“He’s fine, considering the circumstances,” said Rosie. “He’s bearing up really well.”
Usually, Lawrence phoned her for a progress report. This time—when she’d been visiting Sam for about six months—he’d invited her to Stonegate and taken her into his study, where he sat behind his desk with a small black velvet tray of gems in front of him. While Rosie stayed carefully on safe, mundane ground such as prison routine, she could see from the shadows and drawn lines of his face that Lawrence was not bearing up well at all.
“And you’re happy to go on seeing him?” he said.
“If it’s what you both want, yes.”
“I’m inexpressibly grateful,” said Lawrence. “Rosie, do you own any albinite?”
“Er, no. It’s rather expensive and I don’t wear much jewelry...”
“Choose one,” he said, pushing the tray towards her. The cut gems sparkled, spilling rainbows like dragonfly wings. “It’s a stone of unusual properties. On humans the color is stable, but it responds interestingly to Aetheric wearers. The mine’s exhausted, which means the value will only ever increase.”
“No,” she said, taken aback. Traveling expenses were one thing, but accepting jewels from the man who had been her mother’s lover—? “No no no. Thank you. I really can’t.”
He nodded. “I understand. If you change your mind, let me know.”
As Rosie saw herself out, she glanced around the cavernous hall and sensed Dumannios in the air, a burning chill full of ghost shadows. This was where Sam had… she tried not to visualize it.
As for Sapphire, how was Rosie supposed to root around Stonegate for incriminating evidence, and what would she be looking for? Sam hadn’t mentioned it again, but the idea still played on her mind.
Sighing, she entered the kitchen and walked straight into Sapphire. “Rosie, I’ve made us a coffee,” she said with a friendly, confiding smile. “Let’s drink it in the garden. I know you’re quite the gardening expert and I need your advice on my azaleas.”
Her voice was velvet, her fingers smooth on Rosie’s arm as they walked down the broad lawn until they were out of sight of the house amid trees and shrubs. Sapphire was wearing a floaty pastel silk trouser suit and a single round Elfstone at her throat. They examined plants and sipped their coffee while Rosie wondered what this was really about.
“Your azaleas are lovely,” said Rosie, playing along. “I could test the Ph of the soil if you like, but they look healthy to me.”
Sapphire took both empty cups and set them on the grass. “I’d love to grow plants or flowers impressive enough to enter a class at Cloudcroft Show. I do enjoy that little show every May. I love the parade at the end—reminds me of the Rio Carnival. Different every year.”
“Rio? Have you been there?” She seized the chance to pry, despite herself.
Sapphire smiled enigmatically but didn’t answer. “What you are doing for us by visiting Sam is wonderful. Rosie, I owe you an apology.”
“What for?”
“Persuading Lawrence to come clean about Lucas. I only wanted to help, and the truth needed telling; but I apologize for the distress it must have caused.”
“It might have been an idea to speak to my parents first,” Rosie said stiffly.
“That’s what I expected Lawrence to do, but he’s unpredictable. I’m so very sorry.” Sapphire suddenly unclasped her Elfstone pendant and held it out to Rosie. “Here, I’d like you to have this. A peace offering. Albinite belongs more on you than on me.”
“Er, no!” Rosie gasped. As she pushed Sapphire’s hand away, the stone turned briefly violet. “No, please, you don’t have to give me anything.”
“Oh, did you see the color change? You’re Aetherial like Lawrence, and I’m so close to you, but I can’t see inside you.” Her expression was hungry, yearning.
“Why would you want to see inside me?” said Rosie, her eyes widening.
“I don’t mean literally, dear. My problem is that I want to help my husband, but to do so, I need to understand Aetherials. I’m an outsider.” Sapphire took her arm as they walked slowly along grass paths between rhododendron bowers. “You wouldn’t know it, but I’ve experienced poverty, Rosie. Yes, I know Rio; I grew up in Brazil. My mother was a servant on a big cattle ranch and she had nothing. The owner would invite his rich friends to stay and one of them got my mother pregnant. Oh, she did her best for me but her health was poor and she died when I was five.”
“God, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I was very fortunate. The man who fathered me came back and lifted me out of the dust, quite literally. He took me to America, paid for my education. His own children were long grown up and gone, you see, and I was a little princess for him. Oh, he was no saint, I know, but I worshipped him. He was my king. Only something took him away.” Sapphire swept back the dark waterfall of her hair. “Aetherials took him. This was a tough businessman without a sentimental bone in his body, and yet he became obsessed by a hidden race who gave rise to stories of elves, angels and demigods. He was forever searching for them, coming back fiery-eyed with excitement, disappearing again. As I grew up he made me promise that if anything happened to him, I’d continue the search. I simply wanted to know what these creatures were that so fascinated him. In time I went to work for Wilder Jewels, and I met Lawrence. However…”
Sapphire sounded wistful. Rosie thought she glimpsed genuine vulnerability beneath the glossy exterior. “I suppose—long after his first wife had gone, I must add—I fell rather in love with the glamour of Lawrence. Even married to an Aetherial, I still only see you from the outside.”
“And what do you see?” Rosie asked warily.
“I’m not sure.” Sapphire compressed her lips. “You are mysterious, complex and infuriating. But then, so are humans. You have so many masks; an ordinary one, a glamorous one, an animal one… one mask under another, but who knows what’s really underneath? Is it masks all the way down? Rosie, I have longed as passionately as any Aetherial for the Great Gates to open and the transforming magic to spill out.”
“Really?” Rosie laughed nervously. “Hasn’t Lawrence told you all about it?”
“He’s told me, but how do I know it’s the truth? I thought you might offer some insight that would enable me to help him.”
The Elfstone shone in Sapphire’s manicured fingers. Rosie wondered what secrets she thought the gem could buy. “I’m Vaethyr, a surface dweller,” she said. “I’ve never been through the Gates. I have no arcane mysteries or magical powers. I’m virtually human.”
“No magic? Come on. You all have that glamour, even you, Rosie, though you don’t seem to realize it. Everything Aetherials touch turns to gold and you can step into realities humans can’t see. No powers?” Her eyes held Rosie’s, warm, demanding, threatening not to release her until she spilled some revelation. Then she broke the tension with a sigh, letting her hand fall. “Please forgive me, dear. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like this. You can’t blame me for the fascination that I absorbed from my father. If I seem overcurious, you must understand that it stems entirely from love.”
* * *
“Bullshit,” said Sam when Rosie related the encounter on her next visit. His face was luminous; ghostly white against a dark, cobwebby background. Dumannios manifested strongly today, warping the space to resemble a derelict, soot-caked Victorian factory full of pillars and arches and ghosts. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shift back into reality.
“I’m just repeating what Sapphire said,” she retorted. “What’s the point of asking me for information if you’re not going to believe it?”
“Sweetheart, I meant she was bullshitting, not you.”
“I know,” Rosie said thinly. “And I meant that you shouldn’t make assumptions. You can’t know she wasn’t telling the truth.”
“So, Agent Fox, what other news from behind enemy lines?”
“This isn’t fair, Sam!” Rosie said curtly. “All I tell your father is the safe stuff. No controversy. Expecting me to spy on your behalf—it’s completely out of order!”
“Joke,” he said softly. “I know, and I apologize. I just want to know how my father is.”
“I’m sorry.” Rosie shuddered, folding her arms around herself. “This place is really freaking me out today. Lawrence is all right but he looks stressed to hell, in that very dignified, understated way of his. The way he and Sapphire both tried to thrust albinite jewels on me—it was seriously creepy.”
