The Last Changeling (15 page)

My eyes flickered to the screen as my dad stood up, preparing to tell me what a worthless piece of shit I was. A picture of a sullen-eyed blonde was replaced with that of a pretty brunette. I tore my gaze away from the screen, understanding in that moment how mesmerizing these shows could be. Who wouldn't want to find that missing child and bring her home to her parents? Who wouldn't want to find all of them?

I started to have a fantasy—a coping mechanism, probably—about finding the little brown-haired girl and bringing her to the doorstep of her family. I felt my eyes glaze over a little, like they do when I'm daydreaming. I think a part of me was expecting my father to hit me. But he didn't lash out in any way. His hand was cradling his face. He wasn't angry.

He was crying.

“Dad.”

He stepped back as I moved closer, shaking his head. The girl on the screen was replaced with a dark-haired boy with the largest eyes I'd ever seen.

“Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—”

He mumbled something, the words garbled with mucous and pain.

I stepped closer, but again, he evaded me.

He sputtered, “I've been horrible—” The words dissolved into a sob.

I had no idea what to do. Even after Aaron's accident, I hadn't seen him cry like this.

“You haven't been horrible,” I lied.

“You kidding me?” He lowered his hand just a bit and I could see the redness in his eyes. “I never knew how to be with you boys. I never knew how to do this.”

I never wanted to be a father.

Those words floated, unspoken, between us. I'd known them for a long time. Mom had me when she was nineteen. All their plans for the future had disappeared because of me.

“I'm sorry,” I said, though I knew it wasn't my doing. They hadn't asked for me, but I hadn't asked to be born. It was nobody's fault, really. It was just life.

As much as we tried to control it, it got the best of us.

Still, it was almost too ridiculous to watch a thirty-six-year-old man lament his stolen youth. He had to know he'd done the same thing to me.

I took his childhood, so he'd taken mine.

“I know things didn't go the way you planned,” I said stupidly. Of course they didn't go the way he'd planned. His youngest was buried in the dirt. But that wasn't what I meant, and I think he knew that.

“I never meant to … take it out on you,” Dad said, wiping at his face. “I thought that if I kept my distance, I could protect you from it.”

“From what?”

“From me.”

“I didn't want to be protected from you. I wanted you to be my dad. Why did you—” But I couldn't ask the question. I couldn't bring Aaron into things. The longer I stood here, the more obvious it became that he blamed himself for Aaron's accident as much as he blamed me. How would it feel to lose the child you knew you never wanted? How could you not take on most of the blame?

It must've been easier to push it onto me. That was the only way to keep from believing he'd caused it to happen.

Suddenly I wanted to hug him, to tell him it was okay. Already I'd reverted to being the adult in the family. But I couldn't get near him, and not only because he wouldn't let me. I couldn't cross that bridge to make contact. Hell, Lora had been living in my room for almost three weeks and I hadn't even gathered the courage to kiss her, let alone any of the other things I'd have done if she wanted me to.

I'd never learned how to make contact.

Just as I thought of Lora, her face flickered across the TV screen. My heart almost leapt out of my chest. I looked again, hoping I was delirious, but there she was, plain as day.

Laura Belfry—her name splayed beneath her face.

Missing person.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. No, scratch that. I was thinking too much, too fast. All along, I'd known Lora was a runaway. I'd known she had parents. A family. But seeing her there, listed as a missing person, forced my heart into my knees.

“Taylor?”

Oh no. I'd stared at the TV for too long. If Dad followed my eyes to the screen, he'd recognize Lora, and then it was only a matter of time before he'd check my room. I'd lose her.

I'd lose everything.

I threw my arms around him. I gripped him tight, keeping my head between the TV and his line of vision. I might've felt bad about the manipulation if I hadn't already wanted to hug him so badly. Looking back on my life, I don't think he'd ever hugged me. Not even when I was a baby.

“It's okay, Dad, I'm not mad. I love you and Mom, I really do.” The number to call with information about Laura flashed across the screen. “I just need to feel like you're my parents for a while. That's not a bad thing.” The low volume on the TV taunted me. On the one hand, it kept Dad from hearing about the girl I'd been hiding, illegally, in my bedroom. On the other hand, it kept me from learning everything I wanted to know about her.

