Whiskey and Water (54 page)

"I could give her what she wants —
"

Kit unclasped Matthew's hand and snorted.
"Aye, and enjoy it. For a while. But you don't want that."

"As long as I'm carrying this . . .
thing around with me, nobody who thinks they have a chance with me is going to
give me a rest. And it's not as if I can use the power myself, or even know
what it's
good
for." "Well," Kit said, "I could—that
is, you might — " His voice trailed off. He stared at Matthew wide-eyed, blushing
until his eyebrows stood out in pale lines against his skin, abashed as any
ten-year-old. Matthew looked down. "Ah—"

"No," Kit said. "Stupid
thought. Never mind." "Dammit, Kit. What am I supposed to
do
about
this?" Kit didn't mean to. But in four hundred years, he had never once
been accused of being at the mercy of his better intentions. "Close your
eyes and think of Manhattan?"

Matthew stared at him, stricken, while
Kit's face burned even hotter. And then Matthew threw back his head and started
roaring, great, belly-shaking howls that knocked him on his ass, back in the
grass, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and laughing until he had
to stop for want of air. He slumped onto the turf, panting, and shaded his eyes
with his hand as he grinned up at Kit. "Thank you," he said.
"And thank you for the other offer, um. . . . But — "

Kit winked. "Surprise you though it
might, that's not the first time I've been refused."

That started Matthew laughing again, more
weakly this time, the clipped grass poking his neck and blades worming through
his hair to tickle his scalp. "Kit," he said, and hesitated. But what
the hell: the poet was a product of another age, and he'd know what Matthew
meant if he said it plainly. "Damn," he said, planting his feet and
rolling onto them again. "It's been a long time since I had a
friend."
Jane,
but he didn't say. He hoped his taste had improved.

Judging by the smile that transfigured
Kit's face, it hadn't been the wrong thing. "And you've given me an
idea." He glanced over his shoulder. "Which I shall explain to you
after we dispense with these."

Because apparently Matthew's hysterics had
carried, and Christian and his entourage had left the road and were toiling up
the soft bank now. Christian walked in the lead, Jewels flanking, but it was
Lily whose pallor drew the eye. She looked unwell, wobbly and sick, and when
they stopped she walked the extra step to catch up, then reached out to steady
herself on Christian's elbow. He patted her fingers, encouraging.

"Matthew Magus," Christian said,
courtesy wrapped in a smile. "Kit. May I ask a favor of you?" "Of
course you may ask," Kit said, while Matthew tried and failed to catch
Lily's eye.

Christian smiled the sort of smile that
vampires might affect, to hide their fangs. "Would you deliver Miss Gorman
here to His Highness in good health? She's chosen not to pursue the study of
witchcraft, and I offered to return her to Faerie."

"And here she is," Kit said.

"And here I am." Jewels stepped
forward, rubbing her arms.

Christian glanced at Lily. "But my
other companion is unwell, and if I might prevail upon you gentlemen — "

You're back quickly," Matthew
interrupted.

I have no
aptitude
for witchcraft,
it seems." Jewels glared at him as if he bore some responsibility. "Do
you remember when you told Geoff and me that there are seven kinds of magic,
and only named six?"

His head jerked reluctantly.

"What's the other one?"

"What are the six I named?"

She paused, tongue-tip protruding from her
mouth. His expression remained unforthcoming whether it was a test or an honest
request for information. " 'Magic of symbol,' " she parroted, "
'to which almost anyone can be trained.' Except for Juliet Gorman, apparently.
Magic by gift"—she shot a dire look at Lily. Lily, wiping cool sweat from
her forehead onto the back of her velvet sleeve, never noticed —"and magic
by sacrifice. The opposite of my problem, apparently."

Matthew didn't flinch from her stare. He'd
met the eye of wilder things. "That's three." "Magic of the
will." She glanced aside, at Kit this time, uncertain in her defiance.

Kit nodded. "Continue."