Sam tilted his head. “Did you accept? I know how you love sparkly things.”
“Of course I didn’t! Lawrence was trying to reward me, but I don’t want gratitude. As for Sapphire, trying to bribe me for Aetherial revelations…”
Sam exhaled, sitting back. “The sob story about Brazilian poverty—that’s a new one on me.”
“Really? She always gets my back up, somehow. Always gives me the power look.”
“The what?”
“You know, that condescending gaze that says, ‘I’m the boss of you, and don’t you forget it.’ But underneath that, she seemed genuinely lost. Out of her depth but trying to hide it.”
“You’re saying she’s just another Aetherial groupie,” said Sam with an acid grin. “A very accomplished one, but a groupie all the same—like Faith and your ginger boyfriend?”
“If you must put it like that.” Rosie groaned. “How did I get tangled in this infernal triangle? Lawrence has me reporting on you; you’ve got me watching both him and Sapphire, and she’s trying to make me spill secrets about Lawrence! I’m nothing to your family but a go-between.”
“You could tell us all to fuck off.”
“I could.” They glared at each other, and she saw nothing but hostility in the green-blue scintillation of his eyes—as if he’d torn off a mask and revealed the demon underneath. Then he broke the stare. Without warning, the visiting room gently, disturbingly, shivered into plain reality.
“But you won’t, will you?” said Sam. It was half plea, half statement. “I think you’re enjoying it too much, Agent Fox.”
* * *
The dancers of the Beast Parade whirled past the village green, costumed as firebirds enacting a chaotic courtship display. Phyll and Comyn always organized it, choosing only Aetherials to take part and ignoring village grumbles about elitism. Once, the procession would have led to Freya’s Crown and Elysion. Now there was nowhere for them to go but around Cloudcroft and back to their starting point, the slate-and-granite pub called the Green Man.
Jessica tipped her head back, basking in the last rays of the setting sun. She was sitting on the green in front of the pub with Faith—who was days from giving birth—beside her, their shoulders lightly touching. Auberon, Matthew and Alastair were inside the pub, buying drinks; Rosie and Lucas, Phyll and Comyn somewhere among the costumed dancers.
Around May Day each year, Cloudcroft swarmed with visitors who came for the annual show. Comyn gave several fields over to marquees and show rings, with classes for cattle and sheep and horses, displays of jousting and birds of prey. Steam engines and tractors chugged around in shiny majesty. Giant vegetables wilted under hot canvas. There was Maypole and Morris dancing, a brass band, hot dog stalls, a real ale tent; every tradition expected of an English country fair.
Jessica liked the evening best, when the main events ended and the visitors flowed up to the Green Man to watch the Beast Parade. For centuries, Vaethyr had dressed up in masks and finery to dance in procession around the village. To the human crowds it was an old fertility rite, one of a handful still preserved around England. They didn’t know the deeper meaning, the reference to the journey into the Spiral, back to the heart, to their essential being…
But now it was only for show. Disheartened, fewer Vaethyr took part each year. Without the true climax to the parade—the journey into Elysion, after the human crowds had departed—it felt hollow.
Jessica used to sing the songs and lead the musicians for the Beast Parade. After her affair with Lawrence, she’d stopped. No one had told her to stop, least of all Auberon. She’d simply lost the heart to sing and leap about in public, after the way she’d hurt him.
“Jessica, do they really change shape?” Faith’s question was so soft, it took her a moment to realize what she was asking. “The Aetherials in the dance? Underneath their costumes?”
Jess laughed. “That’s the mystery. Because they’re costumed, you can’t tell.” Seeing the concern in Faith’s eyes, she relented and gave a fairer answer. “Well, I didn’t. Mostly not. However, if you entered the Dusklands, you might see a change of sorts.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some Aetherials may transform dramatically, others hardly at all. Some say that those ‘changes’ are different aspects of us that are always present, but only visible in certain circumstances.”
“Like in the Dusklands?”
“Yes. Or a heightened emotional state, maybe. And some of us, like Phyll and me, hardly change at all; but that’s all right. We are what we are. Hasn’t Matthew told you any of this?”
Faith sighed, looking down at the curve of her stomach. “I’m not supposed to talk about it, to him or you. He gets annoyed if I try.”
“I know he stopped you coming to our private circles,” said Jess. “It’s too bad of him. You shouldn’t let him push you around. Don’t be afraid to have your own opinions.”
“Rosie tells me that, too, only I worry… that he’ll find me out as an impostor.”
Her manner wasn’t that of a nervous, rescued orphan any longer. Faith had changed; she was calmer, more self-contained. When she made these remarks, they no longer came from anxious insecurity but from somewhere darker and more reflective.
“Why?” Jess said impatiently. “Because you’re not Aetherial? But he made no secret of not wanting an Aetherial wife. I could smack him for that because it’s a ridiculous distinction. Or I could blame myself for him preferring someone who would not run off into the Otherworld or sleep with Lawrence Wilder.” She saw Faith’s cheeks redden. “What ever, he chose you. So stop worrying, love, please. And now I’m bossing you around, too. Sorry.” She gave Faith a quick hug. “I know your parents gave you a hard time, but it’s over. You’re with us now.”
Faith frowned. They’d talked about this in the past, but it kept clawing at her, as if there was something she couldn’t manage to express. “When they fought, it was like they were possessed. Like something from Du—Dumannios?—took them over. My mother used to clean at Stonegate. Could some bad spirit have got into her? Is that possible? What if it affects the baby?”
“Love, of course it won’t.” Jessica bit her lip. The only spirits that got inside Faith’s mother at Stonegate, she thought, were vodka and whiskey. “Is that what’s worrying you? Has Matt been frightening you with stories?”
“No. Sorry. Blame it on my hormones.” Alastair was coming towards them with a tray of drinks as Faith went on. “I’m looking for reasons for them being like they were but there aren’t any—they were just horrible people with an alcohol problem. I want to be a good parent, not a useless one.”
“Hey, if you’re talking useless parents, can I join in?” Alastair said amiably, settling on the grass on Jessica’s left. “You’re so sweet and quiet, Faith, I thought your folks would be the same.”
“No, they were loud—always drunk and rowing. They called me a freak, because I worked hard at school and made friends with Rosie. They thought I was getting above myself. I’ll never go back to that life, thank goodness.”
“So that’s why you’re quiet—always getting shouted down, eh?” said Alastair. “Mine just shouldn’t have been together. Dad was a miserable devil and mother always threatening to leave. I thought it was my fault and if only I was better behaved, she’d stay.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought, too!” Faith exclaimed. Matthew strolled up with beer in hand and leaned on a nearby tree, nodding as if he’d heard his friend’s story before.
“It didn’t matter how good I tried to be,” said Alastair. “She went anyway. She had all these other men on the go and she didn’t seem to give a damn about anyone but herself.” He sighed, adding cheerfully, “I got my own back, though. I squashed her wee dog.”
Faith and Jess both stared at him.
“Not on purpose!” he added hurriedly. “I was about eleven—I went to the house where she was living with this low-life. The low-life had a motorbike and he let me mess with it—only it was too heavy for me to handle and it fell over. Landed straight on this wretched little terrier she had and killed it stone-dead. God, she was absolutely wailing like I’d murdered her baby. Afterwards I realized it was the only time I’d ever seen her truly in pain. I looked at her and I thought, Finally, lady, you know how I felt when you walked out. I swear, she loved that dog more than she ever did me. She never let me forget it, either. I decided to leave her to it. After my dad died, that was it—I moved to England, never saw her again.”
