Late Eclipses

SEVENTEEN

ISAT ON A BENCH NEAR THE LAKE, drinking a fresh cup of coffee as I waited for Raj. The sun glittering off the water made it seem transparent and impossibly blue at the same time. Most of California gets too hot in May, but not San Francisco; the “perfect summers” they talk about in movies really happen here. I wished I’d thought to bring bread for the ducks. It was a stupid, escapist idea, but it was a beautiful day, and my head hurt, and I was so tired of running.

A fat gray goose waddled over, webbed feet slapping the ground, and gave me an inquisitive look. “Sorry, no bread,” I said. It flapped its wings, spraying water in my eyes. It stung. I wiped my face dry, laughing. “I guess I deserved that, huh?”

Something in the bushes rustled. The goose hissed, neck snaking out, before waddling away. I stiffened, forcing myself not to turn around. Humans notice beautiful days, too, and the park was full of tourists. Stabbing one of them wouldn’t help.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m in a pretty rotten mood, so you might want to move along. And I don’t have any spare change.”

“I … ” The speaker paused, clearing his throat. “I don’t want any spare change.”

I knew that voice. I turned, flashing a small, tired smile. “Hi, Raj.”

“Hi.” Raj stepped out of the bushes, clutching a package wrapped in white butcher paper against his chest. His human disguise was flickering, barely covering the points of his ears. He hadn’t bothered to hide the circles around his eyes or the tearstains on his cheeks. With half the Court down for the count, Tybalt had to have been working him pretty hard. Just another consequence of being a prince, but one I was glad I didn’t have to bear.

“Is that the meat that got everyone sick?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He held out the package, eyes wide and vacant. I’d seen that look on his face before, when he thought we were going to die in Blind Michael’s lands. “He said to let us know if you need more. There isn’t much, but he won’t get rid of it until you say you don’t need it.”

“Good.” I took the package, putting it down on the bench. “Are you all right?”

He glanced away. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.” I studied his face. “Is Tybalt working you too hard? Do you need me to talk to him?”

“It’s my duty as Prince to follow my King’s commands.” He should have sounded proud when he said that. He didn’t. He just sounded numb.

“Hey, if Tybalt’s being a dick, tell your parents you need him to lay off and let you get some sleep. They’ll talk to him.” He froze, and I realized what the missing piece had to be. “Raj, are your parents … ”

He stared at me before crumpling to the bench, already sobbing. I put my arms around him, and he clung to them like they were the only anchor he had, crying even harder. I started stroking his hair. I know what it’s like to lose someone; the last thing you need when you’re grieving is some well-meaning moron telling you it’s going to be all right. It’s not going to be all right. It’s never going to be all right again.

Raj cried for a good fifteen minutes before he pulled away, stiffening. I shook my head, leaning over to brush his bangs out of his eyes. “You don’t have to do that,” I said. “I don’t mind.”

“I’m not supposed to cry,” he said, in a dull, wounded voice. “Princes don’t cry.”

“Did Tybalt tell you that?” There was a time when I wouldn’t have asked. I was learning I didn’t understand Tybalt as well as I’d always assumed I did.

He shook his head. “It was my father.”

“Your father?” I echoed, irrationally pleased to hear that it hadn’t been Tybalt.

“He says I’ll never be King if I’m weak enough to cry.”

I frowned. “Crying isn’t weak. It’s good sense. It means you know it’s all right to mourn the dead and let them go.”

“I guess,” he said, looking down. “If you say so. But he said I shouldn’t.”

“I do say so.” I paused. “If your father’s alive—”

“My mother.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Her blood was weak. She was a pureblood, but she wasn’t strong. That’s why I was such a surprise. She couldn’t even be human when she was pregnant with me, because she was so weak.”

“I’ve known some people like that,” I said. “Being a pureblood doesn’t always mean you’ll have strong magic.” Usually, but not always.

“You have to have strong magic to be noble, and she didn’t,” he said, huddling against me again. “She almost always hunted, because she was proud. But she got hit by a car a week ago, and her leg was broken, and so … ” He stopped.

