Ashes of Honor
Page 97
“About that…” I took a breath. “Bridget still knows about Faerie. You’re going to have to deal with her. And the fact that she really did lose her daughter when you came back into her life. There’s no way Chelsea’s going back to the mortal world now.”
“I know.” Etienne looked up. “Will you come with me? She knows you.”
“If by ‘knows’ you mean ‘tried to hit me with a frying pan,’ sure.” I leaned back into the couch, closing my eyes. “But I am going to need a lot of coffee before you can convince me to go anywhere.”
TWENTY-SIX
THERE WAS SOMETHING WEIRD about having Etienne in the car, rather than having him teleport us all to our destination. The fact that I was maintaining his illusions was even stranger. Quentin was in the back with Chelsea, keeping up the illusion that made her look human. Between the two of us, we were almost up to the challenge.
When this was over, I was going to spend a week sitting on the couch, watching television, and not using any damn magic at all.
I pulled up in front of Bridget’s house, turning to look at Etienne. He looked back at me, edges slightly blurred by my hasty human disguise. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“This is something I should have done sixteen years ago,” he replied. “Chelsea?”
Chelsea sighed. “I don’t think it’s going to get any easier if we put it off.”
“If it were done…” I muttered. More loudly, I said, “You’re right. Okay, everybody. Let’s go.”
Etienne and Chelsea were the first out of the car. I lagged behind, and Quentin did the same, waiting until the passenger-side doors were closed before he asked, “Do you think Bridget’s going to go after us with her frying pan?”
“Just be ready to run,” I advised as I opened my door. It was a little ironic; here we were, escorting the most powerful teleporter in the last few hundred years to her mother’s house, and we didn’t have a means of making a quick escape if we needed one. Tybalt had gone to check on Raj as soon as Chelsea was ready to make the trip to her mother’s house. We’d stopped at Tamed Lightning long enough for Elliot to work a little Bannick magic on everyone’s skin and hair, while April produced fresh clothes from an undisclosed location. I just hoped she hadn’t robbed an Old Navy or something.
Oh, well. Not my problem if she did.
Bridget must have been watching the street. She was out her front door by the time I was out of the car, and she intercepted Etienne and their daughter midway down the front walk. I saw the frying pan in her hand a split second before she flung its contents over both of them, resulting in Chelsea and Etienne being doused again with Walther’s power-dampening solution.
Etienne blinked. Chelsea blinked. Bridget dropped the frying pan, threw her arms around her daughter, and burst into tears.
Quentin gave me a sidelong look. “Did you hold back because you knew that was going to happen?”
“I suspected it might. It was either going to be something like that, or it was going to be water balloons.” I gestured for him to follow as I started up the walk. Bridget was still hugging Chelsea. Possibly a little too tightly—I wasn’t sure the girl could breathe. “Hi, Bridget. Nice use of aim, there. I’m glad I didn’t go first.”
“The bastard deserves it.” Bridget lifted her head, glaring daggers at Etienne, who looked uncomfortable. “He can learn how it feels to live like the rest of us mortals.”
Etienne’s look of discomfort deepened. “Bridget, please. Can we take this indoors?”
“Why?”
“Mom,” said Chelsea. She sounded more tired than any girl her age should be capable of being. “We need to go inside.”
Bridget looked at Chelsea, the animation draining from her face. Finally, she nodded. “All right, sweetheart. We’ll go inside. All of us.”
“Can we get some towels?” asked Chelsea.
Bridget didn’t answer her. She didn’t even smile. She just walked a little faster, reaching the door ahead of the rest of us, and she held it open while Etienne and Chelsea walked past. For a moment, I thought she was going to slam the door on me and Quentin, but she relented before she did more than twitch in that direction. “Come in if you’re coming,” she said.
“We’re coming,” I replied, and walked past her into the house.
Silence fell once the door was shut, all of us standing there like strangers, no one quite sure where to begin. Finally, Etienne said, “October. The masks, if you would be so kind.”
“Right.” I gave Quentin a nod, and together, we released the illusions that made us look human. There was a pause as Bridget got her first look at Etienne without a mask between them. She’d never really seen the father of her child before. There was something incredibly sad about that.
Then she saw Chelsea. The details that seemed subtle to me must have been glaring to her mother’s eyes. Bridget’s face went so pale I was afraid she might pass out. “Chelsea?” she whispered, in a voice that seemed as faint as wind in the trees.
“She had to, Mom,” said Chelsea. “It was the only way to make me stop jumping. I was going to get a lot of people hurt if I didn’t stop. This was to save me.” She shrugged, smiling a little as she added the bravest lie I had ever heard: “It didn’t hurt.”
“What did you do?” Bridget wheeled on me, clearly seizing on the word “she” as proof of my guilt. “You fairy-tale bitch, what did you do to my daughter?!”
“I saved her life,” I said, as calmly as I could. “She’s not human anymore. Not even half. But she’s still your little girl, and she’s still here. That’s better than it could have gone.”
Bridget stared at me. Then, bitterly, she turned to Etienne. “So you’ve won. You’ve stolen her after all.”
“No, Bess,” said Etienne. His tone was gentle. “I don’t want to steal her. I never wanted to steal her. Had you told me about her sixteen years ago, I wouldn’t have stolen her then. Things might have gone differently over these last few days…but I wouldn’t have stolen her from you.”