“Alastair, what a sad story.” Faith blinked tears away.
“It cracks me up,” said Matthew, grinning. “Okay, I know it’s not supposed to be funny, but when you think of the terrier’s face as a ton of motorbike descends towards it—oh come on, it’s hilarious. That’s Alastair—looks harmless, but he’s lethal to family pets.”
“Keep him away from our cat,” Jessica said dryly.
The dancers were returning, the parade over. Two of the Lyon sisters strutted past, dressed in flimsy, flowing scarlet and obviously loving the attention. Matthew watched them, sneering.
“God, are we ever going to give up these cheesy old traditions?”
Even as a young boy, Matthew had expressed an aversion to Aetherial matters. I wonder if we did something to scare him, thought Jessica, without even realizing it. “Those cheesy traditions are part of our heritage, thank you,” she said, sipping the white wine Alastair had brought her. “Something to keep our identity alive.”
Matthew shook his head. He’d been in the real ale tent all afternoon, which made him even more forthright than usual. “But you only ever look at the pretty side, Mum. Dad never wanted us to go through the Gates in case all sorts of horrors happened to us on the other side. And you know what? I agree with him. Look what it does to people; you end up nuts like Lawrence, or locked up like Samuel.”
“Oh, as if that never happens to humans?” Jessica arched her eyebrows at him. “We can also end up perfectly grounded and adorable, like your father and Rosie and Luc.”
“Oh, right. I’m sorry, but nobody sane hangs around with Jon Wilder. And not content with having a crush on him, what’s with Rosie and this prison visiting lark?” Matthew caught Alastair’s eye and suddenly seemed to realize that deprecating Rosie was not the best idea. “Yeah, I know she’s adorable, but she shouldn’t be acting like a social worker for that crowd. She’s too kindhearted for her own good.”
“I don’t like her going either, but she won’t listen to me,” said Alastair in the background.
“All I’m suggesting is that every time you criticize Aetherials, you’re criticizing your own family,” said Jessica.
Matthew kneeled behind them on the grass, putting one arm around his mother and one around Faith. “No, I’m not. I don’t mean it like that, Mum. You’re gorgeous and glamorous and so is Rosie. You’re faerie princesses and that’s fine. But it’s not for me and Faith. Is it?” He stroked his wife’s bump with an affectionate hand; she smiled. “The surface world is enough for us.”
Rosie came running up in her firebird costume, out of breath and exhilarated, oblivious of their conversation. Jessica smiled at the affectionate ease with which she and Alastair put their arms around each other. Sensible girl, recognizing at twenty-one the advantages of stability over heart-tearing passion.
“Strange, how we always want what we haven’t got, isn’t it?” It was Sapphire who spoke. Drifting elegantly past them, she stopped and fixed Jessica with a thoughtful look. “I would love to dance in the Beast Parade. It gets the blood flowing, like a hunt, doesn’t it?” She gave a broad smile. “But I’m not allowed, so don’t worry, Faith—marrying an Aetherial doesn’t make you one.”
An icy wind whipped up from nowhere, blowing grit into Jessica’s eyes. Grey cloud smothered the soft golden light, and then came the sting of hail. People around them began groaning and running for the shelter of the pub. Sapphire didn’t move and the moment stayed in Jessica’s mind afterwards like a cameo: Sapphire’s words, and the way she stood alone and lost in thought, oblivious of the white ice swirling around her. And Jessica thought in sudden sympathy, Lawrence is killing her.
* * *
Sam pleaded guilty to manslaughter and received five years, as he’d predicted. Rosie watched him grow thinner, quieter, harder. He observed the other inmates with eyes of steel. There were men here twice his size, with far worse crimes to their names, and she knew he survived only by playing tougher than them. Between them and Dumannios, she wondered what would be left of him when he came out.
Faith gave birth to a girl, a perfect blond cherub they named Heather. Rosie was so caught up in the glow of aunthood that she even forgave Matthew everything. He and Faith seemed content. The baby had a touch of eczema, Faith complained, but Rosie could see no soreness on Heather’s chubby arms, only a faint iridescence, like butterfly scales.
Over the next two years, Rosie graduated from college with honors and began work as a landscape designer for Fox Homes. Auberon had been persuasive, insisting he needed her talent. She created gardens with an enchanting faerie quality that helped to entice his home buyers.
Alastair was renting a small apartment in Ashvale but she stayed at Oakholme, refusing to move in with him. She was deeply fond of him, and almost couldn’t imagine her life without him. They’d been together for two and half years—yet still, annoyingly, the residue of her yearning for Jon held her back, like an acid fire in her heart. Yes, heartburn, literally, she thought with a grimace. When Alastair started hinting about marriage, she would cheerfully evade the subject. Then the war would start inside her: He’s not feckless and uncaring like Jon. He’s reliable, he’s kind, he wants me. Life with him would be simple. Stop being a child! Stop dreaming about dancing barefoot in the wildwoods of Elysion. Yes, yes, I will grow up… but not yet. Not yet.
Her visits to Sam were only a small part of her life but each one haunted her; strange, artificial yet so intense. Separated by the table, she and Sam would look into each other’s eyes, talking endlessly. However unflattering the baggy jeans and sweaters she wore as armor, she would sense his gaze sliding over her, hot and speculative. His attention never failed to make her uncomfortable. And that, obviously, was why he made no attempt to disguise it.
“How’s Ginger?” he asked sardonically, meaning Alastair. “How’s Captain Normal and his spawn?”
“If you mean Matthew and Heather, they are fine.”
“I hope he realizes that he can wed humans until he’s blue in the beard; it won’t make his children human.”
Rosie felt heat in her face. “No one would dare say that to him. Heather’s one hundred percent human as far as he’s concerned.”
“And Faith buys it?”
“Faith would buy any policy of Matthew’s, even if he decided the sky was yellow.”
Sam tilted his head, looking serious. “You ever talk to her about what we are?”
“Kind of,” Rosie said with a half-grin. “I told her things when we were younger. Then I’d remember I wasn’t supposed to, and try to cover it up. Faith so wanted to believe it, but now she’s married to her Aetherial prince, she has to pretend none of it’s real.”
“What is Matthew’s problem?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “He’s always been full of opinions. He takes no interest in our nonhuman side, but he has a right to feel like that if he wants. What about you?”
“Whatever we are, I can take it or leave it.” Sam leaned closer, resting on folded arms. “Don’t you ever wonder what we are, Rosie?”
“Oh, yes,” she said softly. “Did your parents ever talk to you?”
Sam uttered a soft huh and looked down. “My father’s never talked much at all, except to express disappointment with us.”
“Did you ever go through the Gates?” She was ready to be envious of Sam’s answer, certain he must have sneaked through illicitly, but he said, “No. Dusklands or Dumannios, that’s all. I quite like Dumannios.” He glanced around at fungal darkness punctuated by glowing reptilian eyes. “It suits me.”
Rosie didn’t even try to make a joke. Pale and gaunt, Sam looked part of it. He went on, “It’s said that we’re born knowing everything. Our history, all about the Spiral and our elemental natures. But we forget and have to learn it again. That’s why we’re all so screwed up.”
“I can see it in Heather’s eyes,” said Rosie. “Two serene blue pools. Sometimes I expect her to speak like an adult.”
