Chapter 11
"But lest you are my enemy,
I must enquire."
"O no, my dear, let all that be;
What matter, so there is but fire
In you, in me?"
—Yeats, "The Mask"
Kaye trod up the driveway, her mother's Pinto looking both familiar and strange, as though it was part of a painting that might suddenly be turned on its side and revealed as flat. The door to the back porch seemed like a portal between worlds, and, even close as she was, she wasn't sure she would be allowed to step through to the kitchen beyond.
More than tired, she felt numb.
Roiben leaned against an elm tree and closed his eyes, unsheathed sword dangling limply from one hand. His body was trembling lightly, and next to familiar things, the blood soaking his arm and thigh looked ghastly.
Right then, Lutie swooped down from one of the trees, circling Kaye twice before landing on her shoulder and scrabbling to press a kiss against the damp skin of her neck. It surprised Kaye, and she flinched back from the sudden touch.
"Scared, silly-scared, scared, scared, scared," Lutie chanted against her neck.
"Me too," Kaye said, pressing her hand against the buzz of the tiny body.
"They'll be a score of songs about you by nightfall," Spike said, eyes gleaming with pride.
"There would have been twice as many if I had died like you planned, wouldn't there?"
Spike's eyes widened. "We never…"
Kaye bit her lip, forcing herself to swallow the hysteria that threatened to bubble up her throat. "If Nephamael was going to take the glamour off me, he was going to take it off my corpse."
"Dismiss me, pixie," Roiben said. His eyes had a hollow look to them that made her stomach clench. "I was careless. I will hold no grudge against you or yours, but this foolishness ends now."
"I didn't plan this—your name. I never meant to use it for anything." Kaye reached out her hand to stroke the edge of his sleeve.
The effect was instantaneous. He circled her wrist with his hand, twisting it hard. Lutie squealed, springing from Kaye's shoulder into the air.
There was no anger in his voice, no sar- casm, no heat. It was as strangely hollow as his eyes. "If you wish me to endure your touch, you must order me to do so."
Then he dropped her hand so quickly it might have been made of iron. She was shaking, too scared to cry, too miserable to speak.
Spike looked at her wide-eyed, as though he was reasoning with a lunatic. "Well then, Kaye, tell him he can go. He says he won't hold a grudge—that's a generous offer."
"No," she said, louder than she intended. They all looked at her in surprise, although Roiben's gaze darkened.
She had to explain. She turned to him, careful not to touch him. "Come inside. You can clean up your cuts there. I just want to explain. You can leave tonight."
His eyes were dull no longer; they blazed with rage. For a moment, she thought he was going to kill her before she could manage to stammer out his name. Then she thought he might just walk away, daring her to stop him. But he did neither of these things.
"As you say, my mistress." The words curled off his tongue, cutting deeper than she had thought words could. "I would prefer no one else learned the calling of me."
Spike blinked up at the Unseelie knight, apparently unable to control a shudder. Lutie watched them from the crook of the elm tree.
"The Thistlewitch will need to know what had happened tonight," Spike said slowly.
"Go ahead," she said. "We can talk about it later." Taking the spare key out from underneath a dusty bottle of bleach, she opened the door as quietly as she could. The house was silent.
Roiben followed Kaye into the kitchen, and the sight of him carefully closing the backdoor and filling what was probably a dirty glass with water from the tap was so incongruous, she had to stop and watch him. He drank, tipping back his head so that the column of his neck was thrown into profile. He must have seen her staring; as he finished the last of the water, he looked in her direction.
"Your pardon," he said.
"No, go ahead. I'm just going to make some coffee. Uh, the bathroom is there." She pointed.
"Do you have any salt?" he asked.
"Salt?"
"For my leg. I'm not sure what can be done about the arm."
"Oh." She rummaged around in her grandmother's spice drawer and came up with a canister of Morton's salt. "Wouldn't iodine or something be better?"
He just shook his head grimly and walked in the direction of the bathroom.
A few minutes later he returned in his more human glamour. As before, his hair was more white than silver, the bones of his face were slightly less jagged, and his ears were less prominent. He had discarded his shirt, and she was disconcerted to see the pattern of scars on his chest. He must have found some gauze; one thigh looked padded under the leg of his pants.
