Blue Moon (13 page)

Forever with me.

She stared hard. To her left, a light came on. Her yard was filled with lights connected to motion detectors. She jumped back and let the drape fall.

A raccoon tripped it, she thought, then remembered the lights were set too high for that. A deer, then. Yes. A deer. Or Raul was taking a late-night walk, and he'd forgotten to switch the lights off before leaving the garage.

Truth was, she hoped that Raul, with the ability of youth, would sleep through this and stay safe in his bed.

She went to the side of the house where the light had been tripped. The music was louder. She took the curtain's edge carefully in her hand, the material smooth and stiff between her fingers.

He stood in the circle of light, everything around him blotted out so he seemed like the only thing in existence. The yellow glow glinted off the silver of his flute.

"Come ... come..."

He stopped mid-verse and looked up at her. He smiled and waved, just in case she didn't know he saw her.

Her fingers froze to the fabric. He hadn't changed much. His eyes were the same strange gold, knowing everything intimately in a second's glance. His hair was still blond, and it made him look, in the light, like a statue of precious metal. If she owned such a statue, she would hurl it into the sea, no matter what its worth—throw it and get it as far away from humanity as she could.

He raised a hand and wiggled his index finger at her. Come here.

The light went out.

Did he know who she was? Did he recognize her? What did he want from her? Revenge? Favors?

Did she dare go and find out?

She thought of Raul, of Zorovin in the room below. If she made Sabin come after her, he would kill them both just for spite. She knew this. If she could keep him outside, perhaps he'd never even know about her friends sleeping so soundly, and the evil one would pass them by.

She hurried down the stairs, taking the long way past Zorovin's door. She paused, listening, but she didn't know anything of his sleep patterns to determine if the lack of sound was normal or not. She went through a small door to the kitchen. She paused to take some apples from a bowl, wondering if doing so was foresighted wisdom or foolishly giving away the fact she knew him so well.

She stepped outside and shut the door.

He sat on the rail of the porch, all in shadow save for a trick of the light that brought out the glitter in his eyes. He was tapping the flute on his palm.

"You are a witch?"

She shoved her shaking hands into her bathrobe's pockets. She cursed herself for buying thin satin rather than a nice thick velvet or terrycloth. She could have bundled up, perhaps felt a little braver and not so naked. The apples warmed in her hands, one in each pocket.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Let us not argue semantics. Witch, mage, enchantress—it makes no difference. Do you practice the art of magic?"

"In my own small way."

He liked that. He laughed a little. She tried to remember how to play him. How to act to get the right reaction, to not be ripped into a thousand bloody pieces.

"Do you know who I am?"

"You play the old songs,” she ventured.

"That is not an answer."

Suddenly, she was far more afraid than she ever dreamed she could be. To say no would be insulting to his overblown ego, to say yes could make him look closer at her, perhaps give away how she knew.

"You are one of the old, the wise."

"And...?"

"My Lord! Give me some clue! There are not many of your kind left, but I am nervous, and would not want to insult you with a wrong guess."

He leaned forward. “Go ahead. Insult me,” he hissed.

She held an apple out to him, perfect and flawless, in a shaking hand.

"You are the Black Queen's son, most powerful of them all.” She threw it.

He caught it, it seemed, almost the second it left her grasp. He held it up for a moment then laughed again, and crunched into it.

"Very good,” he said around a mouthful. “Perhaps I have a use for you."

"It is my wish to serve thee, mighty darkness."

"Sabin.” He twisted off the stem and threw it over his shoulder. “You may call me Sabin."

She bowed slightly, as if acknowledging some great honor. Inside, she trembled. Pity she hadn't poisoned the apple. Then her troubles would be over.

"A favor, then?” he asked between crunches.

"Anything within my power."

"There is a man. He ... bothers me. I tried to kill him once. Not very hard, I must admit, or his shade would be haunting the realms of hell by now. Fate has kept him alive, and I want to know why.” He studied the core then tossed it away. “Who is he? What is he? What makes him different enough from other mortals that I keep turning my attention to him?"

