Grim (21 page)

“Certainly,” the king replied, but he was looking off in the direction of the lake. “Our lights are fading,” he said. “Should we add more?”

“That is an excellent idea, Father,” Michael answered.

The king held on to that same distracted but reasonable tone. “I was asking Jegud.”

“I don't see how it would hurt,” Jegud said slowly.

“See?” A wistful smile broke the king's face, but his eyes lingered on the faraway lake. “We
can
all agree on something.”

Jegud, looking concerned, turned to his brother. Michael only frowned at him and glanced back at the manor.

“I'll go see about the lights, shall I?” Jegud asked.

“That would be good of you,” the king murmured, as if to himself. “And thank you for coming, Son. I should have known. After all, you've always done as you were asked.”

“I do try.”

“Mm.”

Jegud bowed to his father and threw a careless half bow at his brother, before taking Erika by the arm and rushing her away.

“Father's fine,” he whispered to her. “I promise.”

“He didn't even look at me.”

Jegud pursed his lips, worried. “I know,” he said.

“Boo.”

Jeremiah popped his head into the space between Jegud and Erika and draped his arms over their shoulders.

“And how did the introductions go?” he asked.

“I'm not sure,” Jegud admitted.

“Don't lie, Jegud,” said Erika. “He overlooked me.”

“He was dumbstruck,” Jeremiah said.

“He was more struck by the
lake
than by me,” she said. “I tried, Jeremiah. I swear I did. I'm sorry.”

Jeremiah took off his mask and ran the cuff of his sleeve over his forehead. A gurgle of laughter rippled from the building, followed by scattered applause.

“Never fear,” he told Erika, but his tone had lost the cheerful lilt. “Magic will prevail.”

“And if it doesn't?” she asked.

“Then I'll no longer believe in miracles.”

 

When the angel came, the children were asleep.

It brought no slow creep of brilliance — just a blast of cold, white light that drained the color from their skin, like a flash-bulb overexposing film. It made all of the forest look dark.

They woke at the same time, and their hands and arms went up to shield themselves from the supernova. When they squinted, they could just make out a slim figure in the mist. Then, as it raised its arms, they saw each pointed finger, and when it tipped its head, they saw the gently sloping nose. Its yellow-white robes were cinched at the waist, the pleated shadows running in long sunsets of copper and rust.

It held out a hand and let the long chain of a necklace slip through its fingers, catching against its thumb with a jerk. The children crept forward, afraid and in awe, and saw a smudge of olive through the light. An emerald birthstone. They thought of Christmas two years ago, and the blush on their mother's face. They thought of how she'd clipped it around her neck, and fluffed out her hair, looking so much younger. Looking so much happier. They thought of how she swore to never take it off.

 

“Are you quite all right, Father?”

The king shook off his reverie.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “I'm sorry. I was only … But it doesn't matter. What did your brother call that young lady?”

Michael shrugged. “Erika, I think. I could ask Uriel for you. It's his girl.”

“Oh? But I thought —”

“Uri asked Jegud to amuse her while he handled some business. You know how dedicated Uri is to the council.”

“Of course.”

“Why, Father,” Michael began, stifling a laugh, “you didn't actually think that Jegud would find a consort for you? He hasn't done anything but blunder away his life since Mother died.”

The king blinked, and a sharpness that had not been there before slipped into his eyes. “
Your
mother is not the one who died, Michael,” he said. “I have not
quite
forgotten everything yet.”

“I'm sorry, Father,” Michael stammered. “I didn't mean —”

“You don't mean to do much at all anymore, do you? Or so you say, but that's not really the case, is it?”

His son paled. “I'm not sure what you're talking about, Father.”

“Come. You know very well what I'm talking about. We can both see that. And there is no need to call me Father at every opportunity. I've not forgotten who
I
am, at least, and I can't imagine the uproar to follow if we tried to renounce
you
as well as Jeremiah.
That
certainly wouldn't be worth it.”

“I …”

The king handed his empty glass to a passing servant and took the path that ran down to the lake, leaving Michael dumbstruck behind him.

