Summer (10 page)

The propane Weber Bobby had ordered from Home Depot was so hot Richard could see waves of heat coming off the grill. Bobby kept trying to ram his wheelchair into the shrub, but the shrub kept swatting back, which only made Bobby angrier.

Even at five years old, Richard knew there was no possible way the afternoon would end well. He wished Mama would come home, because at least Mama knew the right things to say to keep Bobby from going off his head and seeing invisible monsters, but Mama was home less and less often recently and Richard was learning not to depend on her rescue.

“Ricky,” Bobby screamed, spitting foam. “Come out and take your punishment like a soldier! Come out and take your whupping like a
man
.”

Bobby hadn’t been a soldier for a long time. Richard knew soldiers, he’d seen parades on television and once in person on the Fourth of July. The soldiers walking down Constitution Avenue were tall and brave and heroic in their fancy clothes and polished shoes.

Richard knew Bobby had never been heroic or brave.

“Goddammit, Ricky! Get your ass
out!”
Bobby shouted, knuckles white on his rims, while Billy Joel sang about tie-dye jeans. The barbecue made an angry hissing noise and Richard twitched, and that was a mistake, because then Bobby managed to get his fingers around Richard’s arm.

“Fuck, boy.” Richard squirmed, but even without legs Bobby was super-strong, maybe because of the pills. He dragged Richard up out of the shrub and onto his bony lap, locking his other hand on Richard’s shoulder, shaking.

“Sorry, sorry,” Richard tried, because it was the best word he knew, and one Mama used a lot. “Sorry about the hot dogs. Sorry, sorry.”

But Bobby had forgotten all about the bratwurst and slices of expensive cheese. Bobby was angry because Richard had tried to hide. Bobby wasn’t brave but he hated cowards.

Richard struggled. Bobby pinned Richard facedown across his stubbed knees, holding him with one hand, wheeling the chair about with the other. Dirt flew up from under his wheels, striking Richard’s face. Richard stopped struggling and lay very still, because Bobby was steering toward the barbecue and the air above the grill wavered like water in a bathtub.

Bobby was quiet but for the deep heaves of breath into his barrel chest. When he had his chair against the barbecue, he set the brakes, then hoisted Richard upright until their knees were pressing together and Richard was kneeling on his lap.

“Don’t scream, Ricky,” Bobby said, almost a plea. “Don’t scream, soldiers don’t scream.”

He bent Richard over the Weber, stuck Richard’s face into that wobbly magic air, then lower. Richard screamed. Not because the air was hot enough to burn but because he knew Bobby wouldn’t be satisfied until Richard and the barbecue had kissed.

Richard’s screams silenced Billy Joel. Bobby swore but his grip on Richard’s head.

“What did I say, Ricky? What did I say? I warned you!”

Richard fought but he was only a kid and not very strong. Mama said he was small for his age. He closed his eyes and prayed Mama would come before Bobby cooked his face, and then as waves of heat made his nostrils sting, he bit his lip so very hard and wished he’d never ever been born.

He wished so hard he managed to convince the universe that it was true.

“Faster,” Richard said, fighting annoyance. He had his good arm wrapped around Aine’s waist, which meant he was bent over and awkward in a tangle of girl and chains and logically he knew there was no possible way they could move more quickly than a snail-paced limp.

But if Aine and Water-Bearer were going to insist Richard perform tricks he generally reserved for Winter, he thought they should at least try to make an effort.

Aine nodded without speaking and tried to hobble more quickly but all she really managed was a drunken stagger. Richard realized with an equally dizzying lurch that she was nearer collapse than he’d supposed.

He hoisted her into his arms, which made his broken hand scream, but in all actuality made it easier to manage his confining chains.

“Sorry,” Aine said into Richard’s shoulder, breathing shallowly. “Is it working?”

Richard didn’t bother reply. His knack always worked. The difficulty wasn’t the sneaking away; the difficulty began when someone eventually noticed he’d disappeared and gave chase.

He hoped they’d chosen the right tunnel. He squashed another surge of irritation. He didn’t like feeling cut adrift, unmoored. He liked perfect order in his life and worked best when the rules of engagement were familiar. He’d had that comfortable routine beneath the Metro, understood what was required of him, and welcomed the sameness of days and nights under Winter’s protection.