“So she ate the tainted meat with the others,” I finished softly.

“Yeah. She fell down, and she wouldn’t open her eyes, and we called Uncle Tybalt, but he … he … ”

“He couldn’t wake her, either.”

Sniffling, Raj nodded. “Dad was holding her, and she just stopped. She wasn’t supposed to stop. We’re supposed to live forever. Aren’t we?”

“We’re supposed to, but sometimes it doesn’t work that way.” Not for Raj’s mother, or for Lily, or Evening. Maybe not for any of us.

“Will I live forever?”

I paused, looking at him. His eyes were wide, earnest, and glossy with tears. He’d believe whatever I told him. He was offering me the chance to soothe away his fears, if I’d just lie to him. And I couldn’t do it. Sometimes I hate my sense of honor.

“You might not,” I said. “The only way to be sure you’d live forever would be to stay in the Summerlands and lock the doors so nothing could ever touch you. But I don’t think that’s living. Do you?”

He frowned, considering. “No. I don’t think it is.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. There are some truths you shouldn’t be forced to learn, and that’s one of them. But he asked, and I couldn’t lie to him.

“It’s okay. Truth is better.” He managed a wan smile, fangs showing through his fading human disguise. “I should go. I’m helping Uncle Tybalt with everyone.”

“Right.” His dignity was already wounded; he needed to go and soothe it before it died. “You’d better go. Call the apartment if you need anything. May will be there even if I’m not.”

“Okay.” He stood, melting into the shadows before I could say good-bye. That was fine with me; I wasn’t up for many more good-byes.

I finished my coffee and tossed the empty cup into the nearest trashcan before tucking the tainted meat under my arm and walking back to the snack bar. I was trying to review what had happened without dwelling on it. It wasn’t working. I kept picturing Opal and her kittens, or Raj and his parents. The worst was the thought of Tybalt, somehow sick like the rest. The image sent shivers down my spine.

The crowd at the snack bar had scattered, dispersing to do whatever it is tourists do when they’re not getting in my way. A breeze caressed the back of my neck as I circled the building to reach my car. The scents the wind carried were enough to make my nose itch. It smelled of roses, violets, fresh grass, and oleanders, all undercut with the distinct, deadly tang of sulfuric acid.

I stiffened. The car doors were unlocked—I’d been in such a hurry to get out and puke that I hadn’t been as careful as usual. That was actually a good thing, just now. I dropped the meat on the passenger seat and pulled my baseball bat out of the back, every movement deliberate. My headache was fading, and my mind was clear; I didn’t want to kill her if I had a choice. The last of my mercy died with Opal’s kittens. I wanted to see Oleander stand trial and face the immortal, unforgiving judgment of the fae.

A footstep scuffed the asphalt behind me. I whirled, falling into a defensive posture. I was ready for anything she could throw at me.

There was no one there.

“What the—” I could still smell the distinctive taint of her magic on the wind. So where the hell was she?

Someone started to clap. I turned, holding the bat in front of me, to see Oleander standing in front of my car. She was totally relaxed, resting her elbows on the hood as she applauded. “Well done, October,” she said. “You still react without stopping to think.”

“I’ll work on that,” I said, eyes narrowing. It was probably too much to hope that she’d stay where she was long enough for me to get behind the wheel and run her over.

“See that you do.” She smiled. “You’re no challenge like this.”

“Playing with your food?”

“Are you surprised?”

“I suppose not.”

“Of course not. There’s no free will in Faerie—isn’t that what you children of Oberon say?” Her smile widened. “Blood will tell, isn’t it?”

She was right about that: blood will tell, and Oleander told the story of the Peri in every snake-supple gesture and poisoned-sugar smile. Peri live in the high deserts, keeping their distance from the rest of Faerie, and Faerie doesn’t mind. They’re instinctively cruel, geared toward a type of sadism even monsters find hard to bear. By all rights, we should’ve cut off contact with them centuries ago.

There’s just one problem: Peri are evil, but they’re also beautiful. The fae are as easily distracted as everyone else, and sometimes we only see the beauty, not what’s lurking underneath it. A Tuatha de Dannan got distracted by that beauty once, and Oleander was the result.

