The Saint (30 page)

You went home afterward
. Joy paused.
Your mother asked what happened to your good dress, but you never told her the truth. You never told anyone.

“Why?” Adora whispered. But she knew. She
knew.
Fresh rage began to blossom inside her. She tried to throttle it down.

You were afraid—afraid that if you were too much trouble, or if they were ashamed of you, that they would give you away,
Joy answered.
Maybe to someone like Old Man Fletcher.

And I was more afraid of being abandoned than I was of that monster down the street. Damn them!
Her voice was miserable and angry.
How the hell could they not notice what happened? It got worse after that, you know. I was always weird, different, but after that day . . .

I know.

Why? Why didn't they protect me? Were they ashamed of me—is that it? Because I was a firebug?

No. If it helps any, I don't think they ever suspected what happened. And you did burn his house down. You damn near got him too. He carried the scars forever
.
They were like a scarlet
A
that warned other children away from him.

I burned his house down?
Adora asked.

Joy was silent, but the memory came back like the others, muted but complete. He had screamed when his clothes caught fire—screamed just like she had when he had hurt her. Adora digested this, wondering if the fact that she had fought back against the monster and won would help melt some of her anger and shame away. She decided it was too soon to tell.

And that's when you came,
she thought.
That was the day.

Yes, I awakened that day
, Joy said.
You needed help— strength. And after . . . well, the fire frightened you badly, and you couldn't afford to go on remembering, having nightmares. But you couldn't really forget, either. So you made me, gave me a name, and I kept the memory of the scary thing for you.
Joy paused.
I know you don't like
me—or the cause of my creation—but really it was the
healthiest thing for you to do
.

Was it? To run away from what I'd done?

Of course. Do you really think it would have been better to taxidermy the moment, embalm it so your five-year-old brain could live with the torment forever? Even as an adult, you'll have trouble excising this hurt. It's branded into your memory, burned into your soul. I don't really think you'll ever forget or forgive what happened—and you shouldn't have to. But you do need to make peace with yourself and admit what you are. I can't keep you safe anymore, and your magic affects Kris.

Are you the . . . power? Agre you the fire, Joy?

Partly. I am that part of you.

Am I schizophrenic?

No. I'm not sure what you are, really. But you aren't mentally ill
.

Adora laughed bitterly.
You'd say that anyway, wouldn't you? To protect yourself.

Probably,
Joy admitted.
But that isn't such a big deal around here. Look at Kris—he's a death fey and Santa Claus. He has a pet dragon.

Joy had a point. Adora decided that she would have to think about this for a while, to re-create a new hierarchy of weirdness with which she could measure things. She was too stunned to do it now, though.

The main thing
, Joy said,
is that you understand that though your parents were flawed—fatally so—it doesn't mean you are. There is no law that says you have to repeat their mistakes
.

It doesn't mean I'm
not
flawed, though
, Adora pointed out, feeling exhausted.
I could be just as twisted as they are. I might be just as bad a parent.

True, but I'd say this is all up to you. How crippled do
you want to be? How much power will you give your parents or Old Man Fletcher? After all, they're dead and you're not. Doesn't that give you the edge?

That was a good question, but Adora collapsed on the bed and fell asleep before she answered.

 

 

And Gaia spoke to Niklas saying: “Thou art a wonder unto many, and thou mayest well be so, for I have wrought great marvels in thee and for thee that thou should go forth and in turn give comfort to the Sons of Man who wander lost in the lands of the North.”

—Niklas 11:2

It was the feast of Mabon, the time of passing for the Great Son, Lord of Shadows, Keeper of Mysteries. It was the time when the Wise One returned to sleep. But first there came the Wild Hunt, where the Keeper would ride the great storm. Many feared this night, but the Keeper calmed them and said they should not go in fear, for the Goddess would spread her hand of protection over them while her Son returned home.

Then the Keeper of Mysteries went to the top of the hill and laid his golden robe aside. Naked, he opened his arms wide and laughed at the silvered moon. The sky threw down lightning and boiling clouds, but still he laughed, bathing in the divine fire as he prepared to return home. From out of the night there came a great stallion made all of shadows and fire, with hooves forged of steel. The Keeper of Mysteries snatched at the steed's fiery mane as he thundered by, and the Lord of Shadows was still laughing joyously when the sky split in twain and the stallion plunged into the void.

“I just don't see how there can be so many goblins in L.A. Hell's bells! We've killed off thousands since they first started interfering in Las Vegas,” Roman complained.

“Not all the illegals coming over the border are humans. L.A. is the first hive the southern lutins come to, and most stay,” Kris answered. “I know it's bloody inconvenient and hard to imagine, but try to understand that the goblins are mostly victims too. Their leaders are as tyrannical as any third-world potentate and you can't blame them for looking for a better life in ‘the land of the free.' And the L.A. hive turns this hunger for freedom to their advantage. They're smart and they use word of mouth to get fresh recruits for the war. The people there— lutin and human—have had their brains waxed by fairy tales to a high gloss at an early age, their thoughts sealed off from the influence of outside logic and even basic information. All this varnish
and propaganda will have to be stripped before we can make any headway there.”

“You have a plan for brain-stripping?” Thomas asked.

“Of course.”

“Are Cyra and I a part of it?” he asked evenly.

“I sincerely hope so.”

Thomas sighed.