She poured the coffee into two mugs, alarmed to see that her hands were shaking. Spooning sugar into one of the cups, she looked a query at Roiben. He nodded and nodded again when she offered milk.
"When I first met you, I didn't know I was a faerie," she said.
He raised an eyebrow. "I presume that you knew you were not human when you blackmailed a kiss from me."
Kaye felt her face flood with heat. She just nodded.
"The question, of course, is whether you aided me in the forest for the reward of my name."
She stammered, the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach intensifying. If that was what he thought, no wonder he was furious.
"There was no way I could have known what you were going to offer me. I just wanted to piss you off in the diner… and… I knew faeries don't like to give out their real names."
"One day, someone is going to cut that clever tongue of yours right out of your head," he said.
She bit her lower lip, worrying it against her teeth as he spoke. What had she expected—a declaration of love because of one halfhearted kiss?
Kaye looked at the steaming cup in front of her. She was sure that if she took a sip of that coffee, she would throw it up.
She needed a cigarette. Ellen's jacket was draped over the back of the chair, and she fumbled through it for a cigarette and a lighter. Lighting it despite Roiben's look of surprise, she took a deep drag.
The smoke burned her lungs like fire. She found herself on her knees on the linoleum floor, choking, the cigarette burning the plastic tile where it had fallen.
Roiben put the cigarette out with a twist of his boot and leaned forward. "What were you doing?"
"I smoke," she said, sitting on the floor. Eyes already watery from coughing could no longer hold back tears. It seemed stupid that this was the thing that would set her off, but she sobbed, feeling more like puking with nothing in her stomach than any crying she'd done.
"They're poison," he said incredulously. "Even Ironsiders die from those."
"I know." She pressed her face against her knees, wiping her cheeks against the faerie gown, wishing she'd let him leave when he'd wanted to.
"You're tired," he said with a long sigh that might have been annoyance. "Where do you sleep? You might consider glamouring yourself as well." His face was impassive, emotionless.
She smeared the tears on her cheeks and nodded. "Are you tired?"
"Exhausted." He didn't exactly smile, but his face relaxed a little.
They went up the stairs quietly. Her new senses were distracting. She could hear the whistling snore of her mother and the lighter, muffled breaths of her grandmother. Up the stairs, she could smell the woodchips and excrement of her rats, smell the chemical soaps and sprays in the bathroom, could even smell the heavy coating of oily dust that covered most surfaces. Somehow, each odor was more vivid and distinct than she could remember it being.
Ignore it, she told herself; things had been the same way the last time she had the heavy glamour removed. Just a perk to make up for the fact she couldn't touch half the metal things in the house and one drag on a cigarette could make her almost pass out.
They went into her bedroom and she turned the old-fashioned key to lock the door. There was no way she was going to be able to explain Roiben to her grandmother, glamour or no.
"Well, I saw your room," she said. "Now you get to see mine."
He waded through the mess to sit on the mattress on the floor. She dug through the garbage bags and found a musty green comforter riddled with cigarette burns for herself. The pink one she usually slept with was already piled on the mattress, and she hoped that it didn't smell too much like her sweat.
Roiben pulled off his boots, looking around the room. She watched his eyes settle first on the rat cage, then on the drifts of clothing, books, and magazines lining the floor.
"Kind of a dump, I guess." She sat down on the boxspring that still graced the frame of the white bed.
She watched him, stretching out on her mattress, fascinated by the way the compact muscles moved beneath his skin. He looked dangerous, even tired and bandaged and wrapped in her pink comforter.
"What did you do with her?" He looked up through silver lashes of heavy-lidded eyes.
"What?"
"The girl this room really belongs to—what did you do with her?"
"F*ck you," she said, so angry that for a minute she didn't even care that she was supposed to be convincing him how sorry she was.
"Did you think I would credit the tears of a pixie?" he asked, turning so that his face was hidden from her.
Unspoken slurs hung on her tongue like thistles, hurting her throat with the effort of swallowing them. They were both tired. She was lucky—he was still talking to her.
As tired as she was, she couldn't sleep. She watched him instead, watched as he tossed and turned, tangling the blankets around him. Watched as his face relaxed into exhaustion, one hand curling tightly around the edge of the pillow.
