Late Eclipses

by Seanan McGuire

  “Lily?” I whispered.

  She opened colorless eyes, offering me a heartbreaking smile. New gashes opened in her throat as she moved, “bleeding” water. “You came. I knew you would. You were always stronger than she thought you’d be.”

  “Oh, Lily.” I knelt next to the pool. Her hand sought mine, and I clasped it tightly, not letting myself flinch from the cold.

  “Thank you,” she said. Looking past me to Tybalt, she added, “Thank you both.”

  Some of her subjects gasped. I sighed, the last of the fight slipping out of me.

  “There isn’t much time,” she said. “It’s all slipping away, like water running downhill. This will be done with soon.”

  “You’re going to be fine,” I said, trying to sound comforting. “Just tell me where your pearl is. We’ll find out what’s wrong, and we’ll fix it.”

  “The tide may turn that way, but I think not. Only time heals a heart of pearl, and my time is over.” Catching my expression, she added, “I’d tell you if I could, truly.”

  “There’s no reason left to hide it.”

  “I don’t know where it is, child.” Her voice was calm. “It passed from my knowledge as I sickened, and now I can’t say if it’s safe or stolen. It’s done.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “What you believe doesn’t matter.” Tilting her head, she asked, “Did I ever tell you what came between your mother’s heart and mine?”

  “I don’t think this is the time—”

  “Your friend would disagree,” she said, almost playfully, her attention darting to Tybalt. Focusing on me again, she said, “He all but burns with what he doesn’t say to you, and this time is mine to spend. Do you know what happened?”

  I sighed. “No.”

  “It was you.” Her laughter was a heavy, watery sound that turned into a cough. I winced, tightening my grip on her hand until the coughing passed.

  “You don’t have to tell me this,” I said. A small, traitorous voice in my head said, No, and you don’t want her to, because if she does, you’ll know.

  “It’s all right,” she said, with surprising strength. “I have time for one more story. It was you, October, you and your father. She loved him, you know, not just for what he represented, but for who he was. My foolish little princess. She dared too much, given what she was, what she was refusing to be.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She thought he’d save her, and when he didn’t, she thought you would. Oh, my dear, what she did to you, what you didn’t know she was doing, and how you fought! Like a lion you fought, never knowing the battle.” Lily sighed. “You were the last of her protections against roses and crossroads and all they meant, and when you failed her, she didn’t know what to do. My foolish princess who thought she’d be a shepherdess, if only she could make you a sheep. I loved her because she brought me to this wonderful land where I found such friends—I even loved her when she left me for you.”

  I frowned. “She didn’t leave you.”

  “You both left me. But you came back, and you brought her shadow with you, to sit at my table. I was so grateful when you brought her back to me. It was never your fault; you carry the sins of your mother as she carries the sins of hers. Try not to blame her. She didn’t mean to lay those sins on you. She tried to take them back, when she thought she could.” She closed her eyes, shivering. “I’m cold. Why am I cold?”

  I lifted her icy hand, pressing it to my cheek. “I don’t know, Lily. I’m sorry.”

  “No sorrow. There was so much your mother never let me say. Anata wa jibun no koto wa shiranakatta wa . . . you never knew yourself. So much like my Ama-dear, trying to prove she didn’t need me when she needed me more than ever . . . do you remember where the Undine began?”

  “I do.” My mother and I used to walk in Lily’s gardens, back when she never let me out of her sight. I lived my life at arm’s reach, and thought that was love. Childhood is a game of concessions, and everyone pretends to understand the rules, even though the only constant is that no one wants to be alone. Back then, we were content with our mutual captivity, before she started shoving me away; before I started running.

  We were in Lily’s gardens when Amandine taught me about the Undine. “Even new Undine are older than the rest of us,” she said. “They remember when the ocean ruled the world.”

  “Where do they come from?” In those days, her every word was gospel truth, and I would have asked anything to keep her talking to me.

  “Tears. The first time Oberon left Maeve for her pretty sister, she didn’t understand, and she nearly died of sorrow.”

