“Guess so.” She shifted the bag to her other arm, the contents rattling. “Don’t you know where you’re going?”
“Like I said, I’m looking for someone.”
“Right. Nice ears, by the way. Oberon’s bastards always did breed like rats.” She knelt to chuck the rose goblin under the chin. It hissed again and darted behind my legs. Smirking, she looked up, pupils narrowing to slits. “I think you’re looking for me.”
I was expecting something like that, and managed not to jump. Barely. “Are you . . . ?”
“The Luidaeg, yes. You’re a good guesser. Of course, you’re standing on my doorstep, so maybe it’s not such a guess. How’d you find me, anyway?” She sniffed the air, still crouching, and gave me a thoughtful look. “You stink of the Rose Roads. Not just one strain of roses, either—I can smell the Winterrose on you, and Luna’s line, as well as your own. Old roses and new roses . . .” She paused. “Maybe you’d better come inside.”
“I . . .”
“Look, if you’re not here to see me, you can stay out here. Whatever stupid quest you think you’re on can go unfulfilled; you haven’t made it my problem yet.” She straightened and dug a key out of her pocket. “But I’m going in before my ice cream melts.” Pushing open the door, she stepped into the darkness.
I stared after her until she stuck her head back out, asking, “Well? Are you coming?”
What was I supposed to say to the sea witch, terror of faerie children everywhere? No?
The apartment was dark, furnished with rejects from a hundred different thrift stores. Things moved in the shadows. I didn’t want to know what they were, anymore than I wanted to know the nature of the things crunching under my feet as I walked down the cluttered hallway. The rose goblin crept behind me, staying pressed against my ankles. I glanced down. It whined.
The Luidaeg pushed past, heading for the kitchen. “By the root and fucking branch, pick that thing up. It’ll start squalling like a baby if you don’t.”
I knelt, scooping the goblin into my arms. It made a cheeping noise and subsided, clinging. “How did you . . . ?”
“I’ve dealt with the little bastards before. They were an accident on the part of a niece of mine.” She reappeared in the kitchen door, a Diet Coke in one hand. “They’re all predictable—goblins
and
Oberon’s bastards. What do you want?”
“What?” I wasn’t keeping up. This whole thing had me off my guard.
“Want. What do you want? I mean, I’ve been expecting you, I just didn’t expect to see you so soon.” She popped the can open and took a swig. “It’s cool if you don’t want to say. I just hope you like my company, since we’re stuck here until you spill it.”
“How do you know I want something? Maybe I’m here because I’m grateful for the way you saved my life.” That was dangerously close to saying thank you—but she’d thanked me earlier. Maybe she was old enough that the restrictions didn’t apply.
Her laugh was bitter. “Like hell. The last time one of you thin-blooded bastards was grateful, I wound up getting chased halfway across the Summerlands by jerks with torches who said I’d enchanted the kid to make him serve me. I don’t need that shit. I don’t look for gratitude, and I don’t get it. If you’re here, you want something. What is it?”
The goblin in my arms whined. I resisted the urge to do the same. She laughed again. “Let me guess. I’m not what you were expecting, am I?”
“You’re a little more normal than I thought you’d be,” I admitted. I don’t lie to the Queen. Somehow, I thought the Luidaeg deserved the same courtesy.
“Of course I am.” She walked toward me until we were nearly nose-to-nose. “You came here looking for a monster, right? Well, I hate to disappoint. You’re Amandine’s daughter, aren’t you?” I nodded, and she smirked. “You’re more like your mama than she wanted you to be, and I bet you can roll the balance of the blood on your tongue like wine. Well, go ahead, baby doll. Give me a taste.”
Her eyes widened to fill the world, pupils expanding into endless darkness. Almost against my will I did as she commanded, looking deep to see what she was and what roads her blood had traveled. Deep, so deep . . .
. . . water and fire, blood and burning. She and her sisters were goddesses then, she and Black Annis and Gentle Annie, tending the younger children, roaming the bogs and rivers of the world. Maeve’s Firstborn, pulled from her in blood and screaming while Oberon walked far, far away. But they died one by one at the hands of men and fae, by iron and ash and rowan and fire they died, until the Luidaeg was the last, running, always running, called monster and demon because her blood was so much older and wilder than their own . . .
I ripped myself free of her eyes with a gasp, staggering backward. A final thought lashed across my vision, burning:
. . . did we lose it all for the roses? Oh, Mother, you
fool
. . .
My grip tightened on the goblin, and it hissed, raising its thorns just enough to prick my skin. Shuddering, I forced myself to calm down and relax my hold, still staring at the Luidaeg.
She looked at me, one brow arched. “Well?” she asked. “Know what I am yet?”
“I . . . you . . .” The answer was there, written in blood and ashes and Maeve’s despairing cries as she knelt on the graves of her daughters.The legends said the Luidaeg was a monster. They hadn’t warned me about why.
“Oberon was nowhere to be seen when my sisters and I were born. The year had turned; he was off tryst ing with his pretty Summer Queen. And neither of them raised a hand when their children, their perfect, pretty children, started hunting us down like dogs. We were my mother’s daughters, not Titania’s. They couldn’t be bothered.” Her smile was thin and bitter. “His law came down too late for us.”
“You’re Maeve’s daughter.” She was one of the Firstborn, the oldest denizens of Faerie, our foundations and beginnings. They’re all supposed to be dead or in hiding, not drinking Diet Coke in low-rent apartments in my hometown.
The Luidaeg smiled thinly. “And you’re Amandine’s. I was wondering how long it would take for a member of
that
line to bother tracking me down—although I’ll admit, your blood’s a bit thinner than I expected. Tried to fix matters on her own, did she? She always was brainless. Runs in the family.” She sipped her soda again. “Now you know what I am.”