“This way.” Water-Bearer rolled up from behind without warning, mangy wings spread and beating. It was only then Richard realized how very wide the tunnel was, and when the s
luagh
held aloft a sickly Gathering of starlight, Richard was astonished to see right angles and perfect planes.

“The original Cants have long since disintegrated down here,” Water-Bearer said. “This will have to do for light.”

“Down?” Richard echoed, dismayed. “Down is not
out
.”

“Out is not an option, not yet. Give me the changeling.”

Richard stumbled, clutching Aine tight against his chest. “Shove off.”

“Oh, aye, very nice. If I planned to eat the child, I’d have done so days ago. Your stubbornness will slow us down. Take the light.”

Water-Bearer was strong and agile. It plucked Aine from Richard’s grasp and held the girl cradled against one wing. Aine didn’t stir. Her head lolled on her neck.

“The light,” Water-Bearer hissed. Richard cupped his good hand and the Gathered starlight dripped like molten water onto his palm, then coalesced and spread, growing yellow and bright, hovering like an army of lightning bugs just above Richard’s spread fingers.

The beat in Water-Bearer’s wings briefly lost tempo.

“Interesting,” it said. “You’re full of delightful surprises, apostate.”

“Richard. My name is Richard.”

The
sluagh
didn’t answer. Water-Bearer’s broken stride covered more ground than Richard had expected. He forced himself to keep up, even though his body was a mass of small pains and larger agonies.

Don’t scream
, Bobby warned.
Man up, Ricky. Soldiers don’t scream
,
even when they’re dying.

“Shut up,” Richard snarled. “Shut up, shut up.”

“Richard,” Water-Bearer said, rolling the name into a lilt, “pay attention. I can’t see the turn if you don’t hold out the light. Can you do that?”

The shackles and the voices in Richard’s head made the simple task a herculean effort, but he managed. When Richard began to weave because his feet wouldn’t go quite where he wanted, Water-Bearer wrapped a wing about his shoulders, supporting him. The feathers tickled, stinking of damp and musk, and Richard should have been horrified. Instead he was grateful.

Then there were stairs, sharp-edged and slippery. Richard started the descent upright, but soon he was on his hand and knees, crawling backwards, chains rattling, and the light he’d been tending had gone out. The world was near black, he’d lost the guiding feathers—and more importantly, Aine—and the stairwell descended steeply down. He slipped and slid, wriggling in the dark like a rat.

Water-Bearer hauled him upright.

“Nearly there,” the
sluagh
promised, but Richard was beyond caring.

New light, soft light, red and orange and flickering in a hearth. Richard lay on rough blankets alongside the coals, neither awake nor asleep. Pain was gone, as well as hunger and thirst. He tried to sit up but couldn’t find the strength needed to move. He thought he’d been dreaming of Bobby and realized why when he smelled tobacco smoke; cigarette smoke.

“Careful.” A shadow squatted between Richard and the hearth. “You shouldn’t be moving much, not yet. Here.” Hands propped Richard up. “Drink.”

The edge of a cup pressed against Richard’s mouth. He swallowed the cold liquid automatically. It soothed a throat he hadn’t realized was dry, tasting of metal and herbs and faintly of dirt.

Richard swallowed down the entire cup then licked his lips.

“Aine?” His voice sounded rusty in his ears and his tongue felt thick. He wondered how long he’d been out. He wondered at the fuzzy feeling in his head and at the liquid warmth spreading through his bones.

“Gently, now. You’re hand’s in a bad way and the shackles aren’t helping. Swallow more of the
draiochta
, and I’ll see about the chains.”

It was difficult to keep his eyes open. Richard shook his head, knocking away the proffered cup, causing liquid to splash.

“I need to see Aine.”

“The
aes si
is tending your friend. Best leave them to it for the moment.” Richard heard the distinct and familiar scratch of a match. Blue flame danced through the air, then caught in the wick of what appeared to be an ordinary hurricane lamp. “I need a closer look at the locks and we’d best not wait until the sun is up. They’ll not dare come this way quite yet, the Tattered Cavalry, but I’m afraid your fever’s rising more rapidly than I’d like.”