  “She cried?” I pictured Maeve as looking like my mother, beautiful and alien and broken, and I would’ve done anything to keep her from crying.

  “She did. Her tears were the first Undine. They’re hers alone, and because of that, they can’t mate with humans.” Her smile was bitter. I knew she was thinking of my father. “There are no changelings among the Undine.”

  Then she took me back to the Summerlands—home for her, and never for me—and put me to bed. I dreamed all day of children who’d never break their mother’s heart, because they were born from nothing but tears.

  Lily’s cold fingers pulled me back to the present. I shivered. Lily was a constant, like the Torquills; someone who’d always be part of my life. I’m fae enough not to take kindly to change, and she was dying. “Please don’t go. I’m not ready.” I was begging. I didn’t care.

  “Don’t worry, love.” Cracks were opening around her eyes; water glimmered in their depths, where bone should have been. “It doesn’t hurt. You silly ones with your blood and your bones, always so concerned about dying.”

  Tears ran down my cheeks. I wiped them away, but they kept coming. “Please.”

  “Don’t cry.” Lily pressed her free hand against my neck. I was numb enough not to flinch from the cold. “I’m sorry to go, but it’s all right. Rivers dry up; tides ebb; the sea goes on.”

  “We don’t.”

  “Are you sure? Immortality isn’t flesh. You know that.” She took a bubbling breath. Soon those breaths would stop, and she’d be gone. I was holding as tightly as I could, and she was slipping away. What’s the point of holding on if I can’t save the ones I can’t afford to lose?

  The whispering of Lily’s subjects was like a roar behind me. Who would look after them now? I wanted to care, but I couldn’t find the strength. I’m the changeling. I’m the one with the impure blood. I should have been the first to go. Not Lily, not Evening—not any of them. I’m the mortal one, and the world has no right to make me watch them die.

  “I’ll live forever,” she said, hand slipping from mine. “In the rise of rivers in spring, in winter’s snows, in rain running down autumn’s forests. It’s not the immortality of men, but it’s immortality. I know it’s not something you can understand. I wish I could put it in words to comfort you, but the shape of your world and the shape of mine have always been different. Here, more than anywhere, we’re alien to each other. Just believe me when I say this isn’t the end . . . and I am not afraid.”

  “Don’t leave me,” I whispered. “I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t.”

  “I won’t leave you. That’s the glory of it; don’t you see? The night-haunts won’t come for me, because there won’t be anything to come for. What I am, what I’ve been, it’s all part of the water.” Lily smiled, eyes closing as the outline of her face faded into the ripples around her. “Look to the water.” Her voice changed, becoming distant; she wasn’t talking to me anymore. She was done talking to me. “Oh . . . oh, look, Ama-chan, look. Konya no sakura wa totemo kirei da na . . . the cherry blossoms . . . so beautiful . . . ”

  And she was gone, body melting into the pool, hair becoming nothing but a shadow. I pitched forward, arms driving into the water up to the elbows. For a moment, there was silence. Then someone made a single, sobbing sound of protest, and it was like a dam breaking. A keenin
g wail rose on all sides as Lily’s subjects realized that it was over, it was finished. She was gone.

  Tybalt pulled me to my feet, drawing me into an embrace. I didn’t fight. For the moment, I belonged there. And when I didn’t belong in the Tea Gardens anymore, someone was going to die. Oberon’s law be damned.

  FOURTEEN

  ISTEPPED FROM THE MOON BRIDGE into the darkness of the Tea Gardens, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets in a vain attempt to warm them. It felt like the cold had crept all the way into my bones; between that and the pounding in my head, it was a miracle I was upright at all. Tybalt walked beside me, not saying anything. That was good. I wasn’t sure there was anything to say.

  Lily’s subjects followed us, watching with wide, terrified eyes as they waited to be told what to do. I didn’t hold their neediness against them; if following made them feel better, let them follow. I didn’t care. Lily was gone. The knowledge was sinking in by inches, becoming part of the way the world was. Fire burned, iron killed, and Lily was dead. Lily was dead, and it was time for me to go.

