Keys and Curses (Shadow Book 2) (26 page)

An insistent hand shook Flower’s shoulder. She groaned into her pillow.

“Wake up,” Hippy whispered. “Krysta’s in the kitchen having breakfast. Nikifor’s out helping Clockwork load up the van. Now’s your best chance to talk to her.”

Flower rubbed her eyes, stretched, tried to convince herself to wake up. “Right now?” The question was plaintive.

“Here.” Hippy dumped a pile of clothes in her lap. “You can wear these clothes Krysta’s boyfriend left here. They should fit you. I told her you got mugged last night and your clothes were ruined. It’s close enough to the truth, don’t you think?” She winked and left the room.

Flower dragged herself off the couch and stretched her aching shoulders. She dressed in a pair of pants made from a sturdy blue fabric she thoroughly approved of, even if they were faded at the knees. They were a bare inch too short, but she wasn’t worried about that. The black cotton t-shirt was far more comfortable than the Freakin Fairy tunic had been, and the sturdy canvas jacket would keep out the cold. She combed her fingers through her hair. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the thought of coming face to face with one of her writers for the first time. Sure, she’d spent time with them all, but they’d never been able to see her or talk back. If she got this wrong, all kinds of trouble could come chasing after both her and Krysta.

She headed for the kitchen, but stopped outside the doorway while Krysta spoke to her mother.

“I had the weirdest dream last night. It was so vivid.”

“Did you dear? Was it the giant beetles again?”

“No! No, these tall dudes in ski masks were in the kitchen trying to get me. I whacked one with my hockey stick and then this other guy came in and rescued me. Actually he was kind of spunky, in a weird way. Then you came in and threw glitter on the guys in the masks and they turned to dust.”

“Don’t let Drew hear you calling another guy spunky. You know how he gets.”

They both giggled.

Flower took a deep breath, walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table across from Krysta.

Krysta ate a piece of toast with one hand. Around the other hand and a good deal of her arm and torso curled a green snake, whose tongued flickered every so often towards her face. She made kissing noises at the snake in between bites.

“Krysta darling, meet my good friend Flower.” Hippy set a plate of hot buttered toast in front of Flower.

Krysta flicked a curious glance at her. “Hey. Mum told me what happened to you. Bummer.” She took another bite of toast, then offered a piece to the snake.

“Krysta Ishtar how many times have I told you not to feed Sparkles your toast?”

Krysta rolled her eyes. “It’s hardly fair to just eat in front of her. Look, she’s hungry.”

“Then I’ll get her a mouse.” Hippy gently lifted the creature off Krysta’s arm and settled her around her shoulders. “Wouldn’t you like a nice juicy mouse? Much better for you than that nasty piece of toast. Yes it is. There’s a good girl.” She ambled out of the room, chattering to the snake all the way.

Krysta shrugged and returned her attention to her toast. “So how d’you know my mum?”

“We were friends a long time ago. Before you were born.” Flower watched the girl, fascinated, trying to see something of Pierus in her. She looked so much like her mother–apart from the frightfully pink hair, which, Flower supposed, could be artificial–except for the eyes. She had her father’s dark brown eyes. Krysta’s eyes were warm, sharp, curious. Flower had always felt the king’s eyes were flat and cold. How could they being anything else, after the passage of three thousand years? She wondered what it would have been like to know him when he was this young.

She’d been so sure she’d know what to say, but now she was here she didn’t even know what to make of the girl. There’d never been a child of a muse and a fairy, it was unheard of. At twenty five, the average Bloody Fairy woman had at least six kids and several wars to her name. At the same age a muse was barely halfway through adolescence and usually just entering Muse College. One day she would have to learn what it was to be a muse.

“Aren’t you going to eat your toast?”

Flower realised she was staring, and Krysta had paused with a piece of toast halfway to her mouth. She shook herself and started to eat. “I’m sorry. It’s strange for me, the last time I saw your mother she’d just realised she was pregnant, and now here you are, all grown up and older than she was then.”

Krysta gave her an odd look. “You remember that? You don’t look much older than me.”

Flower laughed. “Oh, I’m-” she stopped. She couldn’t tell the girl how old she was, humans didn’t live past their eighth or ninth decade. Krysta would. There was no telling if she’d live for thousands of years like the muses, but there was little doubt she would barely age while those around her grew old and died. And she didn’t know.

Krysta pushed aside her plate, leaned her elbows on the table and gave Flower her undivided attention. “You’re what?”

“I’m older than I look.”

“It’s so weird, but I could swear we’ve met before. There’s something familiar about you.”

Flower smiled. “I know.” She studied the pink-haired girl, trying to fix the moment in her mind. She still couldn’t quite believe she was face to face with one of her humans. Even if this one wasn’t the least bit human. “I believe you’re a writer?”

Krysta shrugged and broke eye contact, suddenly busy with clearing away their plates. “I wouldn’t say that.” She took the plates to the sink and washed them. “To be a writer you’ve got to be published.”