Dad tried to pull away. Clearly, this kind of contact made him uncomfortable, no matter how much we needed it.

Real men don't do these things, blah, blah, blah
.

I stepped between him and the TV.

“I won't hold it against you if you move on without me,” I said, though my brain was screaming:
Don't say it!
I swallowed, stopping up the tears before they spilled out of me. “You can ask me to come if you want,” I added, “But it's your decision to make.”

Dad was pulling himself together. Except for his red-rimmed eyes, there was no hint he'd cried. He straightened out his sweater-vest and looked at me. “I respect your coming to me, son.”

I nodded. I hadn't expected him to tell me he loved me or thank me for setting him straight. But I also hadn't expected him to turn back to the TV like none of this had happened.

“Dad!”

“I can't believe it,” he said. I followed his gaze. A picture of a four-year-old stared back at me, a little boy. A stranger. I picked up the remote.

“So young,” he murmured. “How can they—”

“Come on, Dad.” I turned off the TV. “Why don't you go for a walk? I'll even go with you if you want.”

Oh sure. That wouldn't be the most awkward silence of my life
.

But I had to offer. Anything to get him away from the TV's evil spell.

He nodded, looking at me like we'd just met. He was halfway to the door when he turned back, shaking his head. “Looks like rain.”

19

E
l
o
r
A

I cut my arm on a branch of Unity's tallest pine. That's what I got for being out of practice. I held my sleeve over the cut as I watched students walk from the box of the school to the boxes of their cars, from which they'd drive to the boxes of their homes or the box of the mall.
Caged little animals
. Today, I couldn't do it. I needed open space and rain on my face. I needed the cool breath of twilight as it descended over the park.

I needed to feel.

For a moment I allowed myself to miss the comforts of home. Over the past few weeks I'd thought of them little, afraid the memories would distract me from my goal. Now they flooded over me, cool, dark, and sweet.

Just as I felt myself surrounded by cold, whispering stones, and stars one can never see in the city, something happened that yanked me out of the Dark Court and back to reality.

My phone was buzzing.

Digging into my pocket, I stilled the rain around me and waited for the caller to speak.

“Tell me you've left the wasteland.” The little voice, strained with fear, sent chills through parts of me untouched by the rain.

“Illya? What has happened?”

“Please, Lady. Tell me you're on your way.”

“Soon, my friend. But what ails you?”

“He is coming for you.”

“Naeve?”

There came no response.

“Illya, tell me what's happened. Surely, he can't—”

“I didn't mean to tell him!”

Oh, Darkness.

“What did you do?” I asked, lungs struggling for a satisfying breath.

“Oh, Lady. Forgive me.”

“Illya. What did you do? Did you tell him where I am?”

“I told him the opposite of that! I meant to defend you. It was a mistake.”

“What did you say, exactly?”

“I told him he could search all of Faerie and he'd never find you. I only meant to mock him—”

“Oh, Illya.”

How could this have happened? It could expose my plans to the Dark Lady. Worse, Naeve could find me.

He could find Taylor.

I had to get out of here.

“Where is Naeve now?” I demanded.

“Hovering on the border of the wasteland. It seems, for the moment, he dares not cross.”

“He's reached the border?” I gasped. “Why did you
not warn me?”

“I dared not believe it until now. He never spoke of his intentions. I followed him.” Illya paused. “I've been stealthy.”

I smiled in spite of the fact that my heart was breaking. All this time, I'd known I had to leave. But a part of me had searched for a way to stay.

To be with the boy I could never have.

The boy I should not want.

“You have done your duty to me,” I told her, fighting to keep from breaking down. I had to return to my old life and my old ways. No one could see my emotions. “Return to the Dark Court—”

“I will not return until I know that you are safe from him.”

“I will be fine,” I said. “I've solved the riddle. I know why the cruelest kind of human is
perfect for light
.”

“Why?”

“Because the Bright Queen actually
cares
for humanity, and she'd only feel justified stealing someone humanity wouldn't miss. Someone whose absence would
help
the human world.”

“Oh, Lady, it's brilliant,” Illya breathed, and I wanted to smile. But I couldn't. There was something about my conclusion that bothered me, some little voice whispering in the back of my mind. Telling me I'd missed something.

