The Girl Who Never Was (20 page)

central room, relaxed, telling Gussie to relax. I was becoming a Seelie, just like Gussie had said, and that would have been that prophecy fulfilled, the Seelies would have cemented power, they would have been in power forever, naming innocent faeries who had done nothing just because they could.

And I know my mother had relaxed upon seeing me relaxed. I don't want to signal in any way that I am now back to thinking about the other prophecy, the one where I escape and I destroy this court.

I think of all the things that people have told me about the Seelie Court. I remember. I remember the little girl whose parents had been stolen and who was just trying so desperately to protect her little brother. I remember Safford, condemned for no reason. I remember Ben, wet and shivering and dependent on me to find our way out of here. I remember my aunts, trembling in Boston, terrified to live because of the threat of the Seelies hanging over us. I remember my father, driven mad by my mother for the crime of wanting a baby.

And I remember all the faeries I haven't met, all the creatures dwelling in the Otherworld just trying to go about normal lives, trying to live, the way Ben's father had been in his sunny, meadow world. How many more of them are there out there? And does it really all depend on me getting out of here, to give them their lives, to let them love and laugh and do as they please, to let them go where they wish and see the things they wish to see and protect their little brothers and adore their little daughters?

If it is all depending on me, on my choice, then I have to make it. I have to make the right one.

When I get to my room, I go to my windowless window. I stare out at the ocean. I close my hands around the history book pages in my sweatshirt pocket. I don't want to forget. I am not going to forget. Words have power, I think, so I say it out loud, to the sea and the sky.

'I am Selkie Stewart,'I say firmly. 'I am not Seelie. I am not ogre. I am simply me. Selkie Stewart of Boston.'

It happens then, something flying toward me, at first just a dark speck against the sky, and then it gets closer and closer.

It's a bat.

It lands right on my windowsill and sits there, frowning at me and, granted, my acquaintance with bats is a severely limited one, but I have only met one type of bat that looks this grouchy.

Could the Sewing Circle reach me here? They're connected to the Otherworld, I know, but could a bat get through to Tir na nOg? Is a bat a faerie? Maybe a bat's not not a faerie? And maybe that's enough? My head hurts.

I kneel next to the windowsill and stare intently at the bat, as if it is going to start talking. It would be very convenient if it turned out to be a talking bat. But it just keeps on frowning at me, stubbornly silent.

'Are you from the Boston Sewing Circle?'I whisper.

The bat blinks at me. Maybe it's Morse code or something.

Too bad I don't know Morse code. I should have grabbed a Morse code dictionary to put in my pocket to take on this trip with me. You have to know a lot of random stuff to have a successful adventure, I think, and then wonder vaguely if I'm on the verge of becoming completely hysterical.

'Can you get a message out of here for me?'I ask, still keeping my voice to a whisper.

The bat blinks again.

I chew on my lower lip and consider. It's the best chance I have, I decide. Maybe this is some kind of Seelie bat. Maybe nothing is going to happen. But maybe it is from the Boston Sewing Circle. On the other hand, can I even trust the Boston Sewing Circle? The Threader and I didn't part on the best of terms. But I don't know what else to do, what my other options might be.

I scramble to my feet and tear toward the desk in the room, wondering if it will have mundane things in it like paper and pen. It does, even if the pen is a feather pen that has to be dipped in an inkwell. Good enough. My luck is holding. Maybe this is part of the prophecy kicking into gear.

I frown at the lantern perched on top of the desk, wondering how it works, wanting to be able to see better as I try to make a silver bough. I lean forward, intending to feel around for a switch of some sort, but it flares into light with a noise like the striking of a match as soon as I touch it.

Convenient, I think, and then I pull out of my pocket the shard of glass wrapped in tissue and the threaded needle. Well. Here goes nothing.

I need a Threader needle, a piece of glass, and my blood, I think. I unwrap the glass and position my finger over it, and then I carefully prick my finger with the needle. A droplet of blood wells up at the tip of my finger and then drops to the glass. And the glass glows white-hot. I half expect it to be hot to the touch when I reach out to smear the blood along it. It is not, but it seems to drink in my blood, and its glow fades to a faint throb. With any luck, I have just made a silver bough. Although it still just looks like a piece of broken glass. Maybe 'silver bough'is meant figuratively. Metaphorically. Poetically.