  “Toby?” Marcia’s tone demanded attention.

  I turned to face her. “What?” I asked, struggling to keep my own voice neutral. I was exhausted, and anger was starting to win out over my grief. I wanted to get out of the Tea Gardens before I said or did something I’d regret.

  “What’s going to happen to us now?” She asked the question so softly that it took me a moment to realize what she’d said.

  I stiffened, cursing inwardly as I scanned Lily’s gathered subjects. There was an almost uniform despair in their eyes; they clearly expected us to walk away. With no one to take care of them and Lily’s knowe collapsing, they had nowhere to go. The other denizens of Golden Gate Park respected Lily, and that would protect her subjects for a while, but not forever. With no one to hold the knowe, greed would overcome respect, and the Tea Gardens would fall.

  Lily wouldn’t have wanted that. I wasn’t going to let it happen.

  “Don’t worry.” I put a hand on Marcia’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of you.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Walther stepped up next to her, saying, “Not to sound like a doubting Thomas, but how are you planning to do that?”

  “In the long run, I don’t know. For now . . . ” I turned to Tybalt. “You were watching the Tea Gardens before. Will you keep watching them long enough for me to find out what’s going on?”

  From the look on his face, Tybalt expected the question. He took my hand, studying me gravely as he asked, “Why me, and not one of your more accepted allies?”

  “Right now, there’s nobody I trust more than I trust you.”

  “Ah. The truth.” He smiled, looking almost tired as he released my hand. “Go, then; I’m sure you have promises to keep. My cats and I will guard your flotsam until you return.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said, skirting the forbidden thanks.

  “I know you do. You always do.” Tybalt sighed. “She was my friend, too. Find whoever killed her. If you need me, call.”

  “If I can.” I wasn’t making any promises, but I meant it.

  He paused before reaching out to brush my hair back with a surprisingly gentle hand. “Don’t run yourself to death until you know you have no choice.”

  “I have to go.” I pulled away, turning back to Walther and Marcia. “Can you do me a favor?”

  “What?” asked Marcia, sniffling.

  “Keep everyone here until we know what’s going on.” I wasn’t sure Luna and Lily were targeted because of their connection to me, but the odds were too high to ignore. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Marcia nodded, whispering, “I promise.”

  “I can’t stay here,” Walther said. “I have class.”

  Lily mentioned him testing her water; I hazarded a guess. “You teach forensics?”

  “Chemistry.”

  “Close enough. If I bring you something, can you test it for poison?”

  Walther nodded. “Sure.” He dug a business card out of his pocket. “My class schedule and office hours are on the back.”

  “Great.” I took the card and flipped it over, checking to be sure I could read his writing before tucking it into the pocket of my jacket. “I’ll see you soon.”

  That was that. There were no more excuses to stay and too many reasons to go. Walking out of that garden alone was still one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Lamentations filled the air behind me. I was almost to the gate when a new voice joined in, adding its own harsh, deep sobs. I didn’t look back.

  Tybalt would never have forgiven me for seeing him cry.

  I had to walk in circles with my hands stretched out in front of me for several minutes before my palms bumped into my still-invisible car. When May casts a don’t-lookhere, she really casts a don’t-look-here. Unlocking the door took several more minutes. I was swearing steadily by the time I got inside.

  There was no traffic so close to dawn, and having an invisible car meant there were no speed limits, either. I drove home fast enough to be a danger to myself and others, so focused on the road that I didn’t notice I was crying until I reached my apartment complex, parked the car, and realized my cheeks were damp. I frowned, trying to figure out why. That’s when it wore through the shock and hit me all the way: Lily was dead, and Luna was dying, and nothing I did seemed to be making things any better. I was failing them. “Oh, Lily,” I whispered, wiping my cheeks. “How could you?”