"Names and bindings. Magic by blood.
That's five. And illusion was six. So what's number seven?"

"Magic by deception," Christian
said, and smiled in the face of Matthew's black scowl. "Morgan le Fey's
magic, and Lucifer's magic, and the Dragon's magic —and the most secret
mysteries of the Prometheans. The only magic that can change history and make
false things real."

"Yes," Matthew said, unwilling.
"And hell to meddle with."

Jewels didn't think he meant her to see
it, but she noticed the way his right hand tried to clench, and failed.
"And I can't learn any of it," she said, with sulky satisfaction.
"I'm a cripple. A one-eyed freak." She looked down at her hands.
"But I can give other people power, can't I?"

Christian nodded. "I think you
can."

She ignored him, staring at Matthew. And
Matthew, watching the way all Faerie's sorcery sheeted around her like water
running off oilcloth, nodded.

"Thank you," she said.
"Then I have something to offer Ian. Will you bring me to him?"

As it turned out, Matthew couldn't. Ian
was nowhere in residence, and even the pages could not say where he had gone.
After a few fruitless inquiries, they determined that Matthew would escort
Jewels and Kit would speak to the Queen.

Escort
was the generous term for his role. The page girl
Monkshood guided them, her broad hare's feet thumping as she ran, because
neither one of them knew the way. Matthew would have left Jewels at the door if
she hadn't looked at him, small and shivering, and said "Please. I don't
want to be alone."

"For a little while," he said,
and followed her into the room. He left the door a little ajar, though. Just a crack,
enough for air and sound to filter through. "I'm sorry about Geoff. If I
could — "

Whatever he expected, it wasn't her
cracked, harsh laugh. "Would you? What? Take his place? Lily told me what
happened." Jewels snorted, and threw herself down on the bed.

Matthew sat beside her, trying not to
loom. "I'm sorry. But I can't make you believe that."

"Oh," she said, "I believe
it all right." She reached out blindly, without lifting her face from the
veil of hair puddled over it, and groped his knee. He took her hand between his
own and squeezed gently, then let it fall back on the covers. "But it
doesn't change anything, does it?"

He opened his mouth, but let the words die
unuttered. "He didn't want to be there," he said, when he'd had a
chance to find a way to say what he meant that sounded less like a
condemnation. She was a
child.
She didn't need to carry Geoff's death
around for the rest of her life. "I don't want to be here either, you
know. But we don't always get what we want."

Platitudes. Good work, Matthew.

Jewels stirred against the bedclothes,
pressing her cheek to cool satin-woven silk. "No." Her voice came out
half a mumble, distorted by the cloth and hair against her mouth. She sat up,
shook her ash-colored tangles from her face and held them back with one raised
hand, her elbow and upper arm a spiky angle against the sunlit window behind.
You want everything I've got, don't you? You want to be a normal person and
have a normal family—"

You have a normal family? "

Meant as a joke, but it fell between them
like a stone. "You mean my mother the drunk or my father the child
molester? Yeah, I've got a normal fucking family,
Matthew Magus.
And
you?"

Dead parents," he said, in a
colorless voice. "And a dead brother too, who got kidnapped by Faeries and
driven mad along the way. And an adopted mother who turned out to be the devil
incarnate. You know. The usual. I'm sorry for your pain."

He stood. It was grief, and she had every
right to her grief. But he had every right to
his
too, and the fact that
hers was fresher didn't make it right for her to claw his scabs.

"If I had your power," she said,
"you had better believe I'd use it. If I . . . Geoff wouldn't be
dead." "I believe you." The door was five steps away. He stopped
with a hand on it. "I'll send someone for you when Ian returns."

"Wait."

He waited. She stood, footsteps scuffing
on carpet, and came up behind him. One hand pressed the small of his back.
"But we're not so different, are we?"

He turned, aware that her hand slipped to
his hip, while the other one crept past him and pushed shut the door.
"Juliet," he said. "You're half my age. Have some wine and go to
bed."

