A Lonely Magic (13 page)

God, she was bored.

She let her leg drop and rolled over, curling up on her side, one hand cushioning her head.

How long had she been trapped in this empty, barren room? It felt like days. Not weeks, though. Not unless they’d drugged her, she thought darkly.

“Did you drug me?” she shouted, turning her head so she could aim her voice at the ceiling.

There was no answer.

There never was.

She hated the people keeping her prisoner with a passion that grew deeper, darker, with every passing minute. Damn them.

How long were they planning on leaving her in solitary confinement? Why couldn’t they at least give her a book? She’d read anything, even the phone book, if that was all that was available.

And what the hell had happened to Luke? Or Kaio? Why weren’t they rescuing her?

Fen felt tears springing to her eyes and forced them back. She was not going to cry. No way. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. But she’d never felt lonelier in her life. Not even in the worst days after her mother’s death. At least then she’d been dealing with people, not fucking elves with scary facial tattoos.

“That doesn’t look comfortable, child. Wouldn’t you prefer a bed?”

Fen’s neck almost snapped with the speed of her head turn. Her breath caught. The wall was solidifying again, turning back from foggy grey to the smooth white surface she’d grown familiar with, but a woman had entered the room.

Fen scrambled to her feet.

It was Gaelith. She looked different. The fake black color in her hair was gone, replaced by a pure white streaked with highlights of blue and tipped with a teal green, and twisted into a loose pile of curls. Her loose-fitting caftan had been traded for a sleeveless tunic, barely skimming her thighs and paired with loose leggings, the leggings in deep blue, the tunic patterned with colorful flowers and birds.

She held up a woven basket. “I brought us a picnic.”

Fen didn’t cry. But the lump in her throat felt huge, as if it would shut off her breathing for now and forever. She exhaled, and said, chin tilting up, “Lovely. I’ve always liked picnics.”

She was fairly sure she’d never been on a picnic. Maybe with her mom in some long-ago time, but certainly not that she could remember.

“Wonderful.” Gaelith’s smile was so warm Fen wanted to curl up inside it and shut off her brain. Gaelith waved her hand around the room. “Do you mind if I…?”

Fen had no idea what Gaelith meant. “Feel free.”

Gaelith walked across the room and touched her hand to the wall opposite the one by which she had entered. “Window.” The wall went foggy before slowly clearing to reveal a park-like setting as Galieth turned to the adjacent space. “Table and chairs.”

A formal dining room table and two chairs popped out of the floor, flowing up as if they grew organically, while the non-windowed walls formed into murals like those in the dining room on Caye Laje.

“Oh, no, no,” Gaelith said. “Not at all what I had in mind.”

The table and chairs melted slowly into the floor, almost sulkily, as the walls lightened until the murals faded into nothing.

Fen closed her eyes. Had that happened? Without opening her eyes, she traced back through her memories, looking for the moment when she’d died. When she’d passed out underwater, maybe? And now, this, was this some version of hell? Or a coma-induced dream? Was it the drug overdose? Was she still back in Chicago, lying motionless in a hospital bed, Theresa sitting by her side?

“Make it green, like the queen’s glade, with a… oh, perfect.” Gaelith’s suggestion didn’t seem addressed to Fen, but Fen opened her eyes anyway. The walls had changed. The windowed wall was still a window, looking out onto grass and trees, but the other three were forest panoramas. A low table, with seats more like cushions than chairs, sat in the center of the room.

Gaelith knelt on one of the cushions, placing her basket on the table.

“Where did—” Fen’s voice emerged from her throat too high-pitched, so she stopped and started again. “What are these cushions made of? From? With?”

The cushions were fluffy, plump, and covered in a deep green fabric that looked like cotton. Fen didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth—cushions were better than no cushions—but they hadn’t been there one minute and they had the next and that was weird.

Gaelith’s brow furrowed. “My interpreter pattern is struggling. The answer in your language is either magic or nanomites, I am not sure which. Perhaps they mean the same thing?” She pulled a cloth out of the basket and shook it out, spreading it on the table.

