The Autumn Castle (8 page)

“Yes, but . . . I know nothing about her. She may be a murderer.”

“A murderer?” He cawed a laugh.

“She may be a villain of some sort. Just because she was a sweet child does not mean she has grown into a kind woman.” Eisengrimm
stared at her, his bland crow face unreadable. “Change out of Crow. I can’t stand it when you look at me like that.”

He transformed to Fox—her favorite—and approached, ducking his head for an ear rub. “You are making an excuse, and a poor
one,” he said.

“What if I am? I can do whatever I want—”

“Yes, yes, I know. You’re the queen.” He sat back and sniffed at the potion in the cup. “How could I convince you that Christine
is not a villain, that you will be safe if you make a passage to see her?”

“I know not.”

“What if I go ahead of you, watch her for a few days? I’ll see where she lives, what she does, and who she knows.”

Mayfridh felt her resolve shift again. “Would you?”

“Of course I would.”

“But I could still make up my mind afterwards? I could still decide not to go?”

“Of course.” He met her gaze steadily. “But, Mayfridh, don’t leave it too long. You only have until the end of the season.”

“I know.”

With his nose, Eisengrimm tipped over the cup so it spilled out on the table. Mayfridh watched as he lapped up the spell,
then lay forward on his paws with his eyes shut. His tail twitched a few times, but then he opened his eyes. “I am ready.”

“How will you go?”

“As Crow.”

“Open your wings.”

He transformed and spread his shining wings. Mayfridh carefully picked up the two remaining spells, and tucked one under each
wing. The golden light disappeared among the black feathers.

“Be safe, my friend,” she said, and the memory of the last time she had seen her faery parents came back to her.
We’re going to the opera. We’ll be back before midnight.
“Please be very safe, Eisengrimm.”

“Mayfridh, the Real World is not so dangerous as you think it is.”

“I trust that you are right.” She touched his feathered head gently. “Return to me soon.”

Christine saw the crow as soon as she emerged from the front entrance of the bookshop. It was perched on the hood of a silver
Opel parked nearby. When she approached, the bird took to the sky. She paused and watched it for a moment.
It’s just a crow.
A breeze swept up the street, making red-stained maple leaves swirl around her and then settle on windshields and in gutters.
Her heart beat an intense rhythm. Just a crow. It disappeared out of sight over the top of the shops opposite.

She started walking toward Zoo Station. At the entrance to Uhlandstrasse U-bahn, she hesitated, and considered going underground.
At least there would be no crows down there. Then she reminded herself that crows were common city birds, that they had nothing
to do with her stupid dream, and that four steps down toward the platform her nerves would all be singing out of tune.

Among the crowds of people near Zoo Station she felt safe. She checked up and around her. A few pigeons; no crows. She found
the platform and a half-second later, her train slid into the station.

She watched out the window. A flash of black at Tiergarten could have been anything, not necessarily wings. Nothing at Bellevue.
Really, this was ridiculous, to get so concerned about a crow. She had probably seen a hundred of them since she arrived in
Berlin, and just hadn’t noticed before. Buskers got on at Lehrter Stadtbahnhof and played an enthusiastic rendition of “She
Loves You.” Everyone ignored them, and they disembarked before her at Friedrichstrasse. Christine realized her eyes were darting
everywhere, looking for the bird. But there were no birds. There were buildings and bridges and banks and brisk autumn breezes,
but nothing else beginning with “b.” She turned into Vogelwald-Allee, looked up, and saw a crow sitting on the turret of Hotel
Mandy-Z.

“Leave me alone,” she called out to it, fumbling for her key.

At that moment, the front door opened and Mandy stepped out. “Good evening, Christine.”

“Hi, Mandy.”

“Did I hear you talking to somebody?”

The crow fluttered down and came to rest on a first-floor windowsill. Mandy must have seen Christine flinch, because he asked,
“Were you talking to the crow?”

“Yeah,” she said, trying to laugh at herself. “I’d swear he’s followed me home.”

Mandy eyed the crow. “From Charlottenburg? No, I’m sure he hasn’t. Perhaps you saw his twin earlier. They all look the same,
you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Although they can probably tell each other apart.” He turned his attention to Christine again. “I’ve been meaning to ask
you. Have you been out of the city at all since you arrived? A day trip? A weekend in the country?”

She shook her head, wondering where this line of questioning was heading. “No.”

“Really?”

“Why do you ask?” An indistinct sensation of uneasiness crept up her spine. She had been on a day trip all right; all the
way to faeryland and back. Had he overheard her talking to Jude? But no, she’d barely told Jude anything about the dream.

“The other night at dinner you seemed remarkably . . . refreshed.”

“Probably had something to do with lying flat on my back for nearly a week.” Crows, faeryland, Mandy. She just wanted to get
inside, take a warm shower, and crash in front of the television all night. “Do I still seem ‘refreshed’ now?”

“No. Sorry for my bluntness. You now seem just as you were when first I met you.” He smiled, revealing those tiny teeth, not
much bigger than milk teeth. “You must think me odd, Christine.”

Hell, yes.
“No. I’m used to artists. Four years with Jude, you know.”