He never had looked as real to her as he did in that moment, hair loose and messy, one bare foot hanging over the edge of the mattress, resting on a library book she'd always meant to return.
But she didn't want to think of him as real. She didn't want to think of him at all.
And then she was being shaken awake. She blinked in the unnatural darkness of drawn shades. Roiben was sitting next to her on the hard boxspring, hands gripping her shoulders so hard she was sure they would bruise.
"Tell me that you meant to tell me, Kaye," he said, eyes bright.
She struggled to be more fully awake. Nothing about this scene made sense, certainly not the anguish so plain on his face.
"You were going to tell me that you were a faerie," he insisted. "There was no time."
She nodded, still stunned by sleep. He seemed huge; the whole room was swallowed up by his presence so that it was impossible to look anywhere but into his eyes.
"Tell me," he said, letting go of her shoulders, his hands moving to smooth the hair back from her face in a rough caress.
"I never meant… I wanted to," she stammered drowsily, the words hard to fit together.
His hands stilled. His voice was low this time. "Make me believe it."
"I can't," she said. She had to focus, to find the answer that would make everything right again. "You know I can't."
"Go back to sleep, Kaye," he said softly, no longer touching her, his hands fisted on his knees.
She levered herself up to her elbows, blearily realizing that she had to stop him before he got up from the bed.
"Let me show you," she said, leaning forward to press her mouth to his. His lips parted with no resistance at all, letting her kiss him as though he could taste the truth on her tongue.
After a moment, he pulled back from her gently. "That wasn't what I meant," he said with a small rueful smile.
She flopped back, cheeks reddening, fully awake now and appalled at herself.
Roiben slid off the boxspring and onto the floor. He was looking away from her, at the sliver of light showing under the dirty plastic windowshade.
Rolling onto her side, she looked down at what she could see of his face. Her fingers chipped nervously at a drop of wax on the comforter. "I answered the riddle. I thought she would let me go and I answered it anyway."
He looked up at her abruptly, amazed. "You did at that. Why?"
Kaye wanted to explain it as best as she could. He was listening to her, at least for the moment. She made sure to keep her voice completely level, completely sincere. "Because it wasn't supposed to go like it did. I never even thought of using you like that… you were never supposed to—"
"Be glad I did," he said, but he said it gently. He reached up and ran three fingers down the side of her jaw. "It's strange to see you this way."
She shivered. "What way?"
"Green," he said, his eyes like mist, like smoke, like all insubstantial things.
She lost her nerve, looking into those eyes. He was too beautiful. He was a spell she was going to break by sheer accident.
His voice was very soft when he spoke again. "I have had a surfeit of killing, Kaye."
And whether that was meant as a prayer for the past or a plea for the future, she could not say.
This time, when he lay down on the mattress and drew the comforter over his shoulders, she watched the cobwebs swing with each gust of air that crept through gaps in the old windows. Words echoed on the edges of her thoughts, phrases she had heard but not heard. She'd seen the scars that ran up and down his chest, dozens of marks, pale white stripes of skin edged in pink.
She imagined the Unseelie Court as she had seen it the night she'd snuck in with Corny, except that now they were all looking at their new toy, a Seelie knight with silver hair and such pretty eyes.
"Roiben?" she whispered into the quiet of the room. "Are you still awake?"
But if he was, he didn't answer her.
The next time she woke, it was because someone was pounding on the door.
"Kaye, time for you to get up." Her mother's voice sounded strained.
Kaye groaned. She unfolded herself stiffly from her uncomfortable position on the little bed, feeling the impression of every metal coil along her back.
The banging didn't stop. "Your grandmother is going to kill me if I let you miss another day of school. Open this door."
Kaye lurched out of bed, stumbling over Roiben, and turned the key in the lock.
Roiben sat up, eyes slitted with sleep. "Glamour," he said rustily.
"Shit." She had almost opened the door with massive wings attached to her back, and green.
She focused for a moment drawing energy through her hands, feeling the thrum of it in her fingers. She concentrated on her features, her eyes, her skin, her hair, her wings. Her wrists and ankles were still sore, and she made sure to use the glamour to compensate for the discoloration of the skin where they'd been burned by the iron.
