Wander The Night, page 24
Tamary answers anyway. “Finon called. I had to—” she says, dropping out of Elvish.
“Ach-y-fi, child,” the woman exclaims. “I’ve no interest in your excuses. It could’ve waited till morning, and even if not, you could’ve told me about it.”
Tamary hitches her shoulders. “Sorry, Nain.”
The woman’s eyes soften, and she sighs. “Whatever to do with you?” Then her eyes find me past Tamary’s shoulder. “And what’ll this creature be you’ve dragged home?”
“Finon implied there was an interesting story to this one,” she says, glancing back at me. “Says he’s Robin Goodfellow.”
“The one from...?” She trails off, studying me. I’d be flattered by all the recent attention if I weren’t so bruised because of it.
“Yeah, that one,” Tamary says. “I wouldn’t have believed it but for the whole ‘no lies’ rule.”
“I suppose Finon was right then, considering,” the woman says, ushering us the rest of the way inside. “I am keen to hear this story.”
The interior of the house is quaint, a little old-fashioned in decor, with a living room and kitchen to the left. On the right, on the other side of the staircase, the door is open to a bedroom decorated with the same ruffled curtains and rose pattern as the rest of the downstairs.
The woman, Tamary’s grandmother, is petite, with kind eyes and grey hair in a fishtail braid over her shoulder. She’s wearing a nightgown. She puts off a general grandmotherly vibe, but something about her suggests a sharpness beneath the lace edges.
She guides me into the living room while Tamary takes off her shoes by the door.
“Tell him he may call me Sophie,” the woman says to Tamary, gesturing me to a floral sofa. She takes a seat in a blush-colored armchair across from a glass coffee table.
“I speak English,” I point out before Tamary can translate.
I study her, this woman called Sophie, a dozen questions on my tongue. She raises her eyebrows in acknowledgment. I don’t sit down.
“You’re Welsh?” I ask first, trying to place her accent and remembering what Tamary said about her family. The accent’s not Irish and not quite English, though it sounds closer to the latter.
“I am,” Sophie says, regarding me with an almost-smile. “You’re a pwca.” She uses the Welsh word for puck. It isn’t a question.
“Pwcas have black hair and yellow eyes, Nain,” Tamary says from where she stares at me from the threshold between the foyer and the living room.
“I’m not full-blooded,” I say, glancing at her with a raised brow. I turn back to Sophie. “You seem awfully trustworthy of someone you don’t know. What makes you think I won’t harm you?”
Sophie tilts her head. “Will you?”
Her response isn’t what I expected. “I’m not planning to,” I say, brows furrowed, “But that’s not the point.”
“I’m aware. Besides, you can’t—harm us, I mean.” She gestures to the room. “Not in this house, at least. Finon has it glamoured, warded against any harm that could come to us from the fey. Your own glamour must not be working very well, or else you’d have noticed it.”
My cheeks heat with the reminder. “And what about me? I doubt the wards work in reverse. How do I know if you’re trustworthy?”
Sophie shrugs in nonchalance. “You’re right. Not that we have ill intent, but I’ll make you a deal if it makes you feel better. A trade. A safe stay for the night in exchange for your story. Finon, it seems, thought it worth my time, and it’s been some while since I heard a good tale.”
I think the offer over. Finon seemed to believe Tamary would be able to help me, and I have nowhere else to go right now. I’ll play it carefully and see how it goes.
“Sounds fair,” I concede, finally taking a seat on the sofa. “We have a deal.” The familiar tingle of a bargain made pricks across my skin.
Tamary comes the rest of the way into the room and perches on the arm of Sophie’s chair. Sophie casts her a disapproving glare but says nothing. Their eyes both focus on me.
I take a deep breath and leave out some of the details, as many as I can.
I tell them about Kavi and Titania and Mab’s anger. I tell them about my ill-fated rescue attempt and Oberon’s arrival and our exile. I tell them about Oberon’s death and my bound glamour and my plan to retake the throne. I tell them I’m looking for a way back into Faerie, that Finon said they might know the location of an open gate.