“As long as she keeps her mouth shut in front of her daddy.” A corner of his mouth curved up. “Problem is, we’ll never understand the Otherworld until we go there. Reading all the travel guides in the world is no substitute for the moment you step off the plane.”
Rosie had expected this to be a point-scoring, “I know more than you do” conversation, but it wasn’t that at all. She asked, “Do you know why your father closed the Gates?”
He chewed at his lower lip and was silent for a moment. “You’re expecting the big revelation?”
“Hoping,” she replied with a ghost smile.
“Something happened to him on the other side that completely freaked him out. He won’t talk about it. He drinks, and has nightmares, and thinks no one knows.”
“Couldn’t your mother shed any light? Your real one, I mean?” A cold glitter flashed into his eyes, startling her. She felt his anger physically, like a mass of cold air between them. “Don’t even start down that road,” he said.
“Why not?” Rosie exclaimed. “I refuse to tread on eggshells with you, Sam. Why won’t you talk about her?”
“Because she’s dead.”
Rosie was taken aback. “I’m sorry. No one told us.”
“If she isn’t, she might as well be.”
“She isn’t, then.”
“We don’t know! That’s the point! She vanished one day while Lawrence was taking Jon and me back to school. Not a word since. I can understand her not wanting to speak to Dad, but her own sons?” She saw his arm muscles tensing to cords.
“Maybe she went into the Spiral.”
“Maybe. That’s what Jon hopes, but I still think she would have found a way to contact us. We only have Lawrence’s word that she walked out. He may have murdered her and buried her in the shrubbery for all we know.”
“But she did walk out,” said Rosie.
The blue fire grew fiercer. “How the hell would you know?”
“Because I saw her leaving.” She described the raid she, Lucas and Matthew had made on Stonegate, years ago.
Sam sat very still. Eventually words stumbled out. “Thing is, as long as I believe she’s dead, I can forgive her. But if she’s alive and never…”
“I’m sorry,” Rosie said faintly. “That was meant to help, not make things worse. It never occurred to me you didn’t know.”
“No,” he said, swallowing. “I never seriously believed she was dead, not in my heart. I needed to believe it wasn’t her decision to ignore us. I mean, what did we do to…?”
She almost reached to touch his hand, curbed the gesture. “D’you know why she left?”
“Endless arguments. My father wanted to live in Ecuador near his mine. Mother insisted they come home. Lawrence never forgave her for… forcing him to face his responsibilities.”
“That must have been horrible for you and Jon.”
“If I ever find out he was seeing Sapphire before Mum left, she is dead meat.”
“She said not,” Rosie said quickly. “Like I told you, she’s as foxed by Lawrence as anyone. And she thought the gems would be a key to unlocking him, but they’re not.”
Sam’s lowered gaze swept up to meet hers. “Albinite originates in Naamon, according to my father. The mine was an interface, a minor portal.”
“The realm of fire. Volcanoes, massive pressures, hence fabulous crystals,” said Rosie.
“As soon as I break out of this hellhole, I’ll take you there, sweetheart.”
“I’ve heard it’s a bit warm at this time of year.”
He smiled thinly at her. “My father had this enemy called Barada who reckoned he owned the land the mine was on. They fought about it for years. It crossed my mind that my father closed the Gates purely to keep Barada out of his mine.”
“He told me that the mine was exhausted.” Rosie frowned. “Isn’t that like cutting off your nose to spite your face?”
“Like I say, my father is unfathomable.”
“Then why tell lies about storms?”
“Telling the truth makes him break out in a rash, apparently.”
Rosie felt strange being in this sinister, whispering dungeon with a trickster who’d tangled her in nebulous rumors of conspiracy. When she went home—when Dumannios released its tendrils—she would go to the pub with Alastair and everything would be cozy and normal again. “Why can’t he simply secure the mine, open the Gates and get on with life?” she asked.
“Of course, why didn’t I think of that?” Sam exclaimed. “Pop up to the manor and tell him, will you? Then everything will be fine.”
“I’m only asking. There’s no need for sarcasm.”
“Sorry, love.” Sam rubbed his face. The sculptural lines were gouged deep with weariness. “He can’t. He’s paralyzed. Psychologically, I mean. What I’m trying to say is that the struggle over the mine was only a symptom of something much worse. A while ago he stopped talking of Barada as a human nuisance, and started referring to him as some kind of cosmic enemy… like people refer to the devil. What does that sound like?”
“Paranoia.”
“Exactly. When I stabbed that intruder, my father was convinced that some dark supernatural enemy had sent him.”
Rosie was puzzled. “That’s not possible… Is it?”
He was silent for a moment. When he spoke, it was a near-whisper. “No. It was a druggie who tried to rob us because he knew my father was loaded. I warned Jon about hanging around with garbage like that but he’d never listen.”
“I know, Sam,” Rosie answered. “Jon told me. He was absolutely cut up with guilt. He attracted some dodgy people but he can’t have realized they were dealing drugs or wished him harm.”
“Not realized?” Sam blinked eloquently. “Why d’you think they hung around? Jon was the one selling god-knows-what to them. He thinks I don’t know, but I have sources.” His expression turned hard and angry.
“Jon was selling…” Her mouth fell open.
“What? You don’t still think he’s some perfect Botticelli angel, do you? He is pretty naive, though. Too precious for this world. Didn’t occur to him that some low-life might see him as no more than a dumb rich kid with a big house: an easy target.”
“You’re saying this is all Jon’s fault?”
“No,” said Sam. “I would never blame Jon. It was just a chain of events. But that’s how I know it was nothing supernatural.” He opened one hand, indicating the eerie morphing of their surroundings. “Whatever’s going on with my father is only getting worse. I can feel it here. Dumannios, getting dirtier and really outstaying its welcome.”
His words sent chills crawling over her. As difficult as she found roguish, sniping Sam, this troubled side of him was even harder to handle. “Lawrence is so hard to talk to. One moment he’s rational; the next he lets something slip that makes you think he’s lost his mind.”
“I know. God knows what I’m going to find when I get out of here.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
His gaze, resting on her, softened. “You’ve done enough. Just talking to you helps. The anger’s not aimed at you, sweetie.”
“I think it was, a bit,” she replied tartly.
“And still you want to help me.” He paused. “Hey, I almost forgot to wish you happy birthday.”
“How did you know it was my…”
“I’ve always known. Just turned twenty-three, haven’t you? If age means anything to Aetherials. And if I could, babe, I would give you the biggest bloody birthday present you’ve ever had in your life.”
His grin turned her hot all over. “Shut up,” she groaned. “We were discussing if there’s a way I can help you.”
He exhaled. “Okay. There is one thing that would help, love. A photo of my mother.”
It would mean another visit to Stonegate. “You want to be careful, Sam. You’ll have me thinking you’re not as tough as you make out.”
“No chance.” He began to smile, blue-green irises glinting with mischief. “Hey, bring me one of yourself while you’re at it. A lingerie shot will be fine.”
* * *
The next day, Rosie was climbing steadily towards Stonegate Manor with Lucas at her side. The stone battlements reared up in front of them, awakening memories.
“The sight of it still gives me shivers,” she said. “Doesn’t it do that to you?”
“No, of course not.” Lucas tossed back his long dark hair.
“I don’t believe you,” she said teasingly. “I think that, no matter how many times you come here, you still get a little frisson of dread.”
