Lament: The Faerie Queen's Deception Read online

  Blink.

  Just a shadow. Though the room was empty, my heart was still pounding. I reached up to my neck, where Luke’s secret key now hung on a chain. From next to my bed, Rye lifted his head, sensing my anxiety.

  “I thought I saw something,” I told him.

  Rye looked at the corner of the room. Thunder boomed, and I risked a glance at the corner. Oh. My. God. My eyes watched a figure form again, an indistinct face turned toward me. I squeezed my eyes shut. Not there. I opened them again. The figure was still there, very nearly a shadow. Rye’s eyes were still trained on it, but he groaned softly and lay his head down on his feet, as if it didn’t concern him.

  Because maybe it had been there all along.

  I grabbed my cell phone from the bedside table and punched in James’ number. The bright numbers on the phone told me it was almost two a.m., but I thought—hoped—that James wouldn’t mind.

  It rang and rang, while I stared at the unmoving figure. It was going to go to voice mail. No! Then, on the last ring, James’ groggy voice answered. “Dee?”

  Now that I had him on the phone, I felt a little foolish. “Yeah.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Um—no—maybe? This sounds dumb, James. I’m sorry for waking you up.”

  “Dee. It’s two in the morning. Something’s bothering you. Cut to the chase.”

  I told him about the conversation Luke had had with empty air. “And now, I think there’s something in my room. I think it was there all along, only I just now can see it. It looks like a shadow. Or a person.”

  James didn’t reply. I stared hard at the shadow. Was it staring back at me?

  Blink.

  The corner was empty: no figure, no shadow.

  “Uh—James—it just disappeared.” Now I was seriously freaked out; I edged down in my covers, as if that would make a difference against a real bogey man. Natural shadows didn’t go away, so it had been something. And worse, now I didn’t know where it was. I looked around the room, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Real shadows don’t disappear.” James’ voice was flat. “Do you want me to come over?”

  Of course I did. “My parents would freak if they knew.”

  “Like I said, do you want me to come over?”

  From the floor, Rye looked up at me, and then settled his head on his paws. With a deep sigh, he closed his eyes. Whatever had been in the room, he wasn’t concerned. I vacillated between what I wanted and what I needed, and finally went with the less selfish option. Also the one with less possible repercussions.

  “I’ll be okay. Rye’s going back to sleep. He’d let me know if there was something to be worried about, I think.”

  James sighed, less contentedly than Rye. “You can’t call and get me worried and then tell me it’s nothing.”

  “I’m sorry. Can I come over in the morning?”

  “You know you always can.”

  After we’d hung up, I waited long minutes, waiting for the figure to reappear, but it didn’t. Finally I let exhaustion pull me into sleep.

  Book Two

  Now when we’re out a-sailing and you are far behind

  Fine letters will I write to you with the secrets of my mind,

  The secrets of my mind, my girl, you’re the girl that I adore,

  And still I live in hope to see the Holy Ground once more.

  You’re the girl that I adore,

  And still I live in hope to see the Holy Ground once more.

  —“The Holy Ground”

  six

  The following day was clear and surprisingly temperate, all humidity and heat scrubbed clean by the storm of the night before. Sitting in the passenger seat of the old Audi, Luke beside me, I couldn’t believe the storm last night had been so terrifying. Or that his invisible conversation had been so creepy. Or that freckle-kid had really been in the back yard. It was crazy—every time I was in Luke’s presence, I couldn’t really be bothered by any of the things that troubled me when I was alone. Was this love?

  No, said a cross voice in my head. It’s stupidity. And don’t feel bad, it runs in the family.

  For an hour we talked about stupid stuff that I couldn’t remember afterward. Like why “Bill” was a nickname for “William” and why dogs didn’t come in stripes. Every time I thought we’d run out of things to talk about, one of us thought of something else.

  “Bucephalus.” Luke tapped the steering wheel.

  “God bless you!”