"I will do my best, kind one."

"His description and location are under the geranium,” he said.

She bowed and took the paper from under the clay pot.

He sniffed the air. “Do I smell another apple?"

She took the second one from her pocket and held it out. He leaned forward, and she could feel his power melting her, taming her, making her want him. She thought of him on top of her, doing terrible things to her, and she desperately wanted it.

His lips parted, and he took the apple from her hand with his teeth.

He walked away, and she ran back inside, feeling drained and disgusted. She locked the door and leaned against it, and for the first time in a while turned on the alarm system. The surge of lust was gone, and she felt filthied by it. She shuddered, because the reality of his rutting was not nearly as pleasant as the fantasy would indicate, but it was how he got his way.

There was a glamour he wore like a fine robe, and no one could resist it. She had tried once, very hard, to resist him and win the game. She had lost.

She looked at the paper. Time had not punctured his ego, she thought, and felt badly for the man Sabin wanted to learn about.

"You are a fool, wizard woman."

She jumped. Zorovin leaned against the doorway, his hair reflecting pale in the darkness. His face was shadowed, and she couldn't read him.

"What do you mean?"

"To truck with that monster? To make deals with him? What did he promise you, if you agree to do as you're bid? Wealth? Power? A one-way ticket to the other world?"

She pushed the paper deep into her pocket. “He promised me nothing."

The shadow straightened. “Then you must do nothing, have nothing to do with him. He is..."

"Pure evil. I know."

"That is not what I was about to say. He is pure evil, yes, but he's also something worse."

"Oh?"

"He is pure evil that thinks it's incredibly smart and cunning. He is a fool that's pure evil, and that's where the danger comes in."

"Oh, no,” Sierra said. “He's not a fool. He's crazy. Or he doesn't care about consequences."

"You sound like you know him well.” He was staring out the window now, at the darkened yard.

"Not at all. I mean, this is the first time I've ever talked to him."

"Now it is my turn to call you a liar."

"You listened in. Did it sound like he knew me? Besides, I'd like to know what business this is of yours."

He grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him. “I know more than you can ever imagine about him and his kind. I am trying to warn you that he is not a thing to deal with. He will destroy you just like he destroys everyone."

"I don't see why you care. You've known me what? A day?

His hands were on both her arms now, and she jerked away, trying to free herself, but his grip, so light she could barely feel it, would not let her. Her robe fell open. He looked at her, his lips parting. He looked disarmed and more than a little interested. She stepped closer, instead of away. She knew she looked good, because she exercised, ate right. Her breath came a little faster, and she remembered her old days as a conqueror, taking what she wanted. Then she got married.

After that, a long time passed. Then, there was Raul. She remembered that it felt good, once, to force men to submit to their need for her.

His eyes traveled down the length of her slowly then back up to her eyes. She smiled a little, as if saying, Well?

He let her go. “You have been kind to me. I would not see you harmed."

He stepped away, picking up the satin sash that worked so poorly as a bathrobe tie and handing it to her. He now kept his face carefully averted.

"Thanks,” she said softly, tying the sash with a double knot and feeling the air hiss out of her ego. “I'll keep your advice in mind, but for now I think I'd like to go to bed. Alone, thank you."

She threw the last over her shoulder, as if trying to make it look like he was the rejected.

He brushed past her.

"That has ever been my intention,” he said, disappearing down the hall to his bedroom.

She went upstairs and sat down on her bed. She sat on the edge a long time, worrying in the darkness.

The Ghost Ship

They drifted in during a fog. she took the small rowboat and set out for a land she had not seen since before the birth of her beloved.

It felt funny when she touched foot on the sand. It was hard to walk, so used she was to the rolling of the ship. She stumbled, but forced herself along, determined she would get used to being on land before she met anyone.

There was a liquid giggle behind her, and she turned. The woman had long black hair, and features that would have done any elven maid proud.