I dip the pen in the inkwell and press it to the paper. This is a silver bough, I write. I feel like that needs to be explained; I wouldn't know what to make of this package if I received it. I certainly would never guess that this piece of nondescript broken glass is a silver bough. Come to Tir na nOg right away. Bring a church bell. 'Selkie.

It takes an excruciatingly long time to write these few sentences. I do not know how people dealt with having to dip their pens in ink all the time. And it keeps leaving huge blobs of ink all over the place. But finally, I finish the note. I make sure it's legible through the inkblots then carefully fold it around the piece of glass, making it as secure as I can. Then I write on the front, very clearly, in all caps, TRUE STEWART. VIRTUE STEWART. ETHERINGTON STEWART. WILLIAM BLAXTON. C/O BOSTON / PARSYMEON. I underline all of it, just to make sure.

I walk over to the bat. 'This needs to go to my aunts. Or Will Blaxton. Whoever you can find. And if you can't find one of them, then my father. But it would be better with my aunts or Will Blaxton.'I enunciate exaggeratedly. The bat looks offended at this. But then again, the bat always looks vaguely offended. I pierce through the piece of paper with the Threader's needle and use the string to tie it around the bat's leg. The bat stands patiently until I am done, and then I remind it, 'The Stewarts of Boston. Or Parsymeon. Whatever. They're ogres. Or William Blaxton. He's a wizard. I think.'

If a bat could huff with indignation, this bat would. But it simply takes flight, and I watch it, until the moment when it seems to disappear into the sky'hopefully flying into the world where there is Boston.

Maybe help is on the way. I curl up on the windowsill and look at the outline of the island on the horizon.

Dawn comes again, another night done. I don't dare tempt fate by seeking out Ben again. I want my mother to think I am forgetting, relaxing, becoming a Seelie. I want her to think it is her prophecy coming true. I go to eat breakfast, but this time I am determined not to relax, determined not to forget. I make myself keep thinking of Ben, keep thinking of my plan. If I have sent a silver bough to Boston, then someone will be coming, and I need to be prepared. I need to be ready.

Gussie sits next to me. She still looks pale and tired and drawn. The display of naming the day before'or the hour before, because who knows how time is moving?'helped neither of us.

I am on the verge of saying something supportive when my mother screams. And when I say she screams, I mean she screams, a shriek rising up above us, expanding, feeling as if it is sucking all of the air out of the room.

My mother lunges at me. She is contorted with fury, shaking with it, the gold circle on her tipped at a seasick angle, her hair flying out around her head, and I shrink back from her automatically.

'Who did you send a message to?'she bellows at me.

'W-what?'I stammer, scrambling away from her.

'You sent a message!'I can feel all of the members of the Seelie Court staring at the two of us but with only a mild sort of interest, as if they are finally relieved to have a diversion. 'A bat from the Boston Sewing Circle managed to escape the Seelie Court with a message! I know it was you! Who did you send it to? What did it say?'She reaches forward to grab me, and I recoil, and she hits a barrier.

At least, that's what it looks like. Like there's an invisible wall between her and me, and she cannot reach me behind it. Her eyes widen in shock. She claws at the invisible wall, letting out another scream of frustrated fury.

Ben's enchantment, I realize. Still holding.

We stare at each other, and I smile for the first time in a very long time. The light in the room fades. Pandemonium breaks out. The Seelies start stampeding over each other, shrieking in obvious terror. My mother stares up at the sky, face even whiter than usual. I look up as well, but all I see is a fluffy white cloud, drifting in front of the sun, bathing us in momentary shade.

My mother whirls from me, dashing away.

Fear is a sudden, cold, hard knot in my stomach. Where is she going? I stumble forward, grabbing at my mother, reaching for anything, just one of the tiny bells on the hem of her dress, just to catch her and slow her, but she is, of course, far too quick. I am running full-speed and can barely keep her in my sight, and I need to keep her in my sight. I am aware if I

lose her, I will never be able to find her in the enchanted labyrinth of hallways and then I won't know what she is doing. 'Stop!'I shout, breathless. I do not expect her to listen to me, but I cannot just do nothing.