  He laughed. “No, it’s the name of my car.”

  “You named your car?”

  He smiled impishly, a little boy.

  Looking at my feet, where the carpet was stained two colors and curling away from the edge of the door, I demanded, “After Alexander the Great’s horse, no less? Going for a bit of irony, were you?”

  “So you know who he was. You know the story.” Luke’s teeth flashed white in the clear sunlight as he gestured grandly to the dashboard. “That’s our story as well.”

  “You and the car.”

  “Yes.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “So, what you’re telling me is that nobody else in the world could drive this car. That it threw all comers out and drove over them, leaving tire marks on their faces, and one day, you as a young boy climbed into it and bent it to your will?”

  His eyes smiled more than his mouth did, which was only lifted on one corner. “That’s right. And we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

  I considered this, and then I looked at the dashboard, faded and scraped. “I dunno. I guess I would’ve tried to tame a Maserati instead of an Audi.”

  Now he laughed. “What can I say, destiny chose this one for me.” He pointed. “Look.”

  We were finally getting into Richmond; the car was surrounded by suburbs that gave way to office buildings and stores. Richmond was a very bright city. Everywhere, sunlight reflected from white sidewalks, mirrored buildings, parked cars, and concrete medians between lanes of black top. There were trees, but they seemed like an afterthought, almost unnoticeable among all the man-made structures. In my short visits to Richmond, I had never been fond of it, but I could sense Luke relaxing as we drove in deeper.

  “You like the city.” It wasn’t a question, though I was surprised.

  Luke’s eyes glanced off every brilliant surface. “No. I like what the city does. All this—stuff. Nobody would live here but a human.” He pointed to a huge church spire, distant over rooftops and trees. “And the crosses. Everything makes a cross here. They can’t stand it.”

  “They?” I was chilled by the word human. As if “They” might not be.

  Luke glanced at me, his expression oddly light. “Shh, pretty girl. Let’s enjoy ourselves for a bit before you start riddling again.”

  He drove the Audi to Carytown, an endless street of shops painted every color of the rainbow and offering all sorts of odds and ends that couldn’t be found elsewhere. After circling a few blocks, he found a parking spot nearly in the shade. “I know where to get an awesome French pastry, if you’re hungry.”

  “Sounds good.” I was starving; I hadn’t eaten lunch in my excitement. That’s because you’re stupid, the voice in my head reminded me.

  We got pastries from a little café, and took them outside to eat at a wrought-iron table that overlooked the street. Luke watched me in amusement as I took my layered pastry apart.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Seeing what it’s made of.” I poked a sponge cake layer with a fork and tasted the cream on top of it. “So I could try and make it.” Mom had taught me that. She dissected everything, read menus like novels, and then created her own magic in the kitchen.

  He shook his head.

  “Strange as strange?” I offered.

  “I was going to say ‘weird as weird.’”

  I was going to ask him questions—riddle him—but the pastry was so good (the cream was hazelnut) that I finished it before speaking. “Now, you talk.�
�

  Luke stood up, correcting me. “Now, we walk. I don’t think there’s anyone here, but I feel better walking.”

  I got up and he took my hand, easy and natural. I wondered if my touch gave him the same electric reaction I got from his. We began to walk down the too-bright concrete, cars whirring by us on the right, music beating from one of the clothing shops.

  “Let me know if you want to go in anywhere,” Luke said. As if I wanted to freakin’ shop.

  “Just talk. Tell me what’s going on.”

  He watched a bicycler slowly pedal down the opposite side of the street. “Here’s my secret …” He leaned over to my shoulder and said in a low voice, “I can’t tell you my secrets.”

  It took me a moment to realize what he’d said. When I did, I ripped my hand from his and stopped in my tracks. “You brought me down here to tell me that?” A couple across the street paused in their stroll to look at us, and I lowered my voice. “I really expected better than that. At least lies.”