“I’m not sure I want to know the story your blood’s telling.” There was no way I could get around the car fast enough to catch her. I needed her to come out into the open.

“But it’s a lovely tale, all death and treachery.” She dropped her chin into her cupped hand. “Did you think I was an illusion, little girl?”

“I was starting to.” I still wasn’t sure either way. If I’d chased an illusion through the botanical gardens, I could easily be talking to another one.

“How do you know I’m not?” she asked, and vanished.

“I don’t.” I circled the car. There was no sign that she’d been there at all. “Why are you doing this?”

“Such petulance doesn’t suit a woman of your rank, Countess.” I turned toward the sound of her voice. She was standing behind me, arms folded across her chest. “What’s it like to wear a dead woman’s title? Do you finally feel like one of us?”

“Leave Evening out of this.” I wasn’t sure I was talking to a real person, but I was becoming more convinced that the illusionist was Oleander. That was reassuring, in its way. I wasn’t losing my mind. Just my friends.

“You’re not one of us. You’ll be mongrel scum until you die. Thank your mother for that, if you see her again before you go.” She was casting a shadow. Illusions don’t cast shadows unless the caster is smart enough to create one, and they don’t move naturally. Her shadow moved like any other.

“Why did you kill Lily?” I asked, trying not to look at that telltale shadow.

“So you’re sure of your villain, are you? Why would I kill your little Undine, I wonder?” Her tone was almost playful. “Did you know ‘Lily’ wasn’t her real name? She used that so the Americans could pronounce it. Her name was Katai Suiyou—‘honorable willow.’ Did you call her by name before she died?”

The truth is sometimes the most effective weapon. I hadn’t known that, and I’d never tried to find out. I squared my shoulders, drawing myself to my full height. She barely came up to my chin. It wasn’t much of an advantage, but it was what I had. “Don’t talk about Lily.”

“Or you’ll do what? Cry? Beg for mercy? Murder another one of your friends? Really, I can’t wait to see what you’ll do next.”

That was all I could take. I lunged—

—and grabbed empty air. I whirled, already searching for her as I tried to figure out what was going on. She’d been casting a shadow! The Tuatha can teleport, but I’d never heard of Oleander possessing that particular talent. Faerie magic matures as people get older, but it usually stops after the first century or two; adults rarely develop new gifts. So if she wasn’t an illusion, what did her disappearances mean?

Oberon help me, I was afraid to find out.

“Surely you’ve figured it out by now.” She was ten feet away, smirking. Her clothes had become skintight and a decade and a half out of fashion—the outfit she wore the day I caught her in the Tea Gardens. “You’re not that stupid.”

“Figured what out?” I asked, resisting the urge to charge her again.

Her smile faded. “You have to know I’m not here, October. Do you think I’d endanger myself to get back at you?”

“What are you saying?” I asked, around the sinking numbness in my stomach. My head was starting to pound again. I knew what she was trying to tell me.

I didn’t want to hear it.

“Do I need to spell it out? Fine, then. I’m. Not. Real.” She vanished. She cast a shadow. But when April O’Leary—the only teleporter I knew who didn’t open some sort of visible door—moved like that, there was a flare of ozone and a rush of displaced air. When Oleander did it, there was nothing but emptiness. She wasn’t there.

Her voice came from behind me: “You’re a changeling. You knew this would come.”

“I’m not crazy,” I said. I wasn’t sure which of us was lying, and that was the worst part: the uncertainty. Because her words didn’t sound false to me.

“So why am ‘I’ only targeting your friends? Why would ‘I’ do such a thing? You did it, all of it. It’s happened. You’ve gone over the edge.” She giggled. “Devin did it. Gordan did it. Even your mother did it—she’s as crazy as any changeling. It comes of confusion in the blood, and she was always confused. Falling doesn’t hurt you. Just the people you care about, and once you’ve fallen far enough, they won’t matter.”

“You’re lying! ” I whirled. I was half-blind with tears, but I knew where she was standing. I could grab her before she had a chance to run.

There was no one there.