I don’t tell them about Isobel or Mustardseed or Moth. I don’t tell them about Ariel. I don’t tell them I have no idea what I’m doing, and everything is going to hell in a handbasket.
I tell them what they might need to know, and that’s it. They might seem benevolent, but I’ve spent several human lifetimes in a place that teaches you nice isn’t always good. Sometimes, nice is just a cover for the wolf pretending to be Grandma.
“That’s quite a tale,” Sophie says when I’ve finished. “I sense there are some things you’re leaving out, but I trust they’re minor details.”
I shrug. “You’ll forgive me the caution, I’m sure.”
“Of course, dear.” And she sounds so much like a grandmother when she says it that it makes something in my chest ache.
Tamary leaves her perch, expression intrigued. Her mouth opens to question or comment, but she doesn’t get the chance to speak. Apparently having decided I’m worthy of her attention, she plops down next to me on the sofa.
The sharp shift in weight distribution seesaws my end of the sofa, just enough, and causes me to bounce a little. Fractured ribs grate against each other, sending a bright flash of pain through my chest. I gasp at the sensation, and the sudden intake of air makes the bones expand before I can brace myself.
My vision whites for a moment. When it returns, I’m doubled over, arms wrapped around my torso, head resting atop my knees. My shallow breaths wheeze against my legs. Each one I take feels like a knife to the lungs.
Sophie is kneeling in front of me, one hand resting on my back, the other on my knee. To my left, still on the sofa, Tamary hovers, tense and still as if she’s afraid to move. I’m certainly afraid for her to move.
“Are you all right?” Sophie asks. “What’s wrong?”
The cynical side of my mind points out that if she wanted to do me harm, now would be a good opportunity. But really, she sounds kind of concerned.
“Queen Mab isn’t well known for her mercy,” I say through gritted teeth. I force myself up with caution, sagging against the back of the sofa. “It’ll heal.”
Sophie regards me with a hum. “Sit still for a moment.”
She reaches toward me, and her hands run over my sides. Her fingers ghost over cracks beneath skin, and I bite down on a yelp of pain. She draws her hands back, a decisive look on her face.
“Fetch me an ice pack, Tamary, dear,” she says, tossing a glance at her granddaughter.
“Yes, ma’am,” Tamary says. She eases up from the sofa and goes to the kitchen.
Sophie wraps a hand around my upper arm and tugs. “Come on. There’ll be time to reclaim kingdoms in the morning, my little faerie prince.”
And that would sound like an insult from someone else, but it sounds oddly endearing from her. Perhaps it’s the accent that does it.
I stand, unsure of her intention. “What are you doing?”
I let her lead me toward the stairs and up.
“I’m old, and you’re hurt,” she says. “A good night’s rest will do us both some good, and we’ll continue where we left off in the morning.”
“The fey are nocturnal.”
Upstairs, there are three rooms. One is a bathroom, and one is a bedroom. The door to the third is closed, but I assume it must belong to Tamary by process of elimination. Sophie leads me into the other bedroom, evidently the guest room Tamary mentioned earlier. The decor is almost twins to the bedroom downstairs, which I suppose must belong to Sophie herself.
“I’m well aware of that,” she says, crossing her arms. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of faerie creatures, and you’ll do as you’re bid if you don’t wish to join the ranks of the ones I’ve wrangled in the past.”
And then I realize something, the little feeling I’ve been picking up from her that I couldn’t quite place.
“You’re a witch,” I blurt in surprise.
Her mouth quirks at the corners. “Somewhat of one, yes.”
Tamary comes into the room and hands an ice pack to Sophie, who in turn offers it to me.
“Use this, and don’t think about any funny business during the night.” She waves a finger as I take the pack from her hand. “I’ve raised teenagers. I can sense when doors or windows are opened.”
I smile in spite of everything. I don’t even know if what she claims is true, but I can’t help but find myself charmed—figuratively speaking, hopefully—by this old woman.