  Luke reached out a hand, but I crossed my arms. Sighing, he said, “It’s true I can’t tell you my secrets. But I don’t know how much I can’t say. You can ask me questions, and I can see how far we get.”

  I frowned at him. A punk chick and her androgynous punk friend had to push past me. I ignored their snarky comments and instead squinted at Luke. “What do you mean, ‘can’t tell me’? Don’t know how much you ‘can’t tell me’?”

  His face begged for understanding; he shrugged helplessly.

  I knew in my heart what he was dancing around, and even though I could send clover flying across the ground and move light switches, my mind still wouldn’t accept it. Funny, because I’d wanted the world to be extraordinary for so long. And now that it was, I couldn’t seem to believe it.

  I lowered my voice. “Are you asking me to—to believe in magic?”

  Luke didn’t answer. He just kept his light eyes on me, his mouth sad.

  “Fine, take my damn hand,” I grumbled finally, sticking it out toward him. “Let’s walk.”

  He took it immediately and we began to walk again, past an old record store and an antique shop with a suit of armor by the door, which cast a long shadow.

  “Can you tell me why four-leaf clovers keep turning up?”

  Luke’s grip tightened on mine and he looked around before answering. “They want you to be able to see Them.”

  “Who’s ‘Them’?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Faeries?”

  His mouth quirked, humorlessly.

  I just stared, searching his face for signs of insincerity, but all I saw was my frowning expression mirrored back at me. My mind formed several questions that never reached my mouth. The one I finally said out loud was the stupidest: “I thought faeries had wings.”

  “Some do.”

  “I thought They were little friendly things that liked flowers.”

  “They do like flowers. They like all pretty things.” Luke’s eyes took in my face, wordlessly putting me in that category.

  I wanted to believe him so badly it hurt. “Why do They want me to see Them?”

  Almost growling, he said, “Same reason They want anyone else to. To torment you. Play with you. Confuse you. Whirl you away.”

  My mind provided me a perfect image of Freckle Freak. Hey, I liked that. I was calling him that from now on. I seized on other facts I’d learned. “And iron keeps Them away. And crosses. That’s why Granna gave me the ring. And why you gave me your key. But—the dogs?”

  “Their dogs.”

  “My dog?”

  Luke looked at me.

  I blinked. What was he saying—that I’d been watched since I was a baby? That squirrel-chasing Rye was a faerie hound? “But I could see them,” I stammered. “The hounds, I mean. I didn’t have any clover with me then.”

  Luke’s voice was flat. “You’re learning. Some people only need clover for a little while, until they learn from the clover how to see. I guess you’re one of those.”

  So it was only going to get worse? The shadow in the corner of my room? Freckle Freak? No wonder Luke had kept the clover away from me when he could. I remembered something else. “But why did Granna act so strangely around you?”

  Luke’s mouth worked. Though I looked at him, he didn’t look back. Finally he said, “I think she mistook me for someone else.”

  I wasn’t happy with the answer, though I couldn’t quite think why. We walked in silence for a long time, until the asphalt gave way to cobblestones and the concrete to brick. Trees grew over the cobblestone road, and lovely old dark buildings crowded against the narrowing road. Overhead, the green canopy completely blocked the late afternoon sun. Every step we took, every word we spoke, took us further into a strange and mysterious world.

  “Why would They want me?” I asked, finally.

  With surprising abruptness, Luke stopped and pulled me into a little alcove in the bricks—so fast that I didn’t feel the thrill of the embrace until several seconds after I was in it.

  He said into my ear, almost too softly to hear, “Who wouldn’t?” His lips teased a maddeningly slow line down my neck and kissed my shoulder. Though his mouth was as hot as the hidden summer sun, I shivered and closed my eyes. My hands were crushed between us—I wouldn’t have known what to do with them anyway. He kissed me again, farther up my neck, and I pushed him back against the wall.

  My mind searched for logical thought, a rational life raft before I drowned in wanting to kiss him. I managed, “We’ve only met a few days ago. We don’t know each other.”