But the spell did not last more than a few minutes. Somewhere, a roulette pistol was being loaded.

 

The angel held its glowing hand out to Megan. She drew forward slowly, hesitantly, but there was so much patience in the moment that her doubt did not at all matter. It waited without moving, palm open with a pillow of the clearest light she had ever seen. It saw through her. Saw her fear. Saw her mind. It understood. It could wait. It had all the time in the world.

 

“I'm sorry, Brother. I hadn't heard that you were coming!”

The cry sliced open the night. Uriel stood at the top of the terrace, arms open, backlit by the manor. He took a few swaggering steps forward.

“In fact, Jeremiah,” he went on, “I was under the impression that you hadn't even been invited.”

Jegud covered his eyes, guarding the flash of pain that shot through them. Jeremiah, meanwhile, made motions to replace his mask, before realizing that it no longer mattered.

Instead, he straightened up, hat and mask in hand, and forced an amiable smile.

“Good evening, Uri,” he called. “It's been too long.”

“Not so long,” Uriel replied. “Did you appreciate the letter?”

“An engaging read.”

“Eternally optimistic.” Uriel smiled. “But then I guess that you couldn't survive, otherwise. Jegud and I were just discussing it: That safe spot is always around the next corner, isn't it, Jeremiah? That escape hatch is always over the next hill. But what happens when the road runs flat? Does your mother's magical luck disappear for good?”

Protected by the folds of Erika's dress, Jeremiah's hand felt for hers.

“Now isn't the time, Uriel.” The gathering crowd turned to Michael, who stood in the courtyard alone. “You've been drinking.”

“But that makes it all the sweeter,” Uriel said. “Your problem, dear Michael, is that you never
do
know the time. It's after midnight now, and the day is already warming somewhere just below the horizon. It's always been your intention to meet the sun, hasn't it? And yet you always let the moment pass. Why not tonight, then? I think the dogs are ready for a little run, don't you?”

Jeremiah bolted, dragging Erika by the wrist. A courtier had arrived late, and was stepping from a dark, little calash. Jeremiah shoved Erika inside and leaped into the driver's box, snatching up the whip and reins. The stallion leaped forward with a jolt, and they were off.

Wind lashed at the fabric hood and sung along the lines of each slender wooden spoke. It wasn't long before the howls of Gabriel's hounds rolled down the drive, so painfully, fatally close. A staccato
crack, crack, crack
of the whip punctuated the screams of passing guests as Jeremiah tried to break the stallion from its panic. They were at a full gallop, and Jeremiah could see the horse struggling against the harness.

He saw the line of the gates ahead. The guards were panicked, torn between safety and duty, and Jeremiah felt the familiar rush of stolen freedom, sweet and heady, rising in his chest.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
And then his eyes widened when the gates, slowly, inevitably, began to swing shut.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
He felt blood from the horse's shoulders spatter his face. They could make it. They had to make it.

The gates clattered shut with a sound that trembled in Jeremiah's veins and made his heart skip. He dragged hard against the reins. The stallion reared, frantic. It was too late. Jeremiah leaped from the driver's seat before they hit the ground. He tumbled, skin scraping gravel, to the side of the drive.

The lead dogs slammed him down with their wide, sandpaper paws. Together, they lowered their muzzles and panted against the soft line of his neck.

Uriel jumped down from the box of Gabriel's carriage. Jeremiah could hear him crunching down the road with measured steps, taking his time. When Uriel reached the head of the line, he knelt down beside one of the dogs and tucked his fingers into its silver coat.

“Pinned,” he said. “I could kill you.” He sounded reasonable. Affable, even.

Hot saliva dripped onto Jeremiah's throat.

“Let him go.” The king materialized from the direction of the lake with a paper lantern cradled in his hands.

Uriel's eyes never left his brother.

“It wouldn't take much,” he whispered.

Another carriage trundled up, with Michael and Gabriel side by side on the driver's bench.

“Let him go,” the king repeated in an undertone.