“Shut up,” he said, between a sigh and a laugh. The view unfolded as they climbed. Rugged hills with swaths of spring-green forest and, above them, the tilted rocks of Freya’s Crown. “What are you going to say?” he asked.
“Simply that Sam wants a photo of Virginia. I’ll keep it brief. I don’t want to get involved in any more weird conversations. Sapphire doesn’t give a damn about Sam, and I don’t think Jon does, either.”
“Yes, he does,” said Lucas. “He’s just really bad at handling it.”
A little farther on, Rosie asked, “How is Lawrence with you?”
“All right,” said Lucas. “I don’t see him much. He’s friendly, but very formal. Tells me about gem-cutting or the history of Stonegate, things like that. Nothing personal.”
“Do you like him?” Lucas seemed to find the scenery fascinating as they entered the rear gardens. Eventually he answered, “Yes, I do. He’s not approachable like Dad. He can be incredibly intimidating. But I do sort of like him, anyway.”
Reaching the kitchen door, Rosie knocked. When no one answered after a few seconds, Lucas tried the door and opened it. “I usually walk straight in,” he said. “Come on.”
There was no one in the kitchen or the great hall. The house was silent and cavernous, impassively watching them. Lucas stood in the middle, looking up at the galleries. “Hello, anyone home? Jon?”
“Looks like there’s no one here,” said Rosie, deflated. “What sort of family has a break-in, then still leaves doors unlocked?”
“I’ll try the library,” said Lucas, sprinting up the broad staircase.
“If you find a photo, just grab it,” she called after him. She went into a living room off the hall, where leaded French windows held a glimmering view of the wide lawn sloping into tangled green bowers of rhododendron and birch. Feeling like a thief, she went to a cabinet and opened a couple of drawers. There were notebooks, pens, paper clips; the normal detritus of any house. In the second drawer she found a small framed photo of Lawrence with a dark-haired woman; hearing a noise she guiltily stuffed it into a pocket, and went to the glass doors. She exhaled, her breath clouding the diamond panes.
She saw someone moving in the garden. Figures, half-hidden by greenery… Jon and Sapphire. She was about to call, “Luc!” but the word died in her throat.
Jon was leaning back against a birch tree. Sapphire stood facing him, talking intently. She was too close, crowding him; Jon’s arms were folded against her. The conversation went on, intimate and intense, as if Sapphire were delivering a lecture. Her right hand came up to rest on a branch beside Jon’s head. Then her left, to stroke the hair over his ear.
Rosie was caught there, staring, as if watching a film. Time ran slowly. She saw Sapphire moving in, giving what might been a motherly kiss on the cheek… until her right hand moved to cup the back of his head and his folded arms fell to his sides… no, no…
They were plainly, unmistakably kissing. Sapphire pressed against him. Jon’s hands rested lightly on her hips.
Rosie stood behind the veil of glass and watched as if transfixed by the climax of a horror film. She thought she might be sick. When she heard Lucas breathe in and out by her shoulder, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Oh, fuck,” he said succinctly.
Rosie’s head swiveled and she found her brother staring back at her, eyes stretched wide to reflect her visceral shock. Neither could speak. Eventually he made a feeble effort to pull her arm and said, “Don’t look, Ro.”
“Right, because that will make it not have happened?” She turned her back to the window. Her heartbeat was heavy. “Please tell me they’re not doing anything else.”
“They’re not.” Lucas released his breath in a rush. “They’re coming this way.”
“Did you know?” she asked tightly.
“What?” His face turned the color of porcelain. “Of course I didn’t! Do I look as if I knew?”
“All the time you spend with him, and he’s never mentioned it?” She took a shuddering breath, laughed. “That’s great, that is. Can this family get any more dysfunctional?”
“I swear, I had no idea. Maybe it’s just a… one-off.”
“Oh yes, because who hasn’t French-kissed a stepparent in their time? Body language, Luc. That wasn’t the first time.”
Lucas looked helplessly at her. “What are we going to do?”
“Nothing,” said Rosie. “Let’s go.”
Like thieves, they retraced their steps. They were too late; as they entered the kitchen, Jon was coming through the back door. Seeing them, he started like a nervous colt. “Oh, hi,” he said. “Didn’t know you were here. Hi, Rosie.”
In the passage behind him, Rosie saw Sapphire dragging off her gardening boots. “Hello, my dears,” she said brightly over Jon’s shoulder. “What a lovely surprise. Tea?” She moved Jon out of her way—Rosie cringed at the sight of her hands on him—and crossed the room towards the kettle.
“No, it’s okay, we’re not stopping,” she said quickly.
“Oh? You can’t leave so soon.”
“We didn’t think there was anyone in,” said Lucas.
“We were just doing a few things in the garden,” Sapphire said breezily. “It’s so rare I manage to drag Jon outside.”
“I bet it is,” Rosie said under her breath. “Actually, I need to see Mr. Wilder. Is he here?”
Sapphire looked taken aback at her brusque tone. “No, he’s in London. Can I help?”
“Yes, Sam asked me for a photograph of Virginia,” Rosie said evenly. The way they both stared and blanched seemed to give Rosie the upper hand, which she hadn’t expected. “Er, yeah, no problem,” said Jon. He went to a kitchen drawer and produced one almost immediately; a six-by-four of a smiling woman with gothic-pale skin, raven hair, ropes of turquoise at her throat.
“Thank you,” said Rosie. She tried not to notice his finger brushing hers as she took it. Jon’s face was pallid, pupils dilated, hair disheveled but as deliciously autumn-colored, thick and silky as ever. Knowledge lay congealed inside her of him sleeping with Mel, and all the rest. How was it fair that he could look so unhealthy and still so heartbreakingly beautiful? “I thought you might like to hear how Sam is, if you’re even interested.”
Her words came out flat with scorn. For the first time, Rosie felt her disappointment with him turning to anger. For the first time she looked at Jon and felt not love, but hatred.
“That’s not fair,” he said, forehead creasing. “Of course I’m interested.”
“Is that right?” She folded her arms, wouldn’t let him escape her eyes. “You care so much that you can’t even phone or walk a few hundred yards down the hill to ask after him?”
He looked shocked, completely floored by this new, furious Rosie. “But I see Lucas all the time.”
“Lucas isn’t the one who sits with him in that horrible place for two hours every month. Lucas isn’t the one who knows him!”
His expression clouded. “Hang on. Where’s this come from?”
Rosie caught her breath. “You’re right. I should have said something before. I was too busy trying to be nice and obliging.”
Sapphire put in, “But Rosie, you know full well that Sam refuses to let us visit him. We’d go if he let us, of course, but he won’t.”
Jon’s eyes turned hard. “You know, if you’ve got a problem making those visits, fine. We thought you didn’t mind. All you had to do was tell us, not come in here out of the blue ranting at us.”
“I do not have a problem visiting Sam!” Rosie flared. “I’m happy to go and I’ll do it to the bitter end! All I want is for you to give a flying rat’s ass about him!”
There was a frozen, very English silence. Jon and Lucas were both apparently struck dumb. Sapphire came forward and leaned on the central isle. Her mouth looked red from kissing. “Rosie,” she said in a pained tone, “you have no idea what w e’ve been through or what we feel. To come in here suggesting that we don’t care about Sam is preposterous. Why don’t we sit down over tea and have a civilized discussion?”
“No,” said Rosie, feeling warmth in her cheeks and water stinging her eyes. “Thank you. It’s a bit of a poisoned chalice, isn’t it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Excuse me. I’d better go. I hope you realize that Sam won’t be in prison forever. I hope you’re ready for how much he’s changed.”