Then she opened the door.
Ellen looked at her and then looked beyond her at Roiben. "Kaye—"
"It's Halloween, mom," Kaye said, pitching her voice in a low whine.
"Who's he?"
"Robin. We got too f*cked up to drive anywhere. Don't look at me like that—we didn't even sleep in the same bed."
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," Roiben said muzzily. In this context, his formality sounded like drunkenness, and Kaye felt an overwhelming urge to snicker.
Ellen raised her eyebrows. "Fine, sleep it off. Just don't make it a habit," she said finally. "And if either of you puke, you clean it up."
"Okay," Kaye yawned, closing the door. Considering the sheer volume of vomit she'd cleaned up over the last sixteen years—most of it belonging to her mother—she thought that was a pretty uncharitable comment, but she was too tired to dwell on it.
A few moments later, Kaye was curled up on the boxspring again, dropping easily back into sleep.
The third time that Kaye woke, it was dark outside the window. She stretched lazily, and her stomach tightened in knots. She reached out to the lamp on the end table and switched it on, bathing the room in dim yellow light.
Roiben was gone.
The pink comforter was crumpled at the foot of the mattress, two pillows beside it. The sheet covering the mattress was pulled off the corner, as though he had slept restlessly. Nothing to suggest where he'd gone; nothing to say good-bye.
She had only asked him to stay for the day. When darkness had come, he had been free to go.
Frantically, she pulled the faerie dress over her head, tossing it on the floor with all the other laundry, tugging on the first clothes she found—a plain white T-shirt and plaid pants with zippers all down the sides. She unbraided her hair and hand-combed it roughly. She had to find him… she would find him…
Kaye stopped with one hand still dragging through tangled hair. He didn't want her to follow him. If he'd wanted anything more to do with her, he would have at least said good-bye. She'd apologized and he'd listened. He'd even forgiven her, sort of. That was that. There was no reason to go after him, unless you could count the odd, soft touch of his hand on her cheek or the gentle acceptance of yet another kiss. And what did those things mean anyway? Less than nothing.
But when she went down the stairs, Roiben was there, right there, sitting on her grandmother's flowery couch, and Ellen was sitting beside him. Kaye's mother was wearing a red dress and had two sequin devil horns sticking out of her hair.
Kaye stopped on the stairwell, stunned as the utter impossibility of the scene crashed up against the utter normalcy of it. The television was on, and its flickering blue light sharpened Roiben's features until she couldn't tell whether he still wore his glamour.
He was drizzling pieces of plain, white bread with honey from the jar, thick amber puddles of it that he as much poured into his mouth as ate.
"Thank you," he said. "It's very good."
Kaye's mother snorted at his politeness. "I don't know how you can eat that. Ugh." Ellen made a face. "Too sweet."
"It's perfect." He grinned and licked his fingers. His smile was so honest and unguarded that it looked out of place on his face. She wondered if that was what he had looked like before he'd come to the Unseelie Court.
"You're one twisted young man," Ellen said, and that only made his grin widen. Kaye wondered whether he was smiling at the jibe or smiling because it was so true.
Kaye walked down a few more steps, and Ellen looked up. Roiben turned to her as well, but she could read nothing in those ashen eyes.
'"Morning," Roiben said, and his voice was as warm and slow as the honey he'd been eating.
"You still look like shit, kiddo," her mother said. "Drink some water and take an aspirin. Liquor makes you dehydrated."
Kaye snorted and walked down the rest of the stairs.
On the television, a cartoon Batman chased the Joker through a spooky old warehouse. It reminded her of the old merry-go-round building.
"You guys are watching cartoons?"
"The news is on in ten minutes. I want to see the weather. I'm going up to New York for the parade. Oh, honey, when I saw Liz the other day, I told her how you were doing and everything. She said she had something for you."
"You saw Liz? I thought you were mad at her."
"Nah. Water under the bridge." Ellen was always happier when she was in a band.
"So she sent me an album?"
"No. It's a bag of old clothes. She was going to get rid of them. She can't fit in any of that stuff anymore. It's in the dining room. The gray bag."
Kaye opened the plastic bag. It was full of glittering fabrics, leather and shiny vinyl. And yes, there it was, as shimmeringly purple as in her memories, the catsuit. She pulled it out reverently.
