiful neck, and instead turned to the figures on the dais.

  Her breath came as though squeezed though lungs flattened like a toothpaste tube, but it came, and that was enough. She had resisted. Magic had been worked on her...and she remained herself, unowned.

  “I’m not perfect,” she said now, the words harsh out of a throat that felt as if she had been screaming for hours. “I’m maybe not even the right match for Tyler, even though I love him. I’m...angry at him. And scared. And...love is complicated.” She swallowed and tasted blood. “But I know two things. One, that you have no right to hold him against his will, not if you tricked him, made him believe things that weren’t true. And two, you have no right to be in my world.”

  Stubborn, that’s what she was. That had been what AJ had seen in her, why he’d chosen her. Stubborn, not brave.

  Jan thought that maybe, here and now, the two things were close en
ough to not matter.

  Stjerne stepped forward, getting between Jan and the dais. “He is mine. I carved him out and created him anew. He is mine.” She said the words as if they hurt her. Jan rather hoped they did.

  “You deny the results of the challenge?” The consort sounded...amused? Jan had the sudden thought that, when there were no humans to abuse, the preternatural Court probably were just as happy to turn on each other for entertainment value.

  Without taking her eyes off the consort, Jan tried to figure out where Martin was, if they could make a run for it if needed. Then again, she could barely stand, so running was probably out of the question.

  “The creature was in the room,” Stjerne said. “She took strength from it. Kill it, and try again.”

  “What?” Jan’s eyes widened, and pain or not, she swung around with every intention of taking the bitch out herself.

  The consort looked to his side, to the preter who had commented before.

  “That is also...a fair point,” the preter—some kind of judge?—said.

  “The hell it is!” Jan shouted. “Martin didn’t do anything, he just—”

  “It’s all right.” Martin’s voice, just behind and to her right, and she turned to face him, still spitting mad.

  “Screw you and the pony you... Oh, hell, you know what I mean.” The slip made a faint smile appear on Martin’s face, and Jan almost lost it at that, a surge of affection—stupid but unstoppable—filled her. She turned back to the dais and forced herself to move up the steps, ignoring the pain. Stubborn. Oh, yes, she could be stubborn. All three of them were going home.

  She had to pause at the top of the dais and take a hit off her inhaler, and to hell with showing weakness. Not being able to breathe would be worse. The preters looked at her curiously but didn’t interfere.

  “I accepted the challenge, and I won. Adding additional terms and conditions after the fact is bullshit. More, it invalidates any existing agreement that might predate your sudden change in policy.”

  She was grabbing the memory of any disclaimers she’d ever put together for client websites, plus a smattering of the few warranties she’d ever actually read, tossing it together and hoping it sounded reasonable. If Martin was right and the preters had no creativity, if they were bound by rules, they might be taken in by linear double-talk that sounded plausible.