She took in Sapphire’s outraged expression as she walked towards the back door, not even glancing at Jon. A few seconds later, as she crossed the lawn on her way downhill, Lucas caught up with her. “Wait for me,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“No, of course I’m not. This isn’t a tantrum about seeing Sapphire with her tongue down Jon’s throat. There’s other stuff. Did you know he’s been supplying drugs?”
Hidden behind bushes, they stopped and faced each other. She saw from Lucas’s guilty expression that he knew, all right. “Rosie—I swear—it’s nothing serious. It’s only herbal stuff, not even illegal.”
“Herbal? And cannabis isn’t? It must have some pharmacological effect, or why would people buy it? Luc, you should have been two years into a music degree by now! Instead you’ve been doing what with Jon? Selling drugs and playing in a not very good band? Fucking hell, Luc. I never thought I’d feel ashamed of you, but I do.”
She started to walk away again. She didn’t expect him to follow, but he did, almost on her heels. “I was so in love with him,” she said. “All he’s done is make my little brother waste his life. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”
“Rosie, I’m sorry.” Lucas sounded distraught. “It’s not like that.”
“Are you blind, or is it me? Luc, I’m not going to lay down the law or forbid you to see him. You wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”
He was quiet for a few steps, then said, “He’s my brother, my friend—I know he’s difficult, but he’s not a bad person. He gets too focused on things…”
“Like his stepmother?”
“I can’t explain that.” Lucas put his hand through her arm.
A few paces on, she asked, “Luc, has Sapphire ever questioned you about being Aetherial?”
“Er, yeah, she has,” he said, looking troubled. “I told her how the Dusklands can manifest anywhere but the Spiral is a separate dimension, that sort of thing… She nodded and said that was what Lawrence and Jon had told her.”
“So she was checking that they hadn’t lied to her? Why wouldn’t she trust them?”
He shrugged. “I’ve no idea. We’ve got nothing to hide, have we? I only told her the truth.”
“And did she seem satisfied with that?”
“Not really, but I don’t know what else she wanted me to say. Surely Lawrence could tell her everything she needs to know?”
“Quite,” said Rosie. “So what’s she up to? Asking questions… messing around behind Lawrence’s back with her own stepson…”
She fell quiet. Several steps further on, Lucas said, “Ro, I can’t bear seeing you hurt like this. I’d rather never see Jon again in my life than see you upset. You’re right, I need to keep away from him for a while. I will, I promise.”
In the midst of her misery, she felt a thrill of relief. She turned and hugged him. But this was sweet, loyal Lucas; she should not have been amazed for a moment.
* * *
“The fantasy of unconditional love,” Rosie said to her reflection, “the lie of unconditional love is that you can love someone from afar, someone who never even looks at you in return, and it’s okay; it’s pure and virtuous and noble. But it’s not okay. Fuck the fantasy!”
She was twenty-three; a perfect age to grow up, at last.
Rosie thought she’d taken it quite well, in the end. After all, where Jon was concerned, she’d had a lot of practice. She sat at her mirror, looking at the scar Sam had left on her neck, knowing it was time to leave beloved Oakholme and dreams of Elysion behind.
“What am I waiting for?” she asked herself. She was absently painting her fingernails with the dark rainbow of Zeitgeist nail polish when Lucas came in, anxious to know if she’d forgiven him. They talked about the past, about Jon and Sam and Lawrence, but the talk was all about letting go, about giving Matthew’s outlook a chance instead.
“The Wilders…” she said softly. “Do you think we’ll ever be finally, completely free of them?”
And Lucas said, “Do you want to be?”
Yes, yes I do, she thought, after Luc had gone. It’s time. I’m at the crossroads and I need to choose the best way forward—using my head this time, not my stupid heart.
She would continue visiting Sam, of course—but once he was released, she could leave the last of it behind and fully embrace the human world instead.
The small framed photo she’d pocketed, which she’d hoped was a picture of Lawrence with Virginia, turned out to be a wedding shot of Lawrence and Sapphire. Sam would definitely not want to see that. Taking the back off, she found another, passport-sized image of a much younger Sapphire with an older man—some sugar daddy, no doubt. Sighing, she reassembled the frame and threw it in the back of a drawer. Wedded bliss, indeed.
Then she turned her thoughts to Alastair. There was no pain when she thought about him, only warmth. His kind nature and steadiness… that would be nice to come home to. She’d grown to appreciate his stocky, rugby-player physique, and sex with him was good. True, he wasn’t wildly passionate or imaginative, but that was okay; it wasn’t his nature. Their love life was gentle, companionable and satisfying, and that was all she could ask. Temperamentally, he had his grumpy moments, like anyone, but he was slow to anger and his rare explosions of temper were over quickly. In short, he was wonderfully normal. If Jon was a tortuous, thorny path, the broad clear road of Alastair looked increasingly desirable. In fact, he’d become such a fixture in her life, it was impossible to imagine a future without him.
The next day, Rosie opened her bedroom window and leaned out to bask in the shimmering fresh greens of spring. She felt strange; numb, emotionless, abandoned. Yet there was no pain. That was good. It was almost a pleasant feeling, letting go, not caring anymore, floating free.
It was time for a new start.
Still, it was hard to forget the image she’d fallen in love with; Jon’s soulful eyes, shy smile and flowing hair. The vision of him in the early morning sun, head back, hair streaming.
Doesn’t matter what Jon’s done, she told herself. There’s only one thing you need to know, which is that he doesn’t want you. Not because there’s anything wrong with you, or with him, but because he sees the world differently; doesn’t see the soul-light in you, the gleaming other half of himself.
Jon did not break my heart.
Fantasies broke it.
Matthew was right. The Otherworld was dead. The Gates were locked, derelict, the key rusted and thrown away. Vaethyr were beautiful shells; cold, mad and empty inside. Humans were warm and safe. She would pack away her fantasies and go with Safe. The next time Alastair asked the question, he would be in for a shock.
* * *
One evening in July—some three months since Rosie had quietly confided her engagement to her human boyfriend, news to which he was largely indifferent—Lawrence was driving home in the summer dusk, thinking painfully about his visit to London. It was hard to put on a confident mask for his staff and explain that the supply of albinite had come to an end. Their morale was low. There were other gems—but if the one that made Wilder Jewels unique was gone, what was the point of continuing?
As he rounded the last bend he braked, startled by a mass of people all over the lane at the entrance to Stonegate’s drive. He pipped his horn, but they only looked at him. Losing patience, Lawrence climbed out to remonstrate and saw that they were Vaethyr.
Striding among them, he entered the Dusklands without intention. They carried it with them like an aura that revealed their Otherworld forms; elegant, jewel-eyed, some with a hint of tendrils or gossamer wings. Their hair was living light. As he approached, their piercing eyes turned to him and a ripple of intense emotional pressure passed over them.
Rigid, Lawrence halted and surveyed them. Some had masks and others were bare-faced but he knew them all. Not just locals, but some he hadn’t seen for years. In the middle of the drive between the two granite sentinels stood the ringleader, Comyn. A black and white sheepdog sat wrapped around his legs, nose pointed up at its master.
“What the hell is the meaning of this?” said Lawrence.
“A peaceful protest,” Comyn answered mildly. “It’s the seventh day of the seventh month of the sixth year. A reminder that in the seventh year, the Night of the Summer Stars falls.”