"Ho, sister,” Bronwyn said. The elven woman wore pants and a pale, frothy shirt. “Is that what they wear now?” She looked at her own leather garments. She was trying to think of a non-rude way to ask how the elven woman knew she was here, or if there was a settlement she had just happened to hit.

"Do you like it?” The woman turned a delicate pirouette. She looked like she was floating.

"Yes,” Bronwyn told her. “Are you curious about where I come from? Because I'm certainly wondering the same about you. Is there a settlement near?"

"You don't know?” the black-haired elf asked. “Ah, but you weren't much for hanging out with the humans, were you, Shera?"

She had moved close, was now only a few inches away.

"You mistake me for my mother."

"She is dead, then?” The stranger pulled wisps of her midnight hair from her mouth. She seemed disappointed.

"Many years.” Bronwyn moved away. She had made a mistake, she knew, in believing that all elves she met were automatically friendly.

A long-fingered hand touched her cheek. “I have not dismissed you yet,” the woman said. “And I have need of you."

Bronwyn fell to her knees. The touch was pain, pure and hot and cruel, and it lanced through her mind.

She stood up from the beach, straightened her leather jerkin, pulled her flame-red hair out of her face and tied it. Crossbow and small bag on her back, she strode to where the path to the settlement of elves waited for those who knew where to look.

Behind her, a black-haired elf lay in a messy, gasping pile on the sands. The girl's mind was empty of all save the knowledge that she was in terrible trouble.

Bronwyn. She liked the name Bronwyn, the Black Queen thought as she picked her way along the path. She would name one of her pets Bronwyn when she got back to The World. She sighed. Ah, to be back among the fields of twilight.

She was pleased, though, for this night had already brought her a small amount of revenge. To leave Shera's daughter lying on the sands gasping and mindless was quite a treat. Pity Shera was beyond knowing about it, though.

The Black Queen closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the pain. Shera had been her lady-in-waiting, until those evil creatures had turned her loyalty away from her mistress. If it had not been for the poison Shera fed her, she would now be ruling the twilight lands with an iron fist. And Merlin would never have had the power to force her people to leave this land.

She shook her head to clear it. She did not see herself as a particularly evil person. She was simply more practical than emotional. She had little patience with anything that might get in the way of her goals. Ironically, this was the quality that would have made her a good leader, she thought, despite the fact she lacked compassion. Compassion was a luxury. Not only did she not have time for it but there were luxuries she preferred much more. Just because her goals included seducing a king, ruling all the elven nations and crushing her enemies beneath her heel did not make her a bad person. Just ambitious.

She picked through Bronwyn's memories, interested by the changes she saw. Her own death at the hands of her lover had come ten years before Merlin's plan, and looking at the list of who had chosen to stay was like a Who's Who of the less popular members of the Seelie Court. Ice-water Isis had married Cearvus? Oh, that was rich. “Captain” Cearvus probably spent his time being led around by the nose.

The most disappointing part, really, was seeing all the people who had already passed into the shadows without feeling the heat of her revenge. The most delicious irony was that she was not the one they feared. She giggled. That would soon change.

She paused along the path, making sure she had the documents that would identify her ready, trying to remember if right was the way to the village or to the trap. She thought about it, and went left.

The land twisted around her, time and space shifting under her feet as she traveled. It was not a magic path, but a warp left in the weave of reality when the worlds were parted. She reached the village close to dawn.

It was not what she expected. It looked very much like the human towns she'd passed through on the way here. White-sided houses decorated the slope, brick storefronts lined the main street. A drugstore dominated the corner, and there was a single stoplight, at the crossroads. She grinned happily. Jilly had provided her with all the modern knowledge she needed, as well as a corporeal body.

She was glad she had taken only Bronwyn's face and memories. She gave her own features to Bronwyn because she didn't want anyone to recognize her as Jilly and call the authorities. They were looking for Jilly even now, and besides, she didn't want another Bronwyn wandering around.