"What's the legal drinking age in
Faerie?" She didn't step closer, and he folded his arms over his chest to
keep her away. "You have all that power and you won't use it — "

"Can't." He snapped his fingers.
"It's like trying to thread a needle with a Mack truck."

"There's a mental image." She
laid her hand on his barricaded arms, wrapped her fingers around one wrist, and
tugged. He permitted her to move him, unfolding his arms until his hands hung
by his sides. "So what would you give me if I could give
you
your
magic back? "

"Give
it back?"

"Sure." She tapped his chest
with two firm fingertips, wrinkling her nose at the face he made. "I haven't
any power of my own. But I
can
initiate. I cut you, give you back what
the unicorn took away. Christian told me," she said, answering the
question before he'd quite gotten his tongue around it.

"And what did Christian tell you to
trade it for?" Wary, a little amused. But, she thought, intrigued. Men
were fascinated by her: her scars, her ink, the metal lacing her flesh. And he
had a lot of ink of his own. She'd like to see it too.

His breath was warm on her face. A little
sour, but she hadn't had a chance to brush her teeth recently either, and he
smelled good, for a sweaty man. His skin was sweet. The careful diet that went
with those muscles, no doubt.

She stood on tiptoe, captured a fistful of
his hair, and kissed him on the mouth.

And he kissed her back, his bad hand a
warm knot in the curve of her back, his mouth soft and hesitant. And then he
put his other hand on her waist, straightened up, and gently and definitely set
her back two steps and a half. "Been kissed by more girls this week,"
he said. "You know, I think I should stick to this cologne." |
"You
don of a bitch."

"If you like. Whatever Christian
offered you, no."

She stared at him, and bit her lip. She
stepped forward —or tried. She'd have had more luck pushing a parked car than
shifting him. The
car
might have rocked when her weight hit it—and he
was only holding on to her with one and a half hands.

"Crap," Matthew said. "I
should have taken Kit up on it." "What?"

He sighed and straightened his arms,
pushing her back another half step. He flinched when her fingernails sank into
his wrists. "No. Just— no, okay?"

"You have power and you don't even
want
it. And I've got nothing. It's not fair!"

"No," Matthew said. "No,
it's not. Now back the hell up."

Matthew caught Kit by the elbow as he left
the throne room, and swung him to one side. The suits of armor—Matthew couldn't
even hear a breath to confirm they lived —on either side of the doors did not shift
their stance. "Fucus, Matthew?" Kit said, and brushed a fingertip
across the pink slickness unevenly coloring Matthew's mouth.

Matthew frowned at Kit's finger when he
held it up, then snorted and turned his head, unrepentant. "Juliet."

And wert thou her Romeo? No, I see not —
"

Come on." Matthew held on to Kit's
elbow and hauled him down the corridor, Kit stumbling in his haste. "Pick
on me later. Talk to me now. You mentioned a plan."

"Oh, aye. But not in these halls, I
think. Come with me." Then Matthew was hustling to keep up with Kit.
"Where are we going?"

"Hell. Where we can be assured of a
little privacy."

"In
Hell
?"

"The Devil does not eavesdrop,"
Kit said, with a wry half scowl. "He thinks it rude. And anyway, we'll need
his help."

" 'The prince of darkness is a
gentleman.' "

The scowl went to a smirk, as Kit paused
before a parlor. "Once there were no mirrors at all in Faerie, you know,
but things have changed since I've been gone —ah! We are in luck." He held
the door aside, and waved Matthew within. Matthew obeyed, pausing in the center
of a baroque and gilded room. "Sunday parlors always have mirrors, don't
they? Ready for your voyage, Matthew Magus?"

"Did you learn anything from
Elaine?"

Kit held a finger before his lips, and
gestured to the mirror. Matthew stepped up beside him, allowing Kit to clasp
his right wrist tightly. "I am at your disposal, Master Marlowe."