“I am well aware of that. As you are well aware that I will open the Gates only when it is safe to do so.”
“Then make it safe.”
“Remove yourselves from my land, before I summon my dysir.”
“We’re not on your land,” Comyn replied. “We’re on the public highway.”
“You’re obstructing my right of way. Disperse.” Lawrence was trembling, too angry to admit he was powerless. Glancing around, he saw scarlet-haired Peta Lyon and her sisters, the Tullivers with their sea-serpent masks… but no sign of Auberon Fox. He wouldn’t associate himself with this undignified display.
Comyn raised his hands. “Long before mankind appeared, Aetherials held dominion over all the realms. There were no Gates, no barriers.”
The bastard was making a speech. Jaw tight, Lawrence had no choice but to let him finish. “We call those times to return. The Gates have severed us from the flow of life and power! Our young have missed their initiations. They have lost their festivals and their connection to the Spiral, lost their right to taste their true nature. This is a crisis that will turn to utter disaster unless the Great Gates are reopened. We assert our right to pass freely among all the realms without hindrance!”
All the Vaethyr breathed in soft agreement, a sound far eerier than applause. A cool female voice added, “Some Aelyr despise the Vaethyr and might want to keep us from the Spiral out of sheer spite. Is that the way you feel, Lawrence?” It was Peta Lyon who spoke, a slender chalk-faced artist who wore blood red, a shade darker than her hair.
Lawrence could barely find his voice. “Have I not explained a dozen times that I am protecting you all from danger?”
“And we say to hell with the danger!” growled Comyn. “We’ll arm ourselves and march in and deal with it. What danger is a match for us?”
“Idiots,” said Lawrence, but the word was drowned by the cheers of Comyn’s followers.
“Our point is made,” said Comyn. “Take a valium, Wilder. We’re leaving.”
He grinned as he shouldered past, his sheepdog trotting with him. The protestors streamed away towards the village, bowing to Lawrence—respectfully, with no hint of mockery—as they passed.
Moments after they’d gone, Lawrence was speeding up the long drive. He abandoned the car in front of the house, and ran the rest of the way through woodland and undergrowth until he reached Freya’s Crown. Breathing hard he circled the rocks, one hand hovering inches from the surface as he clambered around the rear of the mound, then came down into the hollow at the front. The grass was spongy under the soles of his shoes.
Someone had been here. A cigarette paper; a bottle top; a little wreath of twigs that hadn’t woven itself by accident. He pocketed the litter and shook the twigs apart. Not Comyn; the dysir would ward off outsiders. Someone from his own family, then, which meant Jon or Lucas. He felt a trace of annoyance, a blip in the flat line of his emotions. Boys, playing. No one would dare to interfere with his Gates.
He remembered his earliest awareness of the entity that had always haunted him; a face or a cloud shadow, always there in the corner of his eye. No bigger than a cat at the beginning. Then—after Albin had taken his heart and soul hostage—it had begun its monstrous expansion. The gun kicked in his hand… the shadow giant broke its bonds… and he knew then that what he had summoned was Brawth, the ice giant that would consume his race.
Locking the Great Gates was all that had stopped it. It kept the Otherworld safe as well as Earth because, like a dam, it stopped the dark current in its tracks. But even those who claimed to believe him did not understand, because only he could truly feel it…
Lawrence shut his eyes. He felt his chest constricting, breath rapid. His hand hovered closer to the stone but he couldn’t bring himself to touch it. He braced himself for the onslaught; the face from the Abyss, the rushing darkness, the Gates slamming and shattering and all the realms crashing one into another…
His palm met rock.
He felt the surface, chill and gritty under his fingertips. He held his breath—
Nothing. No visions, no terror. No silvery runes, no rumbling in the earth as the Gates strained to slide open. All he felt under his hand was cold, impenetrable stone.
Dead.
The Great Gates were dead. Even the lych-light inside him, the flame of the Gatekeeper, no longer yearned towards the stone. He’d repressed it for too long. It had burned away to ash. All the Gates to the inner realms stood like dead shells one inside the other. Fossils.
Lawrence recoiled. Sudden, complete terror overwhelmed him. What had happened? Was it his fault, his failing that had killed the Gates? Was it permanent? Had the lych-light been confiscated, or had his fear destroyed it?
In the next breath he felt wild relief. It was so strong he almost fell. If he simply could not open the Gates, then it all went away, the guilt, the responsibility, the danger to his sons—
No, that was delusion. Black panic surged over him again, bringing him to his knees. Looking up he saw a young Aetherial woman standing in front of him. Slim as a willow with long rippling hair, she was a ghost, a churchyard angel, pointing a crumbling stone finger straight at him. Her eyes were blank orbs without pupils. When she spoke the whisper pierced his brain, “We warned you it would be taken away from you.”
He cried out. He opened his eyes but she was gone, leaving him alone with his desolate knowledge.
The loss of his lych-power was the loss of everything. While he had the authority to keep the Gates closed, he was in control. But without the power to open or close, he had nothing. No mandate from the Spiral Court. No status. Nothing.
His panic, having reached its peak, began to subside. Lawrence climbed shakily to his feet and made a pact with himself; no one must know he’d lost his power. It would be the end of everything. He must behave as if nothing had changed. No one must ever know.
* * *
Three years. That was how long Sam had served when his parole was granted. Even without the warped time and illusions of Dumannios, it had felt like the full five.
He stepped out of the prison gates and breathed fresh September air. This was strange. Almost a letdown. He’d always had release to look forward to; now there was nothing. His possessions were few, and the only one that mattered was the photograph that Rosie had given him. He began to walk towards a bus stop.
A blue Volkswagen Golf was parked a few yards away. He thought nothing of it, until Rosie suddenly leaned out and waved.
“Are you getting in, or what?”
* * *
As Rosie drove she was powerfully aware of Sam in the seat next to her. His physical presence, his strength, the faint spicy warmth of his body that seemed to bypass her higher reasoning entirely. However, she could also smell the prison on him. She sat tense, deeply uncomfortable and not knowing what to say. She’d never told him about the Jon-and-Sapphire incident in April… all she’d seen was a kiss, but who knew what storm would be unleashed if she mentioned it? At the same time, she felt hideously guilty for keeping it from Sam, and that set her even more on edge.
“You’re not scared of me, are you?” he asked.
“No, of course not.”
“So what’s with the shiny white knuckles?”
She tried to relax her hands on the wheel, annoyed that she couldn’t seem to hide anything from him. “This feels weird, that’s all.”
“Yeah, having a convicted killer fresh out of prison all alone with you in the middle of nowhere—I’d be nervous, too. Sorry. I was going to catch a bus, didn’t expect you to be there. Don’t be uncomfortable. It’s only me, Rosie. All I’m interested in is getting home.”
“I know,” she said through her teeth. “I am not nervous. Will you please shut up?”
She heard him exhale. For a time he stared through the windshield. It wasn’t fear she felt but unease—for all the reasons he’d named—and there was a well of other emotions that she couldn’t begin to untangle. It was impossible even to tell him a perfectly simple piece of news.
He said, “Don’t know whether going to Stonegate is a good idea. My father won’t want me. The stepmother definitely won’t. In fact, if you could drop me in the nearest city…”
“Then where would you go?”
“I dunno. I’d find something.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Isn’t it a condition of parole to tell them where you’re living?”
“Aren’t you the expert?” he retorted.