Magic.

Or nanomites.

Moving tentatively, Fen leaned down and touched the nearest cushion. It felt soft but real, so she sat on it, cross-legged, across the table from Gaelith.

Gaelith pulled a loaf of bread, unwrapped and crusty, out of the basket and placed it on the cloth. “My brothers have become quite daring,” she said conversationally, as she continued emptying the basket. “First Kaio, now Luken. One wonders what risks they’ll take next.”

Fen’s mouth watered as Gaelith placed fruit, cheese, and several small covered bowls and plates next to the bread. Her stomach rumbled and she pressed a hand to it, mumbling an apology.

“No, no.” Gaelith waved her apology away. “After the hours you’ve spent here, hunger is understandable. And thirst, too, I imagine.” She pulled a bottle out of the basket and two glasses.

“Hours? It felt like days,” Fen said.

“Indeed, no. Luken burst into our mother’s study, babbling of this misfortune but half the day gone. I proceeded to you mere moments after his departure with allies for Caye Laje.” Gaelith pinched the top of the bottle and poured liquid into the glasses. “Unfortunately, although I did my best to persuade the authorities that you would be better served visiting my mother’s home, they refused to relent. Your time in this place is not yet over.”

Fen forced a smile. “At least I have company now.”

“Indeed.” Gaelith passed her a glass. “We shall savor a fine meal and I shall share stories with you. One can ask no more for the present.”

Fen would ask for plenty more, freedom and a way home being top of her list, but she didn’t argue. As Gaelith pulled out plates and broke open the bread, Fen took a sip of the liquid. It was cool and sparkling and tasted minty and green, unlike anything she’d had before. “What’s this drink?”

Gaelith tilted her head to the side as if listening. “Again, my interpreter pattern offers options. Tea, perhaps, or soda.” She ripped off a piece of the bread and placed it on a plate.

“What would you call it in your language?” Fen asked.

Gaelith gave an approving smile and dipped her head, passing the plate to Fen. “A desire to learn, most excellent. In my language it would be tea. Or soda.”

“No, I mean in your language. What are the words you would use?”

Gaelith frowned. “Tea or—” she started, before shaking her head, an impatient look on her face. “Ah, but no. My pattern does not let me share my words with you.”

Fen’s confusion must have shown, because Gaelith tried to explain. “Different patterns for different functions, you see?” She pulled at the shoulder of her tunic, revealing a small circular tattoo. Fen leaned closer. Interweaving lines filled the circle, looking almost like a Celtic knot. “Had I chosen a more complex interpreter, I could use both your language and my own, but time was short and this symbol is one of the simplest.”

Fen stared. “Your tattoo translates for you?”

“Indeed, yes. Manipulation of sound waves is a simple illusion, while the necessary data storage to interpret a single human language is trivial. Not all terms, however, have easy equivalences. Thus, tea. Or soda.” Gaelith raised an encouraging eyebrow. “Would you like an interpretation pattern of your own?”

Fen didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” Damn straight she wanted a translation tattoo. “Thank you,” she added belatedly. Had she sounded rude? Shit. Not that she cared about being polite… but maybe she kinda did when it came to Gaelith.

Gaelith didn’t seem offended, though. She hitched up her tunic, revealing a small golden pouch at her hip, as she said, “Wonderful.” She slipped the pouch free and placed it on the table. “I brought my tools, thinking I might render you some such service. After we eat, I should be pleased to provide you with a pattern of use.”

“You’re a tattooist?” Fen asked, surprised, before she corrected herself, “I mean tattoo artist.”

Gaelith appeared to be thinking about the question as she removed the covers from the small bowls and plates, but finally she shook her head. “That interpretation is imperfect. I am a healer.”

“A healer?” Fen didn’t recognize the food in the bowls or the mix of scents wafting from the table, but she took a deep sniff. “Is that why you came to Caye Laje? To heal Luke?”