  I left the car in a daze, pausing only to retrieve Luna’s cup. I should have given it to Walther while we were both in the same place . . . or not. I’d feel safer if I could be there while he ran the tests, and that needed to wait until his office hours. My head was pounding, and tears were running unchecked down my cheeks, but that didn’t matter. Even I’m allowed to grieve.

  The living room was dark. I shoved Luna’s cup into the front closet without turning on the light, then paused, frowning. Spike was compacted into a ball on the corner of the couch, and the cats were pacing in front of May’s door, yowling. May never locks the cats out. She’s more tolerant than I am, and she doesn’t mind being woken at seven in the morning because the girls want to be fed.

  Cagney gave me an indignant look, clearly expecting me to open the door. I moved her aside with my foot, knocking instead. “May? You in there?”

  “Go away!”

  That wasn’t good. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

  Something hit the inside of the door. She was throwing things. “I said go away! ”

  I frowned, putting my hand on the doorknob. My Fetch is normally good-tempered in the extreme, unless you’ve done something to piss her off. She might have heard about Lily, somehow; she’d know what the Undine’s death meant, for both of us.

  “I’m coming in,” I said. She wasn’t ready to deal with this, and she definitely wasn’t ready to deal with it on her own.

  There was no answer. I opened the door.

  May’s room amazes me. I’m not tidy—I tend toward “congenial clutter”—but I’m not a pack rat, whereas May would happily keep a souvenir for every moment of her life. Her room reflects that. One wall is lined with mismatched bookshelves holding her “collections;” the other wall is occupied by two dressers and an oak vanity that I helped her carry home from a garage sale. No one needs as much makeup as was spread across the top of her vanity, or that much costume jewelry.

  May herself was huddled in the middle of the bed with her legs drawn up to her chest and her forehead pressed to her knees. There was something wrong with the shape of her. I just couldn’t tell quite what it was, and that scared me.

  “May?”

  “Lily’s dead, isn’t she?” she asked, not moving.

  I stepped the rest of the way inside, closing the door behind me. “Yeah.”

  “Thought so.” May raised her head, looking at me through the washed-out brown curtain of her hair. I froze, realizing what was wr
ong as she offered me a bitter smile. “It grew out about an hour ago. Look.” She pulled back her skirt, displaying a circular scar on her upper thigh. “That’s where Blind Michael’s men shot you, isn’t it?”

  “May—”

  “Don’t. You know what this means. We match because the universe thinks you’re going to die soon. And that means I’m going with you.”

  “We can cut your hair.” I didn’t think we could fool reality that easily, but it was worth trying. Anything was worth trying.

  “I already did.” She waved a hand at the floor. A small heap of hacked-off hair lay near the foot of the bed. Some of it was streaked in magenta and blue; the remains of her dye job. “It grew back. You can’t cheat fate, October. We were stupid to try.”

  “No, we weren’t.” I sat down next to her on the bed. “I’m not sorry.”

  May sighed. “I guess I’m not, either. It’s been fun, y’know? This whole thing, it’s been fun.” She shook her head. “I’ll miss the farmer’s market at the Ferry Building. And Telegraph Avenue. And Danny’s crazy Barghest rescue service.” More quietly, she added, “And Jazz. I’ll miss her.”

  “Hey. We can still win.” I stroked her hair back from her face. “Tell me more about Jasmine. Where did you meet her?”

  “On Telegraph.” May sniffled, offering a wan smile. “She runs a junk store. I was buying costume jewelry, and she asked if I wanted to join her in the office for coffee. She was pretty obviously flirting, so I started flirting back. I said sure. I didn’t want her to think I was . . . you know . . . ” She waved a hand, indicating me.

  Since I’d never met Jazz before the Ball, it seemed unlikely that she would have mistaken May for me. I ventured, “Daoine Sidhe?”

  “Yeah.” May’s smile grew. “Full disclosure, y’know? So as soon as we got out of the public shop, I dropped my illusions and told her what I was. I figured she’d throw me out as soon as I said ‘Fetch.’ ”

  “But she didn’t.”