“No.” Flower was on surer ground now. “To be a writer you have to write.”

Krysta shoved the plates onto the drying rack as though they were weapons, then paused to run her hand along a shiny glass. She was definitely more Bloody Fairy than muse.

“I just can’t!” The words forced themselves out as though they’d been chained in her throat. “I have all these ideas for this story, and I know it would be the best, but every time I go to write even a word I just can’t do it!”

“Why not? What do you think about when you try?”

A pout settled on her lips. “Everything. Everyone gets so twitchy when I tell them my ideas. I mean, I want to do something based on the stories Mum always used to tell, I don’t see the harm in it, but all I can think of when I try is everyone telling me not to.”

“Honey don’t worry about everyone else.” Flower went to her and laid her fingertips over Krysta’s forehead. The jolt of energy she felt when she touched her nearly knocked her off her feet. “You write what you want to write. That’s the most important thing you could possibly do right now. More important than you could ever imagine. Just write, and consequences be damned.”

Krysta stared at her. For a split second her whole face lit up.

Flower could almost hear the electricity popping and sparking through the girl’s brain cells, ten thousand ideas in a mad race to be the first words to fall from her pen. She smiled. She’d done what she came here for. She dropped her hand. “Goodbye, Krysta.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find your father.” Flower left the room without a backward glance.

  Flower stood outside the front door of the house and breathed in Dream air. It was so strange to be here, where she’d been so many times, in her physical body. She wondered if the king would approve of her going to such lengths for one writer. No ordinary writer though. The daughter of the king. The very idea bewildered and frightened her for reasons she did not want to investigate. All she knew was this girl could change everything.

She headed for where Nikifor and Clockwork packed boxes into a van on the roadside. She tried to observe everything, in case she never got another chance to come here. The hard concrete under her feet, the bitter undertone to the air she breathed, the distant noise of traffic, the wind through the leaves. It wasn’t so very different to Shadow City. The world of the humans was just safer, perhaps, than the place their inspiration came from.

Hippy appeared from behind the van. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and put on a big smile. “There you are. Did you talk to her?”

“I did.” Flower smiled down on the Bloody Fairy and experienced a dizzyingly vivid image of her looking barely more than a child, spear twice her size in one hand, standing by the muse king and looking at him as though he were the world. She rubbed her forehead. She didn’t know what terrible thing had happened to Hippy to make her hate the king so much, but maybe, just maybe, things could be made right.

“Are you alright?” Hippy patted her arm.

“Yes, yes, just a headache.” Flower gave her a light, impersonal hug. “Look after that daughter of yours, Hippy. Maybe things in Shadow will get better and you can bring her home soon.”

“Flower.” Hippy pulled away from the embrace and looked at her very seriously. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone about her. Especially the king.”

“Of course.”

Hippy’s eyes flashed and she looked every bit as fierce as her sister Ishtar. “Swear it. Swear it on that.” She pointed at the still-broken key.

“I swear!” Flower laid a hand over the key. “Hippy you have nothing to fear from me.”

“Good.” Hippy stepped away, satisfied, and gave her a cheery smile. “Feed up Nikifor, will you? He needs fattening up, he looks like a starving giraffe. So do you, for that matter. It was good to see you, Flower.” Then, with over-bright eyes, she threw her arms around Clockwork when he came around the side of the van. “You be careful over there. And be quick. I don’t want you staying in Shadow too long, or getting hurt. And make sure you bring back some fairy dust in case we get another vamp infestation. And don’t-”

Flower hurried away to leave them to their goodbyes. She joined Nikifor in the back of the van, closed the door and found herself a seat amongst the numerous boxes. “What’s in the boxes?” she whispered.

“Seeds.” Nikifor watched the house as though leaving would tear him apart. “For the Bloomin Fairies to start their new lives.”

The drive was long, and the novelty of covering so much distance in so little time quickly wore off. Drowned in his own thoughts, Nikifor ignored the one or two attempts Flower made at conversation. Clockwork paid them no attention at all while he drove.

She gave up and watched the scenery fly by. She didn’t like the busy, sweeping, noisy highway at all. Cars sped past them so fast she was sure they would lose control or blow up. Grey, battered towers fought with sprawling tin warehouses for what little space they could choke, leaving her wondering how Hippy and Clockwork could possibly want to live in such a place. Even Shadow City, dangerous and crowded and dirty as it was, was not like this.

Then the greyness and the sprawl dwindled. They crossed a bridge over a vast, sparkling lake. Scrub took over the edges of the highway until finally they came to the end, turned and turned again onto a long, winding, empty black road that cut through vast paddocks where cows grazed peacefully on emerald green grass. This landscape she understood. All the weeks of travelling with Nikifor had got her used to wide open spaces.

The van crunched onto a long, winding gravel track and plunged into the shadows of a very pretty forest. Some of the trees had white trunks and pink flowers, while others were small with long, thin blades of grass sprouting from their crowns. Big black birds with flashes of red in their tails swooped the road, causing Clockwork to slam on the brakes more than once.