I run into the cell just as my mother draws to a halt in front of Ben. Ben is standing up and facing her, and I think that he must have sensed something is going on. He looks wary but also a bit befuddled. Then my mother raises her hand and shouts, 'Benedict Will o'the Wisp Celador Le Fay!'

It seems that it happens in slow motion. Ben's eyes widen in obvious shock, and he wheels backward, losing his balance entirely. For a moment, I think he is going to tip into the moat, but I react without knowing I am going to. I am still running hard enough to make the leap over the moat easily, and my fist closes into the layers he is wearing and tugs him back just before he falls.

He meets my eyes for a split second, and he looks thoroughly stunned. I am not even sure he recognizes me. He tips forward and staggers, and he is too heavy for me to hold up, and he falls to his hands and knees, and he is coughing violently, choking, and I stand frozen, staring down at him at my feet, too cold and horrified, and anyway, what else can I do? She has just named him, and I am going to watch him dissolve, drift into madness, right here in front of me.

And then the most amazing thing happens. Ben stops coughing. He takes one wheezing breath and then another

deeper one. I look from him to my mother, confused and uncertain. Is something else supposed to happen?

My mother stares at him. 'You have a hidden name,'she whispers. And then she shouts it. 'You have a hidden name! '

Ben lifts his head up. He is breathing heavily, but he is clearly recovering. It shows in his eyes, which are very bright, gleaming, a clear, crystal blue. And he smiles at my mother, a smile that is more like a smirk, a smile that is full of victory and smugness and pride. 'She was the best enchantress in the Otherworld,'he says. 'Did you really think she wouldn't find a way to protect her only child?'

My mother's eyes darken, flash with fury, like an entire thunderstorm is going on in her head. 'Tell me what it is! 'she screams at Ben.

'That doesn't seem likely to happen,'remarks Ben, 'does it?'

With another exclamation of rage, she flings her arm through the air, and I am knocked off-balance by an enormous wave of water that sweeps onto the stone where I am standing. I catch myself before I tumble, but Ben crumples, gasping for breath, and I realize instantly that it is far too much water for him after all of those names.

'Stop it,'I shout at my mother, kneeling in front of him to try to absorb most of the second wave rising up over us, trying futilely to keep it from breaking over him.

'Selkie,'he gasps. 'I can't'I can't''His eyes are on my sweatshirt, and I realize instantly what he's trying to tell me.

The waves stop. In fact, the water in the moat stops

moving at all. The only sound in the room is Ben's terrible, tearing breathing.

I look from Ben to my mother. Her eyes are riveted on my sweatshirt. She can see it. His enchantment is broken.

She smiles. 'Benedict,'she croons at him, and he actually groans out loud in reaction. 'I've been going too easy on you. I thought you were fading rather quickly. Your mother lasted much longer. What a pretty little enchantment. It's a pity you don't use your power for good, it really is. Ah, well. Benedict Will o'the Wisp Celador Le Fay, you were the last of a once great and noble line.'

Ben does not respond. He is curled onto his side, shuddering with every breath he takes. She waves a hand, and it begins pouring onto us. Ben curls into a tighter ball. I kneel next to him, not sure what to do, not sure when help will arrive, not sure if anyone ever got my message, if anyone is even coming.

'Leave him,'says my mother. 'And come with me. Face me without an enchantment. He cannot help you now.'

I know he can't. And I know it's up to me. I need to think of something.

I leap over the moat, and for the first time, I realize that I'm crying.

'Come along,'says my mother, her hand encircling my wrist, pulling me along.

'Can't you make it less cold in there for him?'I beg through my tears. 'Can't you make it warmer for him? He hates being

cold; he hates it so much, please.'It is not difficult to pretend to be hysterical'I think that I pretty much am. But I am hoping beyond hope that my mother will take the bait here. It is the best I can do, get her to think that maybe snow would be worse for Ben than rain. I have no idea if Ben can recover from an almost-f naming and a thorough soaking, but I've got to give him a fighting chance, and getting rid of the rain is the only thing I can think of.