A crowd began to swell, but Uriel kept watching a limp and haggard Jeremiah, and the king kept watching them both.

A line of flushed cheeks filled the distance from gates to manor as every courtier, masked and beautiful, rushed down to see the dead bastard brother. Rumors flew down the road. There was a duel. There was a bloodbath. There was an arrest.

The assembly that made it to the gates found a different story altogether.

At the gates, the hush fell thick and heavy.

At the gates, there reigned a morbid, dignified horror.

At the gates, no one moved.

The seconds stretched on, and as the crowd grew, the tension mounted. The outcome, whatever the outcome, would be on every lip come morning.

“He's still your brother,” Gabriel said at last, in the same soft voice his father had used.

“By half,” Michael whispered beside him. Gabriel looked at him, surprised, and saw that his brother's eyes were bright, and that he leaned ever so slightly forward.

“He lost,” Uriel shouted. All the attention snapped back to him. “What due have we been taught to pay losers, Gabriel?” When he received no answer, Uriel closed his eyes, let himself unravel into vapor, and faded away.

Gabriel clicked his tongue at the dogs. As they drew back, the horses began to shift restlessly.

“Go home, Jeremiah,” Gabriel said. “Sign the council's order and renounce yourself. I promise you asylum in my court.”

Jeremiah got to his feet and brushed himself off. He helped Erika out of the overturned calash and gave a parting bow, first to his father and then to his eldest brother.

“Thank you for your promise, Gabriel,” he said. “But it was never your court I doubted.”

Gabriel looked at his father, whose hands and chest were still lit by the flickering lantern.

The king's gaze traveled across his line of sons: Jeremiah, Gabriel, Michael. Then he turned and walked away, an orb bobbing slowly in the dark. By the time Gabriel looked back at the carriage, the cast-iron gates were standing open and both his brother and the girl had faded into shadow.

 

When Megan put her hand into the angel's palm, she felt the warmth of pure light spread all through her body, like sunbeams under her skin. She tipped up her chin, meaning to search out its eyes, and saw that it was bringing her mother's necklace up to her face. She blinked at the glittering pinprick of color.

The angel drew back its other hand and undid the delicate clasp. Megan held stock still as the chain settled down around her neck, dipping over the hollow of her clavicle. She felt those clean, glowing hands on the backs of her shoulders and she relaxed, happy to be safe.

Shawn and Rebecca watched in a state of wonder so complete it shut out everything else. Only the angel existed, and their little sister, and their mother's necklace.

Then came a flash of silver and Megan drew back, her movements stiff and heavy. The spell broke.

“Meg!” Rebecca dropped to her knees and barely caught her little sister's falling body. Megan made a soft noise, almost a whine, as her head settled against Rebecca's chest. Shawn dropped down beside them and pushed the hair out of Megan's face. Beads of sweat appeared on her upper lip, and he wiped them away as well. Each trembling breath felt hot on his hands.

“Megan,” Rebecca whispered. “Megan, honey, stay with us. Listen to my voice. Megan.
Meg
.”

Megan gasped. Black eyelashes quivered against her pale cheeks. Rebecca adjusted her weight, though it was slight, and pulled her hand out from under Megan's back. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to fight back a scream. Blood. Slick and brilliant down her fingers, over her palm, streaked across her wrist. Her little sister's blood.

Shawn caught her arm before she could move it into Megan's field of vision. He gave her a hard look and shoved her hand down to the forest floor.

“Meg,” he said gently. “Meg, can you hear me?” He was very much aware of the steady white light coming from the angel, but he refused to look up and distract himself. He thought that he saw Megan nod.

“Good, good,” he said, forcing himself to stay steady. “Hold on to my voice, okay?”

In answer, Megan reached up and pressed her fingers lightly over Shawn's lips. She managed a smile, and, as she did, a bubble of saliva escaped her own mouth, trapping her last breath against her skin. When Megan's pale hand slipped and settled on Shawn's knee, Rebecca broke down. Then, with her brother frozen and her sister crying hard into her hair, Megan Stripling died.