“Indeed.” Gaelith ripped off a small piece of bread and held it up as if to show Fen, before dipping it into a bowl holding a creamy white paste and popping it into her mouth. Fen followed suit. The white stuff was tangy and smooth, but tasty enough, while the bread tasted like a good Italian loaf, solid and yeasty.

Gaelith finished chewing and spoke. “The battle in the council raged for two solid days, but Kaio has always had a way with the queen. He charmed her into agreeing that if he could find a healer willing to venture forth, none would impede them.”

Impede them? The council? The queen? Kaio charming?

Okay, yeah, different world.

“You don’t travel much, I guess?” Fen asked. She pulled off a bit of bread and dipped it into a bowl of purplish stuff. It looked fruity, like grape jam. She tasted it. Sweet, although more of an apple flavor than grape.

“Oh, no, no.” Gaelith ripped off another piece of bread and dipped it into one of the other bowls. “The sun was fascinating. So much bigger and brighter than I had imagined. And the heat—so unusual but lovely in its own way. I enjoyed it.”

Fen dipped another bite of bread into a spicy paste, wondering. Never to have seen the sun. That sounded damn bleak to her. Why didn’t they vacation on the islands?

“The conservatives were—are—furious,” Gaelith continued. The corner of her lip curved in a smile that mingled satisfaction and resignation. “They rant over the danger and view it as yet more proof of the queen becoming dangerously senile, but they can do nothing. My reputation is, of course, destroyed, but that matters naught to me. I have too few brothers not to risk all to save the ones I love.”

“Your reputation?” Fen paused, another bite halfway to her mouth.

Gaelith waved the question away. “Not important.”

Maybe it was just the way Gaelith talked that made Fen think reputation was more Jane Austen down here then modern high school. Her own reputation had been shot to hell even before she dropped out and she hadn’t given fuck one. Maybe Gaelith was the same. So, okay, if she said it was no big, Fen would believe her.

But still, it sounded so serious. “Why is it such a risk?” Fen asked.

“Indeed, ‘twas not.” Gaelith spread her hands. “As it happened, I went, I repaired Luken, I returned home. No harm done.” She wrinkled her nose and broke off another piece of bread, before adding wryly, “Although I suspect when the conservatives hear of your arrival, it shall be taken as evidence of damage, for had Luken not survived, you would not be here. The happenstance is unfortunate.”

Fen set the bread she held back on the plate.

She hadn’t eaten nearly enough, but her appetite was gone.

Unfortunate.

It was the same word Eladio used what felt like eons ago.

Discoveries

“What are they going to do to me?” Fen asked.

Gaelith lifted one shoulder in a graceful shrug. “I promise you, I do not know. I further promise you, no one knows. The situation is most unusual.”

Fen pressed her lips together to keep the words inside. That answer sucked. What were the options? Was death on the table? Eternal imprisonment? Solitary confinement for the next fifty years?

Gaelith leaned forward. “But I can assure you, much, much debate will ensue before any decision that you would dislike will be made. You need not fear. You have allies who are far from helpless.”

“If Luke’s in trouble, too, and Kaio’s out there in the world somewhere, and your reputation is ruined, who exactly are my ‘allies’ going to be?” Fen asked, using mocking air quotes. She started to rise from the table. She needed to pace, to move, to stop herself from panicking.

“Ah, no, no.” Gaelith patted the air, as if to tell Fen to sit again or to calm herself, and laughed. “No, child, come, you must not believe that we are alone in the world. In truth, our allies are yours. My reputation may be gone but my friends remain legion.”

“I’m not a child!” Fen burst out.

Gaelith’s smile held worlds of sympathy. “I apologize. For one of my years, your youth is delightful. But I shall use your name if you prefer. Fen.” She rolled the name in her mouth as if it were strange, before adding, a touch plaintively, “Although it is odd to me that flooded land would be a desirable namesake.”

Fen sighed. Would nothing she said cause Gaelith to take her plight seriously? “You’re not so old,” she said, her voice sulky.