by Kim Wilkins
Mandy frowned, suspicious now. “What are you doing?” he asked.
She opened her hands. He saw her twisted smile through a delicate ball of light suspended between her fingers.
“Passage,” she said. And disappeared.
Mayfridh shifted from foot to foot on the train platform, rubbing her hands together against the morning cold. Early light streaked the sky through the clouds. Diana stood next to her, sucking her bottom lip nervously.
“Really, Mum, I’ll be back before you know it.”
“You’ve said that before and then disappeared for weeks. How do I know this isn’t the last time I’ll see you?”
“Because I promise.” Mayfridh buttoned her coat and tucked her scarf down inside it. Every breath of wind was laced with ice. “It’s getting so cold.”
“Winter’s nearly here.”
Mayfridh looked at her mother and tried to smile. What a powerful coercion guilt was. She should have returned to Ewigkreis last night, directly after Christine’s phone call. But Diana and her trembling jaw kept her here in Zehlendorf, producing soothing reassurances. Layered on top of that was guilt about leaving Eisengrimm to deal with Mandy. And, of course, the guilt over her betrayal of Christine.
The train slid into the station.
“Bye, Mum,” she said, enclosing Diana in a brief hug.
“Will I see you again?”
“I promise you will. I’ve just got a little problem to take care of back home.”
“Don’t be gone too long.”
Mayfridh stepped with relief into the heated carriage. Diana waved good-bye from the platform, then disappeared from view. Mayfridh put her head between her hands to think. When did life become so complicated? Soon she would have to say good-bye to Diana forever. She would forget; her mother would remember forever. Twenty-five years hadn’t healed the first loss. Mayfridh recalled Eisengrimm’s original warning against seeking out Diana. Damn him for always being right.
And what of Eisengrimm? She had left him in charge, a de facto wolf king to defend her land against Immanuel Zweigler. Not that she thought Mandy was anything but harmless. Despite Christine’s anxieties, it was clear to Mayfridh that he’d developed an infatuation and gone to find her. She felt such a raw pity for him; she knew love without any hope of a union. She trusted Eisengrimm to be kind to him, but Mandy would have to be told firmly to leave. An uninvited intruder might upset the balance of the seasons, precipitating an early winter. She shuddered. The last thing she wanted was to have him stuck in her world forever.
Mayfridh raised her head and watched suburbs speeding past in the gray light. Forever unraveled before her in her imagination. She had such a long time left to live. Four hundred years now seemed like a torture. Humans had the perfect life span: long enough to grow old with someone, yet short enough to inspire them to find meaning. She thought about Jude—the warmth of his skin, the weight of his gaze—and the space under her ribs felt bruised by the longing. He had made it clear: this love was impossible.
Now she had to convince Mandy his love was impossible too. Hopefully he wouldn’t cause a scene. She wasn’t in the mood for dealing with that.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Eisengrimm?” Mayfridh warily ascended the circular staircase to her rooms. Eisengrimm hadn’t been in the forest to greet her, so perhaps he was busy with Mandy. Maybe he had taken him to the village.
Mayfridh went to her bedchamber window. Through the branches of the giant birch, she could see the village in the slanting sun. Smoke rose from chimneys, children played in the streets. No sign of Eisengrimm and Mandy. Perhaps they had stopped at the tavern for a drink. What kind of adventure was Mandy on? Had he anticipated any of this? She wondered what he had expected when he stole the twine from Christine. Did he know, for instance, that Mayfridh was the queen of a race of faeries? She allowed herself a smug moment; how impressed he must have been when Eisengrimm told him. Surely he would realize she could never love him in return.
A sound near the door caught her attention. She turned around.
“Mandy?”
“Hello. Surprise.” Mandy tried a smile. He wore a brown tunic—far too tight for him—leg wrappings like the villagers wore and a rough cap on his head. His hair was damp and he carried a muddy, stained sack. When he saw her looking at it, he dropped it on the floor and something inside rattled and clattered. “I went for a swim in the stream,” he said. “I got my own clothes wet. I stole these. They were hanging on a tree branch.”