Richard blinked slowly, once, then again. If there was fever in his bones, it must be the fever confusing reality, because the small man regarding him in the lamplight was most definitely human, bristly-cheeked and hook-nosed, long black hair tied off his forehead and braided through with colorful bits of rags.

A smoldering cigarette dangled from the corner of the man’s mouth, wobbling when his lips curled into a smirk.

“Hello, Richard,” the man said, and when he plucked the cigarette from his mouth it was with gleaming metal fingers wrapped outside-in with strange, fleshy bits of wire and gristle-gear, clockwork hand clothed in parchment-thin,
sidhe
-white skin, alien and see-through. “I’m William. Welcome to my smithy.”

Lolo woke Summer with a vicious poke.

“Come on,” he hissed. “The sun’s up.”

Summer groaned. She rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in lavender-scented pillows.

“Go away.”

“Come
on.”
Lolo grabbed an edge of the coverlet and yanked hard. The blanket fell away, taking with it warmth and comfort. “They’re moving around downstairs. I want to see what’s up.”

Summer managed to leave the comfort of her pillow. She propped herself on an elbow, blinking past weak sunlight at Lolo.

“What time is it?”

Lolo glanced ceiling-ward, as if taking note of the eerie invisible clock in his head.

“6:17. AM. Few seconds past that.”

“Shit,” Summer sighed, ignoring Lolo’s disapproving stare. She didn’t swear often, because she didn’t see the point when there were more subtle ways to make displeasure known. But 6 AM was a horrible time, especially when she was pretty sure it had been past midnight when they’d snuck through the silent house, candles flickering on polished silver.

Five hours of sleep just wouldn’t cut it, she decided, glowering at Lolo. He’d tied his braids up into a single ponytail and looked all fresh-faced and alert, even if he did stink. He already had his backpack over one shoulder. She wanted to hate him for his enthusiasm.

“They’ve started without us,” he complained, sliding off the mattress. He practically hopped in place, impatient. “They always start without us. Hurry up.”

“What’s the big deal?” Summer sat up all the way, rubbing at her eyes. She wanted a shower and her mouth felt like it had been swabbed with vinegar.

She’d been dreaming, she remembered. About bumblebees and treasure, flowers as tall as Papa, and sky the color of blood. In her dream, someone had been yelling about cracks in the earth. Winter, maybe, or Papa, standing beneath the flowers.

“Oh.” She reached up, briefly clasped
Buairt
where it hung around her neck in the form of a delicate cross because Barker refused to carry it on his back. “What’s the hurry? It’s barely light out,” she complained. “Can’t we have breakfast and a wash first? Go down and see while I...wake up.”

Lolo only reached out, grabbing her by the wrist, tugging. “You’re coming. I’m not leaving you alone with the creeptastic chandelier. Hurry, will you? I smell coffee!”

Summer groaned and rolled out of bed. Her shirt felt clammy and stale against her skin, and her jeans were sticky. She’d slept in her shoes, and she’d sweated under the coverlet.

“Gross,” she sighed, then noticed the scattering of Red Bull cans on the floor. “Did you sleep at all?”

“No.” Lolo pulled Summer into the hall. “I said I’d keep look-out, didn’t I? Besides, I had some shit to think over.”

Summer didn’t really want to know what sort of ’shit’ would keep her brother’s twelve-year-old street con up at night. Then she remembered he’d shot a madman straight in the face, and couldn’t help but shiver. She yanked her wrist from his hand, ignoring his puzzled stare.

“There’d better be breakfast,” she sulked, ignoring the twinge of guilt guttering behind her ribs. “I’m not going spelunking without breakfast.”

“I believe Cornwallis Cave is quite shallow,” Brother Dan said from the top of the stairs. Summer figured the friar had been on his way to rouse them out of bed. “No spelunking necessary.”

“Still need breakfast,” Summer gritted. She pushed past Lolo and Daniel, clattering down the stairs, following the scent of coffee past sun-warmed antiques and into the spacious kitchen.

She paused in the doorway, stupidly shy. She hadn’t expected anyone but the usual crew, which was sort of dumb, seeing how Hannah had mentioned a grandmother and uncle. She guessed it was the grandmother seated in one of the heavy chairs against the long table, morning light throwing rainbows off the cut glass flower bowl and across her clawed fingers.