Sophie bids a good night and then shuffles Tamary out of the room. Tamary slips into her own room and closes the door back, and I hear Sophie’s footfalls going down the stairs.
I take off my boots and lie back on the bed with a sigh. The ice pack stings with cold when I set it against my ribs, but I fight the desire to remove it.
I’ve only been awake a few hours, but the bed is soft and my eyelids are heavy. Sleep drags me under before I can even think to fight it.
SCENE 10
The sound of a car alarm wakes me from a dream that slips away when I try to remember it. I’ve spent enough recent days or nights sleeping in strange new places that the unfamiliar surroundings don’t bother me as much as they possibly should. The room is still dark, so I can’t determine the time or how long I’ve been asleep.
I’m lying on my back, my subconscious aware enough on some level to keep me still while I slept. At some point, I must have gotten cold, as the blankets have been uprooted from the mattress and wrapped over me. The ice pack is still frozen where it lies against my ribs, and I wonder if Sophie might have enchanted it to prevent it from warming. That explanation is preferable to the other that comes to mind. I don’t like to think it’s been replaced without my awareness.
Holding the pack in place, I toss off the blankets and lever myself up to find my boots. Once they’re on—a painstaking process when you’re trying not to bend down—I cross to the window and pull the curtain aside to see if I can figure out the time. Dazzling sunlight bursts into the room, blinding me, and I shut my eyes against it and drop the curtain back into place. Blackout fabric. Figures.
I leave the room and head downstairs to see if the others are awake. Sophie is standing at the kitchen counter, visible from the living room. She’s dicing some kind of herb or vegetable, but I can’t tell what kind from where I am.
“Good morning,” she says, amusingly cheerful for someone with a knife in their hand.
“Afternoon,” Tamary corrects from behind the screen of a laptop. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, feet crossed beneath her in the chair.
Sophie gives a long-suffering sigh. She doesn’t comment, just continues speaking to me. “Hungry, dear?”
“Actually, I should probably get going,” I say, thumbing over my shoulder toward the door. I set the ice pack on the counter. “I appreciate the help.”
Sophie looks at the pack, and then at me. “And where is it, all of a sudden, you should ‘get going’ to?” she asks.
Something is implied in her tone, but I don’t know her well enough to know what it is.
A nervous laugh escapes me. “An open gate won’t just find itself.”
A grey brow rises. “You won’t be finding one either at the rate you’re going.”
“Excuse me?” I say, confused and slightly shocked.
“You’ll not get far ill-prepared and relying on dumb luck,” she says, setting her knife down and facing me fully. “You’re quite obviously hurt, I can tell you’re tired, and you’ve no plan beyond ‘find an open gate.’ Not to mention, you look half-starved.”
Tamary snorts, apparently amused, and I shoot a dark look toward her before I can think to stop myself. She averts her eyes, unfazed and biting back a grin.
Sophie turns her gaze to the ceiling. “Haven’t you a final paper to complete, Tamary?”
Tamary sighs quietly. “Yes, Nain.”
“Now then,” Sophie continues, and I return my attention to her, “I want to help you. Really. But I’m not about to let you run off as you are. You won’t last a week.”
I bristle. “You say you want to help—”
“And I mean that,” she interrupts. “I know you don’t trust me, and you haven’t reason to.” Her eyes are soft. “But you’ll have to trust someone if you want to get very far in this world, or any other world for that matter.”
I study her, trying to gauge her words. “And in return…?”
“You owe us nothing. I know fey culture works differently, but sometimes, people are capable of doing something without the promise of reward.”
“Why do you care?” And it sounds wrong, different than I meant it, but I don’t understand. Why does she care?
She smiles, breathing out a laugh that’s nearly inaudible. “I suppose I have a soft spot for strays. And perhaps you remind me a bit of someone very dear to me.” She shrugs, seemingly attempting to look innocent. “Coincidentally, that someone may also possess access to an open gate.”
“She will wind up adopting you,” Tamary says, watching us with a grin. Her cheek rests against her hand, elbow propped on the table. “You might as well not bother resisting. Besides, she’s a good cook.”