“Well, I’m not abandoning you in a strange city. Of course Lawrence will want to see you.”
“It’s a shame you and I don’t get on better,” he said in a low voice. “You might have let me sleep on your sofa.”
She gave him a sideways frown. “’Sall right, I know that’s never going to happen,” he sighed. “I’ll have to face the music. If it goes badly, I know where the door is.”
“It will be all right, Sam. And there’ll be people to help you, won’t there? Counselors, parole officers?”
“Fuck that,” he said flatly. She glanced sideways and saw his eyes gleaming narrowly with anger. “I’m Aetherial. Things happened to me in that place that they couldn’t conceive of. What the hell do they think they can do for me? I don’t need rehabilitating! Sod their help!”
“I’m sorry,” said Rosie. “That sounded really patronizing. I didn’t mean to. I’m just worried about you.”
“Wow,” Sam said quietly. “Are you?”
“Yes, of course. Why d’you think I kept coming to see you? I hated leaving you in that place. Every time I left, I wished I could take you home with me.” She felt herself turning hot with the intimacy of the confession. “I don’t mean—I just meant—”
“I know.” There was a rueful smile in his voice. “That’s sweet of you, Foxy, but I don’t need you to worry about me. Last thing I ever wanted from you was sympathy. I’m a grown-up. Hey, I’ll miss our assignations. You got a last secret report for me? Anything I need to know before I get home?”
She swallowed, caught on the impossible edge of what she should and shouldn’t say. “Your father seems worried about his business…”
“Don’t tell me anything else,” he said, letting her off the hook. “I know it’s not fair on you. I can find out for myself now.”
“Fine,” she said, breathing out. The landscape around them was dark and warped. She had never known it to take so long to pass out of Dumannios before. It was as if Sam brought the second realm with him, like a cloak. Sulfur-yellow fires rolled across the landscape around them, and she saw burning cars and armies of apelike demons.
“Just keep going,” said Sam. “They’re illusions. We’ll be out soon.”
“Feels like we’re going deeper in,” she said. Red fires glowered in her rearview mirror. On the road ahead a gargoyle crouched, pointed wingtips curving high above its head.
“Keep going. It’s not real.”
“You pay for the damage if it’s as solid as it looks!”
The creature stayed put. An instant before she hit it, Rosie closed her eyes. The car passed through thin air.
Then with a horrific thump, the thing landed on her hood and sprawled there.
“Jesus!” she shouted, narrowly keeping control of the car.
It was real. She saw every detail of its face leering through the windshield, every scale and tendril. Its breath clouded the glass. Rosie braked. She started as it brought a fist down hard on the glass. Its claws scrabbled and squeaked, trying to reach her. Surely the glass would shatter. The car jerked to a halt and the creature rested there, panting.
Sam started to open the passenger door.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
“No, you’re right,” he said, slamming and locking it. “I get out and kill it, it turns into a human, the police come and this time they take me and throw away the key. Just drive!”
Holding her breath, Rosie slammed into gear and put her foot down. The car skidded, showering gravel as it pulled away. There was a clear slot below the fog of its breath and she focused on that, saw the bend in the road—
She flung the steering wheel hard over. The car slewed. The beast lost its grip and went tumbling off into a ditch.
Rosie steadied her speed, clenched her teeth and drove on. Her heart was racing but she willed it to slow down, willed herself calm.
“Brilliant,” exclaimed Sam, glancing behind. “That was a great bit of driving, Rosie.”
“Thanks.”
“You okay?”
“Yes,” she gasped. “Dumannios, realm of illusions? That was one realistic illusion.”
“You have to give it that,” he said. “Great special effects.”
Ten long minutes later, the world returned to normal. The change felt nonchalant, as if nothing had happened. Tarmac, hedges, grass, road signs. Late summer sunlight fell beautifully over the landscape. “Told you,” said Sam.
A couple of hours later they reached Cloudcroft unscathed. He hadn’t tried to pounce on her; he’d been as good as gold; she’d survived. As she turned into the drive of Stonegate Manor, Sam said, “You can drop me here, okay?”
She stopped the car. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’ll walk up. It’ll give me a few minutes to collect my thoughts.”
“Okay,” she said.
He turned to look at her. “Thanks for everything, Rosie,” he said gently.
“That’s all right.” He always embarrassed her when he was sincere. The sniping and sarcasm were much easier to parry.
Hesitantly he reached out and took her hand where it lay curved on her thigh. His forefinger pressed into her palm and the feeling sent a tentacle of warmth through her core. “I’m crap at sounding like I mean it, but I do. You kept me alive in that place. You saved my life. It meant everything to me.”
Rosie couldn’t look at him. She looked at his hand in hers. She couldn’t clasp it in return, but she didn’t try to pull away, either. “Thanks.”
“Er, Rosie, when I’ve got my life into some semblance of order, d’you think we could maybe see each other sometime?”
Her breath came out somewhere between a gulp and a sob. “No, no I don’t think we can.”
His touch slackened. His face and body turned dull with resignation. “Thought we were getting on quite well. I knew in my heart you were just being kind, but I hoped—no, you wouldn’t touch soiled goods like me with a ten-foot pole and why would you?”
“It’s not that,” she said hurriedly. “I’m getting married.”
“You’re what?” He released her hand and stared at her. “Who to?”
“Alastair, of course. The one I’ve been seeing for three years, as you know perfectly well.”
“What? You can’t marry a fat ginger geek!”
“He’s not fat, and he’s not ginger!” Rosie cried.
“He’s not Aetherial, either.”
“I know,” she said, nodding vigorously. “That’s the idea. I’ve had enough of Aetherial men.”
Sam caught her gaze and she couldn’t look away. His eyes, shining with pain, pinned her down and searched her. “After Jon and me?” he said. She mentally kicked herself for saying it.
“It’s nothing to do with him, or you.”
“Oh, god, Rosie, please don’t do it.” The shine of his eyes grew brighter. He looked away from her, blinking.
“It’s all arranged,” she said. “It’s happening next week. I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t know how to tell you. But life went on while you were away.”
“I knew you were keeping something quiet,” he said hoarsely. He opened his door, hesitated. “Do you love him?”
“He’s right for me.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
“I thought I loved Jon. I was wrong. I don’t know what love is. Once I’ve worked out what the question means, I might be able to answer.”
He shook his head and said bitterly, “Then what the hell are you doing this for?”
“Because I want a normal happy life,” she said, staring ahead through the windshield.
“And I want to be Pope! Bloody hell, Rosie, please.”
She couldn’t speak. After a brief, horrible pause he said, “I thought there was more to you than this, sweetheart. Now I look at you and see someone who’s dead inside. Matthew’s put you up to it, hasn’t he?”
“No. I can decide how to run my life without—”
“I know my father’s a bastard, but he’s nowhere near as poisonous as your brother with his phoney Sir Galahad act.”
Rosie bit her lip until she tasted metal. “Cheap insults not helping, Sam. I thought you’d take it better than this.”
“There’s nothing to take, because it’s not about me. I know you can’t stand me, let alone love me. I live with that every sodding day. It’s about watching you make a horrible mistake.”
Sam swung out of the car, hauled his bag off the back seat. He looked at her, tried to say something, gave up and turned away from her in a kind of disgust. Tasting blood, she watched him walk away.
There were smears of reddish slime from the Dumannios creature dried onto the windshield. She pressed the wipers to clear it. The soapy rush of fluid turned Sam’s retreating figure into a slim, wavering shadow.