It was those crooked fingers that threw Summer, making her hesitate.
Sidhe
didn’t age like humans, didn’t twist or shrink or grow infirm. Barker was older than the oldest man-placed stone in Manhattan, but looked barely grown where he stood strong and healthy against the steel Viking oven, stirring eggs on the stovetop.

Sidhe
died by curse or sword point. The ebb and flow of mortal time was something Summer preferred to ignore, especially as she heard Lolo thumping down the stairs with all the grace of a hungry puppy.

He’ll age
, Summer thought, struck by a shiver,
twist and shrink and fail, and I’ll have to watch it happen.

The woman looked up and caught Summer’s stare. Mama would have called Summer out on her bad manners, but the woman only smiled sadly and shook her head.

“Come in,” she said. “You must be Summer Murray. Hannah, please pass Ms. Murray a plate. She looks hungry.”

To Summer’s surprise Hannah rose without protest from where she’d been sitting across the table and passed Summer a blue-and-white-flowered china plate. Fairy amber gleamed around her wrist. Hanna glanced from Summer to the bracelet and back again, then showed pointed teeth in a soundless snarl.

“You can call her Summer.” Lolo interrupted, slipping past Summer and into the room, bouncing a little on the toes of his shoes. He set his pack on the table. “Everybody does. Murray’s just a made-up last name, anyway. You know, so they’d fit in.”

“Malachi took the surname two hundred years ago for business purposes,” corrected Barker without turning from the stove. “It’s as legitimate as your own.”

Summer bit back a startled laugh. Lolo had a last name, she supposed, but she doubted even Winter knew what it was.

“If I’m to call you Summer, you will call me Willa.” The woman rose from the table. She had smooth dark hair, tied neatly into a bun. Her face was surprisingly youthful and unlined, but there was a sadness in her blue eyes that made Summer want to reassure her that everything would be alright.

Which was silly, because from what Winter had told them, Willa Francis’ life would never be alright again.

“You’re forgive me if we don’t shake hands.” Willa’s smile softened. “The arthritis is particularly bad in the mornings before my medication has a chance to kick in. Would you like some eggs, dear? Your friend Barker has cooked up enough to feed an army.”

“Too bad we don’t have an actual army,” Lolo snorted. He grabbed a plate from the table, shoving it at Barker. “I’m starving. You’re shitting me,” he made a face at a bubbling urn of coffee, “it’s the fountain of fucking youth.”

“Lorenzo!” Brother Dan snapped. “Language!”

Lolo rolled his shoulders, then sighed and peeked hopefully across the room at Willa. “May I please have a mug for the coffee, ma’am?”

Summer saw real amusement touch the woman’s expression.

“Cupboard to the left,” she directed. “Milk and sugar in the refrigerator. Hannah, show him, please.”

Once again Hannah rose from the table. Summer wondered if Barker was walking the girl about with the bracelet like some sort of zombie on an invisible leash, but Barker seemed engrossed in his eggs, unaware.

When she edged up to the oven and passed him her plate, he scooped scrambled eggs into a miniature mountain on the blue and white china. The eggs smelled delicious. Summer’s stomach growled, making Lolo snort.

“Black, right?” The boy pressed a mug into Summer’s free hand. “Winter always says it’s best to take it black before battle, because too much sugar will just make you crash later on.”

“Thanks.” Summer took her breakfast to the table and made herself stand at Hannah’s side. Brother Dan was hovering near the coffee urn. Barker kept scraping at his eggs, although everyone’s plate was heaped to bursting. Willa stared at the white roses in her fancy crystal bowl. Lolo was shoveling eggs onto his fork and at the same time sneaking rolls and bacon into the outer pocket of his pack.

Summer figured no one really wanted to talk about what the day might hold. If Winter wasn’t lost, if it was Winter meaning to storm the cave, he’d be doing more than drinking black coffee; he’d probably be standing on the table, talking everyone into bravery like some scene out of an adventure movie.

Her brother had a way of making everything seem easy.

Summer wished she’d thought to ask him how he did it.

“Sit down, dear,” Willa said. “You don’t want to eat your eggs standing up, do you?”