"How come you didn't tell me the real reason you didn't want to move to New York?" Ellen glanced meaningfully in Roiben's direction.
Roiben's face was carefully expressionless.
Kaye could not seem to marshal her thoughts well enough to find a reply. "Do you guys want some coffee or something?"
Her mother shrugged. "There's some in the kitchen. I think it's left over from the morning—I could make some new."
"No, I'll get it," Kaye said.
She went out into the kitchen and poured some of the black stuff into a cup. Adding milk only turned it a dark, sickly gray. She added several liberal spoonfuls of sugar and drank it like penitence.
Roiben hadn't looked angry at all; to the contrary, he looked absurdly comfortable sprawled on the couch. She should have felt better, but instead it seemed as though the knots in her stomach were tightening.
It was evening already, and soon he would be gone. She wanted him, wanted him to want her more than she had any right or reason to expect from him, and that knowledge was as bitter as the day-old coffee.
"Kaye?" It was Roiben, a nearly empty jar of honey in one hand, leaning against the doorframe.
"Oh, hi," she said, stupidly, holding up the cup. "This is really bad. I'll make some new."
"I've been… I wanted to thank you."
"For what?"
"For explaining what happened. For making me stay here last night."
She took the old coffee and dumped it in the sink, hiding the embarrassed smile that was playing over her lips. She filled the pot with hot water and swirled a few times before dumping that too.
His voice was very quiet when he spoke again. "For not being afraid of me."
She snorted. "You've got to be kidding. I'm terrified of you."
He smiled at Kaye, one of his quicksilver smiles, dazzling and brief. "Thank you for hiding it, then. Quite realistic."
She grinned back at him. "No problem. I mean, if I'd known you liked it this much and all…"
He rolled his eyes, and it was so good to stand there smiling shyly at each other. All the silly words she had wanted to say to him suddenly began clawing up her throat, desperate to be spoken.
"I'm just glad it's over," she said, breaking the spell while she turned to spoon coffee grounds into a filter.
He looked at her incredulously. "Over?"
She stopped in midmotion. "Yeah, over. We're here and safe and it's over."
"Not to distress you," he said, "but I very much doubt—"
"Kaye!" Ellen called from the other room. "Come see this. There's a bear loose."
"Just a minute, Mom," Kaye called back. She turned to Roiben. "What do you mean not over?"
"Kaye, Faery is a place governed by a set of customs both severe and binding. What you have done has consequences."
"Everything has consequences," she said, "and the consequence of this is that the solitary fey are free again, you're free, and the bad Queen is dead. That seems pretty over to me."
"Kaye, it's going to be off by the time you get here," Ellen called.
Kaye took a deep breath and walked out into the other room.
Ellen was pointing to the screen "Will you look at this?"
On the screen, a newsman was standing in the middle of Allaire State Park announcing that a man had been murdered and partially devoured. The announcer reported that, judging by the claw marks, authorities were speculating that it was a bear.
"Now I'm hungry," Kaye said.
The announcer went on, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back so that it did not move, his voice overly dramatic. "The man's dog was found attached to the body by a wrist leash and was apparently unharmed. The dog has been taken into custody by the West Long Branch Chapter of the SPCA, which is awaiting relatives to come and claim it."
"I wonder what kind of dog it was," Kaye said as Roiben came back into the living room.
Ellen made a face. "I'm going to finish my makeup. Can you just find out for me if it's going to rain? The weather should be on soon."
"Sure," Kaye said, sprawling on the couch.
On the television, the same announcer came back on, with another warning about the animal, reporting that there were several unconfirmed reports about missing infants and children. In some of the more unlikely reports, children were stolen from their beds, out of strollers, off swings in playgrounds. No one had seen anything, however, let alone a bear.
A Popcorn Park Zoo representative was speaking at a press conference. The white-haired man was polishing his glasses methodically, nearly in tears as he explained how it was difficult to tell what animal had escaped, since this morning all the animals had been found in the wrong cages. The tigers had eaten several of the llamas before they could be separated. The deer had been in a small bird enclosure, panicking in the enclosed space. He suspected PETA. He didn't understand how this could have happened in such a well-run, tidy zoo.