“You’re no monster.”
“I was close enough for fairy tales.” The Luidaeg shook her head, and I realized I’d looked more deeply than she expected. Interesting. “I’m tired of this. What do you want? Tell me or get out.”
“You healed me.”
“And?”
“I know it wasn’t out of the goodness of your heart.”
“I hate debts.”
“Did you taste the curse?”
“Curse?” She grinned. “You mean that nasty binding the Winterrose slapped on you? Oh, yeah, I tasted it. That’s one of the meaner pieces of work I’ve seen this century. She really pulled out the stops on
that
one. Always was a nasty bitch, that one.”
“Is there a way out of it?”
“Sure. Fulfill it.”
“Is there any other way?”
“What, it wasn’t clear enough for you?” She cleared her throat. When she spoke again her voice was Evening’s, clipped and cruel: “Find the answers, October Daye, find the reasons and find the one who caused this, or find only your own death.” She paused, and her voice was her own again. “The Winterrose is good at what she does. There’s no loophole.”
That was exactly what I hadn’t wanted to hear. “So I’m trapped.”
“Yep.” She sat down on a rickety chair, crossing her legs. “I just can’t figure out how she got you to drink her blood. It wouldn’t be nearly this strong if you hadn’t done that.”
I winced. No point in lying now. “I did that on my own, actually.”
The Luidaeg blinked. “You were that stupid by
yourself?
Wonderful. Amandine’s line is going to die out all on its own. I won’t have to lift a finger.”
“I didn’t know,” I protested, filing her comment away for later examination.
“That you were cursed? Yeah, because that’s not something
I
would have noticed.”
“No, that drinking her blood would make the curse stronger.”
“They don’t teach kids anything anymore.” She took a long drink of her Diet Coke. “In my day, you’d never have lived this long without knowing how to make your enemies rot from the inside out.”
“There’s a pleasant image.”
“I thought so. What do you want from me? I can’t break a curse spun by the Winterrose. It’s against the rules.”
“I want information.”
That sparked her interest. She straightened, pushing her hair back with a hand that seemed to glisten. Her entire body was starting to gleam, like it was covered by a thin patina of oil. The changes were subtle, but they were happening steadily, her human disguise being shucked away. I was almost afraid to see what was underneath.“Information, huh? You should know I don’t work cheap.”
“That isn’t a problem.”
“What can you give me?”
I shifted the rose goblin to one arm as I dug into the pocket of my jeans, coming up with Evening’s key. The metal burst into sudden, rosy luminescence. I fought the urge to flinch. “This is . . .”
The Luidaeg stood, cutting me off mid-word. “A key to the summer roads. An old one.” She held out one hand, demanding, “Give it to me.”
“Tell me what I need to know.”
“How much?”
“Everything.”
She eyed me. “Three questions, three true answers, and you give me the key.”
“Four. All true, and you don’t count a question unless I say it’s part of the game.”
“Four, and you answer one for me.”
“Done.”
“I’ll even give you a freebie before you start: I don’t know who decided to prune the Winterrose. Now ask away.” The Luidaeg settled in her chair again.
That took out my first question, and any chance of an easy answer. Crap. I’ve never been very good at guessing games. “First question: what exactly is a hope chest?”
She blinked at me, surprised. “A hope chest?” she echoed. When I nodded she asked, “A real one or an imitation?”
“Is that your question?”
“No, that’s me getting the information I need to answer you,” she said, sourly. “Clarification is in the rules, remember? Now, is it a real hope chest?”
“I think so.”
“The four sacred woods interlocked, carved with knives of water and air? Did it burn your fingers when you touched it?”
“How did you know I’d—”
“Come off it. You really think I can’t see the signs, once I look for them? What is it? What can it do? Well, first off, the stories are true—some of them, anyway. The first hope chest was a gift from Oberon to Tita nia, to allow her to adjust her Court to her desire. She passed it along to the first of her half-blood children, and somewhere along the line, there were more of them. No one knows who made the later ones.
I
don’t know, so don’t ask.
“A hope chest can shift the balance of the blood. So, yes, it can make you human, if that’s what you were thinking; it can also take you the other way.” Her smile was sharp. “I don’t recommend that road, Amandine’s daughter. You’re not ready for the consequences yet.”
“Oh,” I whispered. I’d touched it: I’d held the power to choose one world over the other. Why did that scare me? “Next question: why did you heal me?”
“Devin paid me.” The Luidaeg shrugged, tossing her empty can aside. “They were going to burn me at the stake about sixty years ago, and he managed to stave it off. I’ve owed him since them. He gave me a chance to pay that debt, and I took it.”
“Iron wounds?”
“I won’t even charge you for that one, half-blood. I wanted my freedom pretty bad.” She shook her head. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, any kind of captivity is chafing.”
“Did he tell you why?” It was a shot in the dark: there were only so many roads this could go down, and none of them looked good. At least I was probably safe on this one.
The Luidaeg smiled. “Oh. Finally, a good question.”
“What?” I didn’t like that smile.
“Why did he ask me to heal you? Why did he let a demon out of his debt for something so small? He said,” she continued in Devin’s voice, “I’m not done with her yet. She hasn’t found it. Now heal her, or I’ll see you burn!” She chuckled, returning to her own voice. “Like he could. Jerk.”
The bottom dropped out of the world. “What?”
“Don’t like that answer? Sorry; I promised you the truth. How you take it is up to you. Last question.”
I stared at her. She smiled. Then I swallowed, hard. I knew what came next, but that didn’t stop me from wishing I could ask her for just one more thing: just one bit of proof that my sudden suspicion was wrong. “No,” I said, and tossed her the key.
She caught it, blinking. “No? What do you mean
no
?”