She allowed a little smile. “Oh. Well, you’ll have to make sure you return them before you go. Where’s Eisengrimm?”
“He had something to take care of.”
Mayfridh was surprised. It was unlike Eisengrimm to leave a stranger unattended wandering around the castle, but perhaps he had decided Mandy was little threat. She took a deep breath. “Mandy, we need to sort a few things out.”
“Yes. Yes we do.”
“I think I’ve guessed how you feel about me.”
“You have?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good. Now I don’t have to tell you.” His eyes gleamed, and Mayfridh felt a twinge of unease.
“Nothing can come of it, though,” she said quickly.
“No? You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Faeries and humans can’t form relationships.” She thought this simple truth the easiest way to let him down, but even as the words left her lips she realized that her encounter with Jude had been twice as foolish as she had believed. Faeries and humans can’t breed. Now what? How could she make sure that no monstrous child had been conceived? Damn. She would have to tell Eisengrimm; he would know what to do.
Mandy was saying something, but she had missed it in her moment of preoccupation.
“Pardon?” she asked.
“I said that I thought that might be the case.”
“So why did you come here?” she said. “How did you find out? Did you hear all of us talking about it?”
“All of you?” he said, and she saw his fingers tighten by his sides. “You mean everybody knew?”
“Um . . . yes. At first only Christine knew, but then I told the others.” Why did she feel so guilty? Poor Mandy: everybody avoided him, nobody told him anything, and yet he was generous and patient with them all. “I’m sorry. The opportunity never came up to tell you, and I knew that I wouldn’t be around for long.”
He fell silent, gazing at her across the room. Outside, the shift and scuttle of leaves.
“Mandy,” she said gently. “You have to go. You can’t be here.”
“I’d like to stay a little while.”
“I know you’re fond of me. Perhaps you’ve even fallen in love with me—”
“You have no idea how I feel,” Mandy said, smiling ruefully.
“But it’s never going to be possible for us to be together,” Mayfridh continued. “It would be best for everyone if you went home and tried to forget about me.”
He dropped his head. Released a quiet breath. “Yes. Perhaps it would be best.”
She waited a few moments. She was anxious for him to leave, but she felt a great pity for him too, and pity was such a tyrant.
Mandy met her gaze again. “Mayfridh, could I have just one tiny favor?”
“Certainly. What is it?”
“Could I embrace you? Just once. I’d like to know what it feels like to hold you in my arms.”
Her skin crawled, but she forced a smile. “I . . . well . . .”
“Please. And then I’ll go, I promise. I’ll go home, I’ll leave you alone, and I’ll deal with my feelings.”
“Very well, then,” she said, opening her arms halfheartedly.
He came to her, big and rough and hairy, and she closed her eyes as his arms circled around her and he pressed her to him. He sniffed her hair, a long, passionate inhalation. Then she moved back to break the embrace.
He didn’t let go.
“Mandy, let me go now.”
&nbs
p; “I don’t think I will.” His arms tightened on her, and he began to propel her backward. She shrieked. Was he intending to rape her?
“Eisengrimm!” she called, struggling frantically against him.
“He can’t hear you, he’s in the dungeon,” Mandy said.
“Let me go!” Her arms were pinned by her sides, her heart thundering. She should never have trusted him, never let pity cloud her judgment. “There are guards and . . .”
She twisted her neck to see where they were going. Surely he wasn’t going to throw her out the window? Then he picked up the heavy brass bear on the chest.
With a sickening pain to her head, blackness descended.
Christine mused that there must be a better venue for an engagement party than Super Jazz. The loud music was making it hard to talk and the thick smoke was making it hard to breathe.
“Okay, okay,” Pete said, shooting out of his seat and raising his beer bottle. “We should have a toast.”
“Yes, a toast,” Gerda replied, clapping her hands together. “Everyone stand up.”