"In other news, a young girl on her way back from classes at Monmouth University was kidnapped this morning by an unidentified assailant. She was released tonight after a harrowing day in which she was forced to answer riddles to avoid torture. She is currently being held at Monmouth Medical Center and is in stable condition."
Kaye sat bolt upright. "Riddles?!"
"This is your doing," Roiben said, looking at Kaye across the dim living room. "What do you think of the first day of the next seven years?"
Kaye shook her head, not understanding.
The screen showed men and women being strapped to stretchers in Thompson Park. They had been found naked, dancing in a circle, and had to be forcibly restrained by police to make them stop. Their clothes were found nearby, and the available identification showed no common link. They were being treated for dehydration and blistered feet.
Behind the cameras, Kaye could easily see the fat toadstools growing in a thick circle.
Kaye rubbed a hand over her face. "But why? I don't understand."
Roiben spoke as he began to pace the room. "Everything is always easier when considered black and white, isn't it? Your friends, are, after all, good and wise, so all solitary fey must be good and wise. Your friends have some respect and fear and knowledge of humans, so all the solitary fey will follow in that example."
The phone rang, startling her. She got up and answered it. "Hello?"
It was Janet. She sounded subdued. "Hi, Kaye."
"Um, hi." Janet was the last person she expected to call.
"I was wondering if you wanted to hang out."
"What?" Kaye said.
"No, seriously. All of us guys are going to a rave tonight. You want to come?"
"Have you seen the news?"
"No, why?"
Kaye fumbled for an explanation. "There's supposed to be a bear on the loose."
"We're going to the Pier. Don't be weird. So are you coming?"
"No one should go. Janet, it really isn't safe."
"So don't go," Janet said. "By the way, have you seen my brother?"
Kaye's insides suddenly turned to ice. "Corny's gone?"
"Yeah," Janet answered. "Since yesterday."
Kaye couldn't help wincing. Corny was under the damn hill. She knew it. She looked desperately at Roiben, but he regarded her blankly. He couldn't hear Janet. He'd never even met Corny.
"I'll see you, okay?" Kaye said.
"Sure. Whatever. 'Bye."
She hung up.
"Who was that?" Roiben asked.
"Janet's brother is still under the hill… with Nephamael."
Nephamael's name made Roiben stop in his place. "More secrets?"
She winced. "Corny. He was with me that night… when I was a pixie."
"You are a pixie."
"He was there that night—the one when you didn't know it was me—and when I left, he… met… Nephamael."
Roiben's eyebrows shot up at that.
"Corny was totally out of his head. Nephamael hurt him, and he… liked it. He wanted to go back."
"You left a friend—a mortal—under the hill… alone?" He sounded incredulous. "Are you completely heartless? You saw what you were leaving him to."
"You made me leave! I couldn't get back in. I tried."
"I thought we were going to be honest with one another. What manner of honesty is this?"
She felt completely miserable.
"Do you know who Nephamael is?"
She shook her head, dread creeping over limbs, making her feel heavy, making her want to sink to the floor. "He… he's the one that put the enchantment on me and who took it off."
"He was once the best knight in the Unseelie Court—that is, before he was sent to the Seelie Court as part of the price for a truce. He was sent there, and I was sent to Nicnevin."
Kaye just stood, stunned, thinking about the conversation she had overheard between Nicnevin and Nephamael. Why hadn't she deduced that? What other meaning could there have been? "So Nephamael still serves Nicnevin?"
"Perhaps. It seems more likely that he serves only himself. Kaye, do you know who concocted the plan to sabotage the Tithe?"
"You think it was Nephamael?"
"I don't know. Tell me, how did your friends become aware you were a pixie when not even the Queen of the Unseelie Court could see through your glamour?"
"The Thistlewitch said she remembered when I got switched."
"Now, how is it that they know Nephamael?"
"I don't know."
"We lack some piece of information, Kaye."
"Why would Nephamael want to make trouble for Nicnevin?"
"Perhaps he sought revenge for being sent away. I doubt he found the Seelie Court to his taste."
She shook her head. "I don't know. I have to get Corny."
"Kaye, if what you say is true, you know that he may well no longer be alive."
She took a sharp, shallow breath. "He's fine," she said.