For the first time since meeting her—as short a span as it is—I feel as though I’m glimpsing the real Tamary, the girl behind the mask. The grin on her face isn’t sarcastic or fake right now, her tone not jaded.
“What’s this?” Sophie asks her. “Attached to him already?” She leans over to me and stage whispers, “She likes to play at being a loner, but she’s actually quite fond of the fey.”
“Nain!” Tamary gasps, appalled. Her eyes are wide with betrayal. “I’m attempting hospitality. Where else will he go if he decides we’re crazy?”
Unintentional as it is, her question hits hard. Where else could I go?
Something of my thoughts must show on my face. Sophie pats my arm, sympathy in her eyes.
“Aren’t you tired of running, dear?” she says. “It’s not the hare that wins the race.”
She isn’t wrong, and that’s the awful part of it. I have no plans, no allies within reach, and little energy. Willpower is the only thing I’m running on—have been running on—and that can only get you so far. If I refuse help, refuse potential allies, and fail, what will any of it have been worth? I can’t do this alone, and this will hardly be the first—or last—risk I take when this is all over.
“Her cooking really is good,” Tamary remarks, mirth in her voice.
“Oh, hush, you,” Sophie says, rounding on her.
A laugh bubbles up, and I can’t stop it from slipping out. “Well,” I say, shrugging, “I am a little hungry.”
Sophie beams at me. “I’ll bet you are,” she says and sets to work.
SCENE 11
I spend the next several days sleeping far more than I probably should. But the bed is soft and warm and safe, and I’ve spent a while being none of those things. So if I indulge while I can, who’s to judge me? And if Sophie wants to feed me too, then all the better.
Given the circumstances, I like to think I’m handling things relatively well. It could definitely be worse, and it helps that I have a plan.
Well, some semblance of a plan, at least.
One morning, my fourteenth as a houseguest if anyone were to be counting, I can hear Sophie and Tamary’s argument from upstairs. Not all the individual words, but the hum of their voices carries. Granted, the house isn’t overly large. Rather the opposite, really. Still, it’s an argument on repeat, so I know what’s being said even if I can’t hear every word. I’ve heard it multiple times, and I’m sure there have been other times I haven’t heard it.
As it turns out, Sophie has a sister. That’s not entirely true. Sophie had a sister. A twin sister, to be precise. And then that sister was taken from her bedroom in the dark of night by faeries. Sophie and her sister were little when it happened, little enough that Sophie doesn’t even remember her real sister, just the creature that took her sister’s place.
So, as far as Sophie is concerned, she has a sister. Her sister just happens to be a faery changeling.
When they were growing up, Sophie and Hattie were normal enough, though strange things would happen around the two of them, things that people couldn’t explain.
“My parents never treated her any differently,” Sophie tells me over dinner one evening. “I think they always knew something was off about her. A mother always knows, deep down. But they loved her. We moved to America when we were in secondary school. High school, they call it here. Our father had gotten a job opportunity, with the research he was doing at the time.
“When we grew up, Hattie moved to Scotland, said there was a place for her there. Her kind, the fey folk, had asked her to guard something for them, she said. Truth be told, I don’t think she ever felt like she really belonged anywhere. This gave her a way to keep a foot in each world, as it was.”
“What was she sent to guard?” I ask. “Did she tell you?”
A gleam comes into Sophie’s eye as she answers. “She was asked to guard a gate into the faerie world. And it’s an open one, dear.”
There’s a place in Scotland, part of some kind of park. Located within the area is a faerie gate. Sophie contacted her sister shortly after fate dumped me on her literal doorstep, and Hattie confirmed that it is, indeed, an open gate, and she would agree to let me use it as long as we didn’t bring up her name to anyone fey.
It’s a start at a plan. If I can at least get back into Faerie, I can go from there. Maybe I’ll be able to find someone powerful enough to undo the bind on my glamour. I wish either Oberon or I had thought of this while Mab led us to our exile, but we were both too focused on the immediate situation. Afterwards, even more so.