Summer blinked. She folded herself into her chair. Next seat over the changeling was busy pushing her breakfast in circles on her plate. It didn’t look like she’d bothered to put any in her mouth.

“You should eat,” Summer suggested, because she thought that was what Winter would do. “Barker’s a good cook. He used to help out in the royal kitchens, before.”

Hannah glanced up at Summer, then over at Barker. She wrinkled her nose doubtfully but began to eat without enthusiasm, studiously ignoring her grandmother.

Summer wrapped her hands around her coffee mug, drawing warmth, and smiled politely at Willa.

“Okay,” she said, settling straight to the point before she thought too hard about what the rest of the day held, “can you show us where the magic cave is?”

December in Yorktown was much warmer than December in Manhattan. Summer was almost too hot in her coat, and not just because Barker was marching them along the town streets at a relentless pace. Brother Dan’s boots thumped on the sidewalk. Lolo was so busy looking at everything he kept stumbling into cars parked along the cobbled streets. Willa walked up front with Barker, murmuring quietly into his ear, her ruined fingers shoved into fluffy mittens.

Summer noticed Barker was doing his floaty, not-quite-touching the sidewalk thing again, and thought maybe he was showing off, although she wasn’t sure for who, because she and Lolo had seen it all before, she was pretty sure Brother Dan was supposed to disapprove of false modesty, and Willa didn’t seem to even notice.

“Did he really work in my mother’s kitchens?”

Oh.

Summer hadn’t exactly forgotten Hannah. She’d been aware all along of the changeling sulking a few strides behind, but she’d mostly stopped giving the other girl much thought, because her grumpy silence was just boring.

“Yeah.” Summer peeked sideways at Hannah. “When he was a kid. Before he joined the Guard. He used to tell me stories, when I was little. About how Gloriana would feed entire haunches of meat to her hounds, if her roast was under-spiced or over-cooked. Just knock the dinner settings all onto the floor and let the dogs fight over the food.”

Hannah said nothing, but she walked a little closer to Summer. The other girl had dressed herself in sensible jeans and high-top Converses and a warm knit sweater. She’d tied her hair up away from her eyes and hidden it beneath a baseball cap, pulled the brim down over her
sidhe
features.

“Mama says sometimes Gloriana would serve her kitchen staff to the dogs too, if she was in a bad mood,” Summer added. “Barker was lucky, really. You know, not to get eaten.”

Hannah looked up and away from the sidewalk.

“I don’t believe that,” she said. “I’m sure
my
mother would never be so wasteful.”

“Wasteful?”

Hannah nodded, decisive. “Better to punish the offending staff than lose them. Mortals are easily brought to heel, once they understand what’s expected of them.” She glanced pointedly at Barker. “I imagine it’s the same with lesser
sidhe
.
”

Summer gaped. Lolo, lurking a few steps behind, giggled. Barker, without breaking stride or conversation, flicked the fingers of his right hand. Hannah winced and glared at the bracelet on her wrist.

“Does it hurt?” Summer asked, hoping it did. “When he does that?”

“No.” Hannah huffed. “It pinches a little.” But when she looked back over at Barker, she was frowning thoughtfully, chin lifted.

Summer recognized the calculation and huffed.

“Don’t bother,” she warned. “You’re not his type.”

Lolo snorted.

They left the cobbled streets and stepped onto grass and then smooth white sand. Summer supposed the beach was full of people in the hottest months but for the moment it was deserted. A breeze ruffled the water, chasing small foam-topped breakers onto the sand.

Brother Dan paused and looked out over the tossing water, arms crossed over his wide chest.

“Is it the ocean?” Lolo asked. “It smells like the ocean.”

“It’s the York River,” Hannah scoffed. “Didn’t you learn anything in school?”

Lolo shrugged, obviously unimpressed. Brother Dan smiled out at the river.

“And that’s the Coleman Bridge,” the friar said, tilting his bald head at a span of asphalt and metal. “It’s a swing bridge, that one.” He lifted one hand and gestured, side to side. “The center swings out to let the bigger military ships pass.”

Summer caught Barker giving Brother Dan the sort of look her papa had used when he suspected something was not quite right. Brother Dan caught Summer watching Barker watching him and his smile widened, flashing gold.