I pushed it away. “I will return tomorrow night—”

“He could find you by then! Let me follow him until … ”

Silence.

“Illya? Are you there?”

“He comes for me.”

“What? How—”

“If I should fall, do not forget me.”

“Don't speak of it! Please—” The word stuck in my throat. On the other side of the line, I heard scrambling. Then, a cry that was quick to die out.

I bit my knuckle to silence my scream.

Illya.
Say something.

But only silence greeted me. I pressed the phone against my ear.

Still nothing.

The line went dead. When the telephone slipped from my hand, I did not try to catch it.

–––––

Rain poured over me, plastering my hair to my shoulders like a blood-drenched cape. I grasped my thighs with my hands, losing myself in the cold viciousness, the feeling of the shaking tree. Night fell faster than rain, the sky darkening to blue, then fluid indigo, then black.

The stars were slow to arrive.

Lightning flashed, exposing the belly of the sky. The air felt charged. Still I waited, eyes closed, shaking in the center of it all.

A voice bellowed from below, fighting against the roar of the rain. “Come down!”

Taylor's face appeared at the bottom of the tree. The rain flung itself callously into his eyes and nose, trying to choke and to blind, but he refused to lower his gaze. His voice was laced with despair. “Please come down.”

He reached for the lowest branch and faltered. “Please don't fall.” Lightning illuminated the terrified look on his face.

“Hold on.” Dropping easily to the next branch, I guided myself down. I had to be careful not to open the cut on my arm. But when I reached the tree's midpoint, I stopped. Staring down at the ground, at the mortal bending down to pick up a small black object, I wondered if I really wasn't safer in the tree.

“I think I broke my phone,” I called, opening my hands as if to say
Sorry
. I would not let him see the anguish that surged inside of me. What good would it do, to let him closer to me?

“You're so weird,” he yelled back.

I climbed down the trunk a few feet. “Thank you.”

“I mean it.” He wiped his face with his sleeve. “You do the weirdest things all the time, and then you say something so freakishly normal. I don't know what to think of you.” He put the phone in his pocket as I stepped onto a lower branch.

“So don't think of me.”

“I have to.” He lifted his arms as if to catch me.

I let myself hang from the last branch. “Please.”

Standing on his toes, Taylor wrapped his arms around my waist. I slid into his embrace.

“I have to,” he said again. “Don't you understand that?”

“I do.” I ran my hands up his arms, feeling the tiny hairs rising. I wanted to sink into him, desperately. To let him comfort me.

I took a step away.

He pulled me back. “I don't even care,” he said, lips close to my neck, “what we do. Or don't do. I just need to know if this is real, or if … ”

“What?”

“It's just a game, like with Brad.”

The words cut into me like thorns. “Do you think it's a game?”

“I don't know.” He turned away. “All I know is that you were scary today.”

“I was just fooling around. How could that scare you?”

“Because you've looked at me that way! And I believed it. God—” He took his hair in his hands. I placed my hands over them, pulling them down to a safer place.

“I am not playing you,” I said. “I might have thought of it when we first met, but I learned quickly I did not need to. You're a good person, Taylor. I only hide around those who would hurt me.”

He waited a beat. “Then you feel the way I do?”

“I can't … say.”

“Why not?”

“You would not understand.” I tried to evade his hand, but it found my cheek anyway. Sliding it down, he cupped my neck, holding me close. “Taylor, please.”

“Explain it to me.” His lips brushed my cheek, his eyes never leaving mine.

“All my life, I have been taught that
this
”—I gestured between us—“is wrong. That it goes against my nature. And now, after years and years of this belief, I come face to face with this supposed abomination, only to find it the most beautiful, joyful …
natural
thing in the world.”

He looked at me, unblinking, as rain fell from his lashes.

I lifted my fingers to his cheek. “Now I must choose between two conclusions. Either my mind has been corrupted by this world I've entered into, or else, all this time, this thing I believed to be true is in fact a lie.”

“Would that be so terrible?” His voice was soft as he moved his hands to my hips.

I followed his movements with my eyes, disbelieving the joy his fingers brought. I wanted to feel them everywhere, all over me, now. It scared me how much I wanted him.