She and Fabiyan stood, beer bottles at the ready, while Christine and Jude exchanged smiles over the tabletop.
“These guys are just perfect for each other,” Pete said, “and I wish them many happy years together. To Jude and Christine.”
“Jude and Christine,” the others chorused, and clinked their bottles together.
Jude bumped his bottle against Christine’s. “To us, Christine.”
She took a swig of beer, relaxing into the evening. She still hadn’t heard from Mayfridh, but the worry seemed farther away right now. It was easy enough to convince herself that Mayfridh was showing her castle to Mandy and that they would return together soon.
“And another announcement,” Jude said as the others sat down. “I heard back from Australia. I made the short list for the fellowship.”
Pete whooped and leaned over the table to hug Jude, knocking over Gerda’s beer.
“Hey, watch it,” she shouted, jumping out of her seat. A large beery stain was spreading over her shirt.
“Sorry,” Pete said distractedly, before sliding back into his seat. “Jude, it would be so cool if you came back to Melbourne with me. You could stay with me and my mum. And Christine too, of course.”
“I’m not in yet,” Jude said, hands in the air. “Just on the short list.”
Gerda was inching her way out from behind the table. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll just go and wash the beer out of my two-hundred-euro dress.”
Pete waved a dismissive hand. “Big deal. Mayfridh bought it for you with faery money, anyway.”
Christine rose and joined Gerda. “Come on, I’ll help you.” She accompanied Gerda to the toilets. In here, the music was at a reasonable level for conversation.
“Pete really pisses me off,” Gerda said as the door slammed behind them.
“He’s just a kid.”
“He’s a spoilt kid.” Gerda turned a tap on and splashed water over the stain. “The worst kind.”
Christine caught sight of herself under the bright lights over the mirror and turned her back on her reflection. “Why does it have to be so bright in here?”
“They’ve had all the lights fixed,” Gerda said. “Scary, huh?”
“Sure is.”
“Anyway, what have you got to worry about? You’ve scored the most beautiful man in the world until death-do-you-part.” Gerda wrung the moisture out of her skirt.
Christine couldn’t help herself smiling again. Since this morning, it was all she could do. “Yeah, I know.” She braved the mirror once again and fixed a smudge of mascara.
Gerda punched the button on the hand dryer. It didn’t turn on. “Typical,” she muttered, pulling a handful of paper towels from the dispenser. As she blotted her dress she caught Christine’s eye in the mirror. “So why do you think he proposed?”
“Because he wants to marry me.” Christine fought the irritation in her voice. Gerda had a habit of touching the most exposed nerve. “I guess.”
“Sorry, Miss Starlight, I didn’t mean to be rude. I meant, why now? We all knew you’d get married someday, but why now? Is it that Australian fellowship?”
“No, he only got the call this afternoon. And it’s not for certain.” And I don’t want to go to Australia. Christine rested her back against the bench. “He said it just felt like the right time for us to get married.”
Gerda inspected her skirt, bent over, and pulled it up to her face to sniff it, revealing her ample thighs in cherry-red tights. “Still smells like beer.” She went back to the basin and rinsed the stain again. “I’m going to make Pete pay to have it dry-cleaned.”
“He’s never got any money. He owes Jude a fortune.”
“So,” Gerda said, toweling her skirt, “I take it you haven’t heard from Mayfridh?”
“Not yet.”
“Do you think she’s okay?”
“Probably.” Christine shrugged. “I mean, she’s the queen. I guess there are people there to look after her, and Mandy—”
“Mandy’s probably harmless,” Gerda said. “I agree.”
Christine thought about how he had wrestled the twine from her hands. “I don’t know about harmless. But I don’t think he intended any harm, if you see the difference. I think he’s just in love with her and he’s acted rashly.”
“Easy to fall in love with, right? She’s very beautiful.”
“Yes, she is.”
Gerda paused with a thoughtful twist on her lips.
“What is it?” Christine asked.