He patted her shoulder. “I’ll leave you to go inside out of the cold. Look, your crow has decided you’re home safely and you
no longer need his guardianship.” He pointed up at the sky, and Christine saw the black outline of the bird against the gray
clouds. A sudden twinge of memory snapped into her mind.

“Oh,” she gasped.

“Christine?”

“Nothing,” she said, forcing a smile. “Good night.”

He buttoned his coat and trudged down the street. She watched the crow as it disappeared into the distance, and finally she
remembered why those black wings had been plaguing her memory for weeks—and why they horrified her so much.

Mayfridh sat in the spell chamber, a bowl of water resting on the table in front of her. She tried to breathe very softly
so the water would remain undisturbed. In the bowl, she could see what Eisengrimm could see as he darted around Christine’s
corner of the Real World. She had seen busy streets and shiny cars, shops and building sites, and Christine’s home on a leafy
street. She had even seen the man she assumed was Christine’s beloved, a large black-haired fellow who had touched her shoulder
very gently and carefully. He was rather an ugly man, but Christine was a plain little thing and couldn’t expect much better.

Mayfridh sighed and leaned forward, sending ripples swelling out across the surface of the water. Plain little Christine had
a lover and Mayfridh didn’t and never had. She had not yet met a man whom she could imagine spending more than a few minutes
with, let alone a lifetime. Eisengrimm had caused a number of men—handsome, powerful, strong—to be brought to the castle for
her review, but none of them had appealed to her. Love was such a complicated function. How was it possible that anyone ever
found love when it was dependent on so many mutual perfections?

Oh, but she was lonely.

She closed her eyes and let herself imagine visiting with Christine in the Real World. They would reminisce about their shared
childhood, they would talk about love; perhaps Christine would introduce her to her other friends and the black-haired man.
Leaves were falling every moment and the Autumn Castle would have to be left behind, and then she would forget Christine again.
She would be friendless and alone once more.

“I will go, then,” she whispered, watching her breath dance on the water. “Come what may, I will go.”

I
thought you had a morning off.”
“I do.” Christine turned from the dresser and smiled at Jude, who had just woken up.

“Then stay in bed. Sleep in, with me.” He patted the mattress.

She turned and resumed dressing. “No. I’m going out to Zehlendorf.”

“What’s at Zehlendorf?” Then before she could answer, he said, “Oh, your old house.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you want me to come?”

She buttoned up her blouse. “If you like. I’m going on the bus though. There are tunnels on the train line.”

“Would you prefer me to be there with you?”

She shrugged. “It might be nice.”

“You’re not going to knock on the door or anything?”

She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on her jeans. “No, I don’t know the new owners.”

“Then why—?”

“I just want to see it again. I want to collect my thoughts and put the past behind me.”
Where it belonged, instead of turning up in wild hallucinations.

“Okay then, I’ll come.”

“Then hurry. I’m catching the ten o’clock bus from Zoo.”

The sky was dark and heavy outside and Jude muttered about forgetting his umbrella. The bus dropped them off on a busy suburban
street lined with bakeries and parks. Christine looked around for remembered landmarks.

“That church was there,” she said. “My street is behind it.”

“It’s pretty here,” Jude said, following her.

“Yeah, it always was.” She took him down a narrow side street. The road was cobbled and the gutters filled with leaves. “We
were only here for just over a year. From ’77 to ’78.” She smiled at him. “David Bowie came over once. I sat on his lap.”

“Was he a friend of your parents?”

“Um . . . yeah. They kind of knew everyone.” She paused on the corner. A dark blue Mercedes swept past. “This is the street.”

“Come on then. What are we waiting for?”

“Good question.” What was she afraid of? The whole point of coming here was to sort out the memory of the crow once and for
all. “Jude, do you believe that some things are so disturbing that you can bury them under deep layers and forget them?”

“Of course. Psychiatrists make their living out of stuff like that. Why, is there something really disturbing on this street?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I mean . . . I was six . . . seven. Some things get into your imagination and run wild.”

“Tell me.”

“Come on,” she said, grabbing his hand and leading him across the road. “I’ll show you.”

Christine recognized all the houses. Their high-peaked roofs and painted shutters had barely changed in twenty-five years.
There were more trees than she remembered, more traffic noise in the distance, and lots of cars parked in the street. “That
one was my house,” she said, pointing out a painted white house with a cobbled path and tidy gardens. “That one was the Friths’.”
This house was the worse for wear, with an overgrown garden and peeling shutters. “And that window up there . . .” She pointed
to the window directly under the gable, and found she couldn’t finish the sentence.

“What is it?” Jude asked. A drizzle had started to descend.

“That’s where it happened.”

“What happened?”

Christine found it hard to begin. Now she had remembered everything, she was experiencing all the childish fear and sadness
again. “May and I had declared each other blood sisters the day before. My thumb was still hurting when I turned up at her
place early the next morning. I crashed in as I always did and Mrs. Frith said that May wasn’t awake yet, but that I could
go up and wake her. It was a Saturday. I raced up the stairs, I had a new book to show her I think . . . or a record to play
her. My parents were always bringing home records, strange experimental music, but May and I didn’t care what it sounded like.
We just loved new records, poring over the covers and the inside sleeves and . . . Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“It’s okay, babe.”