“I have left so many of my beliefs behind,” I said, giving him the best explanation I could. “I don't know how much more I can leave
.”

After all, it had been difficult enough to accept that the forces governing Faerie did not have my best interests in mind. To believe I could be with a human would rip apart the very bindings of my existence. It would jeopardize my belief in everything: my life, my people.

Myself
.

Taylor waited a minute before speaking. “I won't ask you to leave anything else behind. But if you need me … ” He trailed off, his hands playing with the hem of my shirt.

I leaned in, wanting his fingers to slip beneath the fabric. “I need you.”

“You have me.”

“But not for long.”

His eyes closed, hands gripping at my hips. Pulling me into him without even trying. “You can't leave.”

“I have to, Taylor. I have to.”

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

When he looked at me, I was startled by the clarity in his eyes. “You haven't told me the ending of the story.”

–––––

Taylor curled beside me like a wolf snuggling with his pack. A fluffy blanket came up to our waists. His hair was starting to dry, though mine still hung tangled and wet, and he adjusted the towel on my pillow.

Just like that, he was leaning over me. “What happened to your arm?”

“My arm? Oh.” I looked down, my gaze drawn to the place where the tree had tugged at my skin. Immediately, I regretted changing into his oversized T-shirt. It left my arms exposed, and now he could see me.

In spite of everything, I still feared showing vulnerability in front of him.

“The Lady vs. the Tree,” I said, trying to pretend that everything was fine. Trying to pretend my world wasn't turning on its head. “The tree won.”

“Can I see?”

“All right.” I shifted stiffly. I wasn't sure what he would do once I presented him with my arm. The cut was mostly clean; the rain had taken care of that. Now only a thin red line remained.

“Mmm,” he said, holding the arm delicately. “It's not too bad. Does it sting?”

I shook my head, waiting for him to give the arm back. But he did something quite curious instead. Lifting the arm to his lips, he pressed a light, solemn kiss upon my skin. My breath fluttered in my chest. There was a holiness to the movement. A ritual aspect. He was using kindness to heal me.

Maybe, even love.

“Thank you,” I whispered, barely able to speak.

He nodded, looking away in that shy way of his. “We could bandage it,” he said after a long moment.

“That shouldn't be necessary. I tend to heal quickly.”

More quickly than you would think.

He nodded again, settling into his pillow.

“Would you like to hear the next part of my story?”

Taylor trailed his nose along my cheek. He must have known, by now, the things we were forbidden to do. But he knew, too, that if he didn't push too hard, I wouldn't push him away.

“Every part of it,” he said.

I smiled at that. “The trap was set. The Dark Lady and her courtiers were being waited on by creatures who couldn't wait to wring their necks. All the princess had to do was say the word. But she didn't say anything, not then, for she feared they had neglected an important aspect of their rebellion.”

“What was it?” Taylor asked, his breath warm on my skin.

I turned to face him, to center myself, but the look in his eyes did nothing to calm me. “The Dark Lady was more powerful than any of them,” I said. “Oh, it pained the princess to admit it. She wished, more than anything, that she could stand against her mother and win. But even the most powerful young thing would be a fool to take on a thousand-year-old being, let alone one who had lived for millennia. On the best of days, the Dark Lady could lay waste to a third of the rebels before they defeated her. The princess wouldn't stand for it.”

“What other choice did she have?” Taylor asked, watching me so intently it made my heart sit up and beg. “The members of their army knew what they were getting into, didn't they?”

“They did. But the princess could not stand the thought of losing so many lives. She needed to find something else, or someone else, who could stand against the Dark Lady and win. She needed—”

“The Seelie Queen.”

“Clever boy.” I tapped his nose and he bit the air in front of it. “Beautiful, kind Taylor, why do you put up with me? I come here in a whirlwind, offer you nary but a story, and turn your life on its head.”

“I would do it again,” he said, apparently unfazed by the shift in conversation. “I would do it a thousand times.” He scooted closer and I linked my leg through his, pulling it over me. Then we were intertwined, though still not touching with lips or hands. Such things had to be given with permission, and he knew it.

“I shouldn't have brought you into any of this,” I said, my words working in opposition to my hands. They went to his head, twining in his hair. “I should have done everything to protect you, the way you have done for me.”