“Well . . .”
“Go on, tell me.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Gerda said, “but I’ll tell you anyway.”
Christine felt her stomach sink. What gossip did Gerda have up her sleeve this time?
“The other night I dropped in at your place to borrow some laundry powder,” Gerda said, “and when Jude opened the door, your apartment was all dark and Mayfridh was just sitting there on the sofa.”
“In the dark?”
“Yes. Maybe not completely dark; around twilight. But no lights on in the house. And I swear she looked really guilty.”
“How does someone look guilty?” Christine thought about how forcefully Mayfridh had convinced her to go to Ewigkreis that day.
“You know, kind of twitchy. Nervous, glancing around.” Gerda demonstrated; Christine had to agree she looked guilty.
“I’m sure it was nothing,” Gerda continued.
“Did Jude look guilty too?”
“No.”
Christine tipped her head to the side and considered Gerda. “Okay, so what do you think it all means?”
“I don’t know. I just thought I should tell you.”
“Do you think I shouldn’t marry Jude? Is that why you’re telling me this?” Her annoyance with Gerda couldn’t be contained beneath the usual excuses she made for her.
“No! God, no. I think Jude is great. I just think Mayfridh is after him.”
Christine tried to get her smile back, tried to dilute the imagined scenario: the two of them alone in the dark. “It’s probably nothing,” Christine said. I’m not giving him up.
“Exactly.”
“Come on, let’s go back. My beer will be going flat.”
“At least you have a beer to go back to. Mine’s all over the floor.”
The others had moved to a different table—Pete citing the reason as spilt beer—and Jude had bought Gerda a fresh drink.
Jude curled his arm around Christine’s waist and pulled her into the seat next to him. “Now, seriously, guys. I need to talk to you about Mandy.”
“Mysterious Mandy,” Pete said.
“We’re thinking of leaving the hotel,” Jude said.
Fabiyan clattered his beer bottle to the table in shock. “No, don’t go!”
“I don’t know if it’s safe to stay,” Christine said. “The way he wrestled that twine out of my hands . . .”
; “It’s understandable you feel a bit shaken,” Gerda said, “but that wouldn’t frighten me enough to leave.”
Christine curled her fists in her lap. Gerda had a talent for the casual put-down.
“Where would you go?” Pete asked.
“Back home,” Jude replied. “We want to get married in New York anyway.”
The taped music stopped and the live band cranked up. It became difficult to hear. They huddled closer around the table. The smoke from Gerda’s cigarette made Christine’s eyes sting.
“It is not as good here without you,” Fabiyan said, “but I see that Christine is uncomfortable with Mandy.”
“But do you think Mandy’s dangerous?” Gerda asked him.
“How can anybody see? We do not know him so good.”
How can anybody see? Christine turned Fabiyan’s words over in her mind. That was the problem with Mandy, wasn’t it? He was so unlikable that nobody had bothered to get to know him better, nobody had bothered to peel back the surface and take a look inside. Perhaps when Mandy had fought her for the magic twine she had really seen him for the first time. And now the black windows, and the locked door, and the faintly malicious smile took on new significance. She wondered if Mayfridh was all right.
“Look,” Gerda was saying, “nobody would blame you if you left. But I’m staying. A fellowship like this only comes along once in a lifetime. Unless I thought he was going to murder me in my sleep I’d stay.”
“I would too,” Jude said. “But . . .” He glanced at Christine and she felt her veins zing with angry warmth. Surely he wasn’t going to make her feel guilty about their decision to leave Berlin.
“But what?” she said, a challenge in her voice. “But my crazy girlfriend won’t let me?”
“No, Christine.” A soothing hand on her shoulder. “That’s not what I meant. I have a responsibility to protect you—”
“A responsibility? You make it sound like I’m a baby. Or a mental patient in your care.”
“Wedding’s off,” Pete declared cheerily, slurping at his beer.
Jude turned to the others. “We are leaving,” he said firmly. “We are.”
