The Winter Long
Page 74
“I’m touched to hear that you had that much faith in me. Of course, a call to the Coast Guard would have been a little more useful. You called me, remember? Why did you call me now?” I crossed my arms. “What do you want, Simon?”
“You received my warning: you went to Goldengreen, even if you didn’t fully understand the reason I was telling you to look there for your answers. You know now that Ev—” He choked on the first syllable of Evening’s name, coughing for a moment before he spat, “You know she is still alive. That’s more than you had before. You have seen her effect on my brother. I can help you.”
“You can’t even say her name. How are you supposed to help me?” I dropped my hands back to my sides. “You know what? Forget it. I came when you called, but I’m not ready to have this conversation. I’m going upstairs to change my clothes. Tybalt is going to watch you, and you’re going to figure out how to make me believe a damn thing you say. Then you’re going to leave. And we will be resetting the wards after this, so don’t even ask whether I have a guest room.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Simon. He remained where he was on the couch, continuing to stroke Spike with one hand. He flashed Tybalt a cool smile. “Will you be my keeper?”
“If you move, I’ll gut you,” said Tybalt.
“Whee,” I muttered. “Play nice and don’t kill each other. I’ll be back.” I turned and left the room before I could think better of leaving them alone, practically running up the stairs to my bedroom. Cagney and Lacey were curled up on the bed. They ignored my entrance, and continued to ignore me as I stripped out of my bloody and borrowed things, only to replace them with near-duplicates from my dresser. Only near: these were clean, save for a small bloodstain on the left cup of my replacement bra. Blood and cotton were best friends when they actually got the opportunity to meet, and getting the one out of the other was virtually impossible.
“These are not good saving-the-world clothes,” I told the cats, as I retied my shoes—now worn over a thick pair of hiking socks. “These are cleaning-the-garage clothes. Maybe flea-market-in-Marin clothes. That’s because I’m not a saving-the-world girl. They got the wrong person for the job.”
The cats didn’t reply. It didn’t matter that I was dating their King: they were still cats, and they had better things to do with their time than engage in a conversation with their pet changeling.
I made sure to clomp as I descended the stairs, trying to give Tybalt enough time to let go of Simon’s throat. When I stepped back into the living room, however, there was no violence happening. Tybalt was leaning against the wall, looking at Simon with a combination of confusion and mistrust, while Simon remained seated on the couch, Spike in his lap and a resigned expression on his face.
“You don’t trust me,” he said.
I blinked. “Okay, that’s getting straight to the heart of the matter. You’re right, Simon: I don’t trust you. You turned me into a fish. You broke Rayseline. You’ve done nothing to make me trust you, and a hell of a lot to make me hate you. Your point?”
“I did not . . .” He faltered before trying again: “It was not my intention to alienate you. I would have had nothing to do with you until I was free of my . . . commitments . . . so that I might become a part of your life that was welcomed. Wanted, even.”
“But Evening had other ideas,” I said slowly. “She told you to get involved with me, didn’t she?”
He tried to speak, only to pause as no sound passed his lips. Looking frustrated, he took a deep breath and tried again: “I have chosen very few of my actions since I was foolish enough to give myself to . . . to the one who holds me. It’s harder than I can express. I have struggled so long with the need to keep you safe and the need to obey my orders.”
“And now here we are,” I said. “What can you do for me, Simon? You’re still bound, you’re still hers, for all I know, you’re leading her here—so what can you do for me?”
He stopped stroking Spike, but left his hand where it was, resting on the rose goblin’s thorny back. “I can bleed,” he said quietly. “I can let you see.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling my eyes go wide and round with surprise. “Yeah. I guess that is something you can do.”
And here I’d been so pleased to be wearing something that wasn’t covered in blood.
NINETEEN
MOST MAGIC FALLS into one of three schools. Flower magic—illusions and wards—is inherited primarily through Titania. Water magic—transformation and healing—comes from Maeve. Blood magic, the magic of memory and theft, comes from Oberon. There’s crossover, but as a rule, no race will be strong in a school that isn’t somehow connected to their First. As a descendant of Titania and Oberon, Simon had access to flower and blood magic. As a descendant of Oberon, and Oberon alone, all I had was blood . . . but I was very, very good at using it.
“Are you sure?” I hated to ask. I wanted to grab him and bleed him dry, drinking any scrap of information he might have—but the line between me and the monsters was thin enough as it was. If I started taking instead of waiting for things to be freely given, I would cross that line. I needed his consent to be absolute. “Once this starts, I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull back. I’ve never drunk directly from a living person for the purpose of riding their blood. It could go anywhere.”
Simon nodded. “Yes. I understand what you can do, perhaps better than you do at this stage in your development. I give my full permission, and I will not stop you from learning the things you need to know. It’s not like I could stop you anyway, once we’ve started. Words can lie. People can lie. Blood never can.”
That was about as good as it could possibly get. I cast a nervous glance toward Tybalt as I walked across the living room and sat down on the couch next to Simon. Spike raised its head, making an inquiring chirping noise. I stroked its thorny ears. “It’s probably going to hurt.”
To my surprise, Simon smiled. “No, it won’t. There’s nothing in my blood for you to change; I am Daoine Sidhe to the core. My blood won’t fight you.”