  Luke released me. “How long does it take to know someone?”

  I didn’t know. “A month? A few months?” It sounded stupid to quantify it, especially when I didn’t want to believe my own reasoning. But I couldn’t just go kissing someone I knew nothing about—it went against everything I’d ever been told. So why was it so hard to say no?

  He took my fingers, playing with them in between his own. “I’ll wait.” He looked so good in the half-light under the trees, his light eyes nearly glowing against his shadowed skin. It was useless.

  “I don’t want you to.” I whispered the words, and before I’d even finished saying them, his mouth was on mine and I was melting under his lips. My hands—I don’t know how I could have worried about them—gripped his T-shirt, knuckles pressed against his lanky body, and his were wrapped tightly around my back and neck, as if he had caught me as I fainted.

  He finally stepped back, his hands slipping down my arms to hold my fingers. “I don’t think anyone could smell as good as you. They can’t have you. I want you.”

  I bit my lip. “I think I have to show you something. But I think you’d better take me to a church, to be safe.”

  In the dim evening light, the church was unoccupied, dark, smelling of incense and mystery. I dipped my fingers into the holy water and crossed myself by habit, then lead Luke down between the pews.

  “What do you have to show me?” His voice was somber and small in the church, muffled by the carpet runner beneath our feet.

  I didn’t know how to demonstrate it, but I knew he had to know about my telekinesis. Maybe that was why the faeries wanted me. My footsteps inaudible, I led him to the front of the church. Then an idea occurred to me, and I pulled a single yellow rosebud from one of the flower arrangements on the steps to the altar.

  I turned back to Luke to find him gazing up at the crucifix hanging at the very front of the church, his eyes sad. He looked back down at me and then at the bud in my hands. He was facing me like it was a lonely wedding ceremony.

  “Do you remember what you told me at the competition?” I asked.

  His eyes clouded, and his voice was tight. “No.”

  I pressed on. “About how there are some people who can do anything?”

  He spun away from me. “I was just distracting you. I didn’t want you to throw up. It worked, didn’t it?”

  “Don’t lie,” I said fiercely. “You k
new. I don’t know how you did, but you knew. You knew I was one of those people, didn’t you?”

  His back still toward me, he bowed his head and held a fist to his forehead. “No. You’re not. Just say you’re not.” The light from the candles around Mary’s feet lit the side of his cheek and left the rest of his face in shadow.

  “I can’t say I’m not! I am. Look.” I thrust the bud out toward him, cupping it in both hands. He turned, his face drawn. There was only a second’s pause, and then the petals unfolded, one after another, until the bloom had grown large enough to touch each of my fingers. I stared at the velvet yellow petals cupped in my hands, and then back up at him.

  Luke hugged his arms around himself. “Impressive,” he said in a small voice.

  I didn’t understand his reaction. “But you knew I could do this, already. Why else would you have said it?”

  He turned away again, shoulders hunched. “Could you give me a minute?”

  I had done something wrong. I shouldn’t have shown him. But he had known, hadn’t he? What had I done? I retreated quickly down the aisle, pushing my way through the double doors into the narthex, where I swiped one of my eyes dry. For a long moment I stood in the dim room, looking blankly at the fliers for bake sales and Bible studies on the bulletin board.

  Then I heard him shout, “Damn you! Why?”

  I looked through the clear glass of the narthex doors to see if he spoke to some barely seen faerie. But to my eyes, there was no one there but Luke and God.

  We didn’t talk about the rose on the drive home. For a long time, I stared out the window at the specter of the moon, hanging above the black silhouettes of the trees, while the stripes on the road whipped by me. Something about the way the moon looked, enigmatic and eternal, reminded me of how I’d felt when I made the rose blossom in my hands.

  Abruptly, Luke pulled the car off onto a barely visible dirt lane by the highway. He wrenched the parking brake up and studied the glowing clock face in the dash.

  “Are you angry at me?” he asked.