“Then…” Bridget stopped, taking a breath before she continued, “Then can she stay with me? Can everything be like it was? Will you leave us alone?”
“I know.” Etienne looked up. “Will you come with me? She knows you.”
“If by ‘knows’ you mean ‘tried to hit me with a frying pan,’ sure.” I leaned back into the couch, closing my eyes. “But I am going to need a lot of coffee before you can convince me to go anywhere.”
TWENTY-SIX
THERE WAS SOMETHING WEIRD about having Etienne in the car, rather than having him teleport us all to our destination. The fact that I was maintaining his illusions was even stranger. Quentin was in the back with Chelsea, keeping up the illusion that made her look human. Between the two of us, we were almost up to the challenge.
When this was over, I was going to spend a week sitting on the couch, watching television, and not using any damn magic at all.
I pulled up in front of Bridget’s house, turning to look at Etienne. He looked back at me, edges slightly blurred by my hasty human disguise. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“This is something I should have done sixteen years ago,” he replied. “Chelsea?”
Chelsea sighed. “I don’t think it’s going to get any easier if we put it off.”
“If it were done…” I muttered. More loudly, I said, “You’re right. Okay, everybody. Let’s go.”
Etienne and Chelsea were the first out of the car. I lagged behind, and Quentin did the same, waiting until the passenger-side doors were closed before he asked, “Do you think Bridget’s going to go after us with her frying pan?”
“Just be ready to run,” I advised as I opened my door. It was a little ironic; here we were, escorting the most powerful teleporter in the last few hundred years to her mother’s house, and we didn’t have a means of making a quick escape if we needed one. Tybalt had gone to check on Raj as soon as Chelsea was ready to make the trip to her mother’s house. We’d stopped at Tamed Lightning long enough for Elliot to work a little Bannick magic on everyone’s skin and hair, while April produced fresh clothes from an undisclosed location. I just hoped she hadn’t robbed an Old Navy or something.
Oh, well. Not my problem if she did.
Bridget must have been watching the street. She was out her front door by the time I was out of the car, and she intercepted Etienne and their daughter midway down the front walk. I saw the frying pan in her hand a split second before she flung its contents over both of them, resulting in Chelsea and Etienne being doused again with Walther’s power-dampening solution.
Etienne blinked. Chelsea blinked. Bridget dropped the frying pan, threw her arms around her daughter, and burst into tears.
Quentin gave me a sidelong look. “Did you hold back because you knew that was going to happen?”
“I suspected it might. It was either going to be something like that, or it was going to be water balloons.” I gestured for him to follow as I started up the walk. Bridget was still hugging Chelsea. Possibly a little too tightly—I wasn’t sure the girl could breathe. “Hi, Bridget. Nice use of aim, there. I’m glad I didn’t go first.”
“The bastard deserves it.” Bridget lifted her head, glaring daggers at Etienne, who looked uncomfortable. “He can learn how it feels to live like the rest of us mortals.”
Etienne’s look of discomfort deepened. “Bridget, please. Can we take this indoors?”
“Why?”
“Mom,” said Chelsea. She sounded more tired than any girl her age should be capable of being. “We need to go inside.”
Bridget looked at Chelsea, the animation draining from her face. Finally, she nodded. “All right, sweetheart. We’ll go inside. All of us.”
“Can we get some towels?” asked Chelsea.
Bridget didn’t answer her. She didn’t even smile. She just walked a little faster, reaching the door ahead of the rest of us, and she held it open while Etienne and Chelsea walked past. For a moment, I thought she was going to slam the door on me and Quentin, but she relented before she did more than twitch in that direction. “Come in if you’re coming,” she said.
“We’re coming,” I replied, and walked past her into the house.
Silence fell once the door was shut, all of us standing there like strangers, no one quite sure where to begin. Finally, Etienne said, “October. The masks, if you would be so kind.”
“Right.” I gave Quentin a nod, and together, we released the illusions that made us look human. There was a pause as Bridget got her first look at Etienne without a mask between them. She’d never really seen the father of her child before. There was something incredibly sad about that.
Then she saw Chelsea. The details that seemed subtle to me must have been glaring to her mother’s eyes. Bridget’s face went so pale I was afraid she might pass out. “Chelsea?” she whispered, in a voice that seemed as faint as wind in the trees.
“She had to, Mom,” said Chelsea. “It was the only way to make me stop jumping. I was going to get a lot of people hurt if I didn’t stop. This was to save me.” She shrugged, smiling a little as she added the bravest lie I had ever heard: “It didn’t hurt.”
“What did you do?” Bridget wheeled on me, clearly seizing on the word “she” as proof of my guilt. “You fairy-tale bitch, what did you do to my daughter?!”
“I saved her life,” I said, as calmly as I could. “She’s not human anymore. Not even half. But she’s still your little girl, and she’s still here. That’s better than it could have gone.”
Bridget stared at me. Then, bitterly, she turned to Etienne. “So you’ve won. You’ve stolen her after all.”
“No, Bess,” said Etienne. His tone was gentle. “I don’t want to steal her. I never wanted to steal her. Had you told me about her sixteen years ago, I wouldn’t have stolen her then. Things might have gone differently over these last few days…but I wouldn’t have stolen her from you.”
“Then…” Bridget stopped, taking a breath before she continued, “Then can she stay with me? Can everything be like it was? Will you leave us alone?”