That was new information. “Good to know,” I said faintly, and drew my knife. “Give me your hand.”
“You received my warning: you went to Goldengreen, even if you didn’t fully understand the reason I was telling you to look there for your answers. You know now that Ev—” He choked on the first syllable of Evening’s name, coughing for a moment before he spat, “You know she is still alive. That’s more than you had before. You have seen her effect on my brother. I can help you.”
“You can’t even say her name. How are you supposed to help me?” I dropped my hands back to my sides. “You know what? Forget it. I came when you called, but I’m not ready to have this conversation. I’m going upstairs to change my clothes. Tybalt is going to watch you, and you’re going to figure out how to make me believe a damn thing you say. Then you’re going to leave. And we will be resetting the wards after this, so don’t even ask whether I have a guest room.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Simon. He remained where he was on the couch, continuing to stroke Spike with one hand. He flashed Tybalt a cool smile. “Will you be my keeper?”
“If you move, I’ll gut you,” said Tybalt.
“Whee,” I muttered. “Play nice and don’t kill each other. I’ll be back.” I turned and left the room before I could think better of leaving them alone, practically running up the stairs to my bedroom. Cagney and Lacey were curled up on the bed. They ignored my entrance, and continued to ignore me as I stripped out of my bloody and borrowed things, only to replace them with near-duplicates from my dresser. Only near: these were clean, save for a small bloodstain on the left cup of my replacement bra. Blood and cotton were best friends when they actually got the opportunity to meet, and getting the one out of the other was virtually impossible.
“These are not good saving-the-world clothes,” I told the cats, as I retied my shoes—now worn over a thick pair of hiking socks. “These are cleaning-the-garage clothes. Maybe flea-market-in-Marin clothes. That’s because I’m not a saving-the-world girl. They got the wrong person for the job.”
The cats didn’t reply. It didn’t matter that I was dating their King: they were still cats, and they had better things to do with their time than engage in a conversation with their pet changeling.
I made sure to clomp as I descended the stairs, trying to give Tybalt enough time to let go of Simon’s throat. When I stepped back into the living room, however, there was no violence happening. Tybalt was leaning against the wall, looking at Simon with a combination of confusion and mistrust, while Simon remained seated on the couch, Spike in his lap and a resigned expression on his face.
“You don’t trust me,” he said.
I blinked. “Okay, that’s getting straight to the heart of the matter. You’re right, Simon: I don’t trust you. You turned me into a fish. You broke Rayseline. You’ve done nothing to make me trust you, and a hell of a lot to make me hate you. Your point?”
“I did not . . .” He faltered before trying again: “It was not my intention to alienate you. I would have had nothing to do with you until I was free of my . . . commitments . . . so that I might become a part of your life that was welcomed. Wanted, even.”
“But Evening had other ideas,” I said slowly. “She told you to get involved with me, didn’t she?”
He tried to speak, only to pause as no sound passed his lips. Looking frustrated, he took a deep breath and tried again: “I have chosen very few of my actions since I was foolish enough to give myself to . . . to the one who holds me. It’s harder than I can express. I have struggled so long with the need to keep you safe and the need to obey my orders.”
“And now here we are,” I said. “What can you do for me, Simon? You’re still bound, you’re still hers, for all I know, you’re leading her here—so what can you do for me?”
He stopped stroking Spike, but left his hand where it was, resting on the rose goblin’s thorny back. “I can bleed,” he said quietly. “I can let you see.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling my eyes go wide and round with surprise. “Yeah. I guess that is something you can do.”
And here I’d been so pleased to be wearing something that wasn’t covered in blood.
NINETEEN
MOST MAGIC FALLS into one of three schools. Flower magic—illusions and wards—is inherited primarily through Titania. Water magic—transformation and healing—comes from Maeve. Blood magic, the magic of memory and theft, comes from Oberon. There’s crossover, but as a rule, no race will be strong in a school that isn’t somehow connected to their First. As a descendant of Titania and Oberon, Simon had access to flower and blood magic. As a descendant of Oberon, and Oberon alone, all I had was blood . . . but I was very, very good at using it.
“Are you sure?” I hated to ask. I wanted to grab him and bleed him dry, drinking any scrap of information he might have—but the line between me and the monsters was thin enough as it was. If I started taking instead of waiting for things to be freely given, I would cross that line. I needed his consent to be absolute. “Once this starts, I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull back. I’ve never drunk directly from a living person for the purpose of riding their blood. It could go anywhere.”
Simon nodded. “Yes. I understand what you can do, perhaps better than you do at this stage in your development. I give my full permission, and I will not stop you from learning the things you need to know. It’s not like I could stop you anyway, once we’ve started. Words can lie. People can lie. Blood never can.”
That was about as good as it could possibly get. I cast a nervous glance toward Tybalt as I walked across the living room and sat down on the couch next to Simon. Spike raised its head, making an inquiring chirping noise. I stroked its thorny ears. “It’s probably going to hurt.”
To my surprise, Simon smiled. “No, it won’t. There’s nothing in my blood for you to change; I am Daoine Sidhe to the core. My blood won’t fight you.”
That was new information. “Good to know,” I said faintly, and drew my knife. “Give me your hand.”