There came a tap on the door. It wasn't Kris; Adora knew that immediately. “Come in,” she called. Her voice was thick with departing sleep and disappointment.

The door opened slowly, and Io stuck her head in. She smiled, but there was a complete absence of humor in the curve of her mouth. Her eyes were worried.

“Did I wake you?” she asked.

“No, I was coming up from the depths,” Adora assured her.

“Good.” Io came in and, after having a quick look around for something to sit on and finding nothing but stacks of books, she approached and perched on the side of the bed, being careful not to touch Adora.

First Kris and now Io. What? Have I got cooties?

“I thought maybe we should have a talk. There has to be a lot that's strange for you here.” She paused and then got straight to the point. “And you are probably feeling some very . . . unusual things about Kris.”

Adora blinked, coming fully awake. “About Kris?” she repeated, and felt herself blush.

“Well, aren't you?” Io asked. There was no judgment there, only a bit of curiosity. “You'd be the first if you did not.”

“Yes, I guess I am,” Adora admitted. “I don't seem to be myself today.”

“No, you're you,” Io assured her. “You are just seeing—sensing—things for the first time without the hindrance of human . . . expectations and limits.”

Adora waited, but when Io said no more she responded: “Okay.”

“First of all, Kris and I have talked a bit. About your situation. He senses many of the same things in you that I do, and is concerned about not doing anything to . . . burden you beyond that which cannot be avoided. Unfortunately, there's a lot we won't be able to avoid. You haven't a lot of time to . . . adjust.” Io stared at Adora with her weird blue eyes. “May I be frank with you?”

“Please.” Adora pulled her knees up to her chest. It was a defensive posture, but it comforted her.

“It's clear to both Kris and me that you are at war with yourself. The part of you that was attacked and abandoned as a child is shying away from any deep relationship, and understandably so.” Adora knew that her eyes widened and that Io saw. Io also saw the abortive gesture of her raised palms, trying to ward the next words away. “I'm sorry, Adora, but you are part siren—and your fey nature is to seduce and be seduced. Your body is built for this, and it will work to fulfill its destiny. There are some things you can do to . . . avoid certain problems. You need to know that, just like with selkies, your tears can and do enslave men. Have you ever noticed how insane they act when you cry around them? Unfortunately, those same tears can bind you just as surely to other magical beings, so you need to be careful.”

Great, another bodily fluid to avoid,
Joy joked.

“You are especially vulnerable to death feys.” There was compassion in Io's eyes, but she spoke with almost heartless, hopeless clarity. “So far, you have avoided a confrontation of these two emotional needs—to be safe and yet to seduce and be seduced— but only because you were not involved with a magical being. That has changed. New game, new rules. Nature will win over nurture. The feelings you have for Kris will not go away—not this side of the grave, anyway. Maybe not even after. You have to find some way to make peace with this or it will tear you apart.”

Adora almost groaned. It seemed she had a lot of things she was going to have to make peace with. She was sorry she'd woken up.

“Kris and I haven't slept together. Our relationship is theoretical at this point. Hell—he hasn't even kissed me! And I haven't been crying. . . .” Adora stopped. But she had cried on him once. No, twice. She recalled how he had rubbed the tear between his fingers and said, “I'm so glad that this does not belong to me.”

Io nodded, as though sharing the memory.

“You may not have made love yet, but you will. And soon. Kris will resist the call as long as he can, but even he will eventually have his will eroded. So close to the source, it is impossible to refuse the Goddess forever. And it would be good if you were . . . able to make things easier on him. And on yourself too. Those who fight their nature . . . well, they do damage. And Kris has some special circumstances that need to be considered.”

Adora pulled her knees in tighter. She didn't say anything. She couldn't argue Io's point, because she didn't understand a lot of what was being said. But what she did get, she didn't like it. She wanted Kris, but she didn't want to
have
to want him.

Io smiled encouragingly. “I know this is all a bit much, but the good news about being fey—and there is some—is that you will age very slowly and not know much of the suffering that humans do. It's sort of like being tapped into a fountain of youth. You won't get sick once you have built up immunity to the sun. We don't suffer senility either.”

Adora considered. Was this good news? Did she actually fear old age, outliving her physical usefulness and beauty? No, that wasn't her fear, losing herself to wrinkles and senility. What she feared was losing herself—her mind and soul—to blind, unrequited love. Not just passion, but love.

Which was a risk with Kris. She had felt it all along, and now Io confirmed it.

Still, there was something new that she thought she feared more than losing herself, and that was that she was so screwed up that she would never have the chance to know true love at all.

“I know you are . . .” Io trailed off, waving her left hand. Adora noticed the nails for the first time. They were beautiful, like the inside of an abalone shell, and she was willing to bet that it wasn't nail polish that made them that way.

Seeing what she was staring at, Io smiled a little grimly. “Yes, we're different. And sometimes after you taste something bitter, it takes a while to be able to recognize what is sweet. You are overwhelmed by all this, by what you are and what is going on around you. But . . . give Kris a chance.”

“Would it be okay if I took a walk?” Adora asked, knowing she was disappointing Io with her lack of reaction but feeling unable to process any more information, or to hear any more bad news. She added, “I need to stretch my legs and clear my head a little. My brain is still clogged with sleep.”

“Sure,” Io said. She looked like she was going to say something else about Kris, but instead she added, “Just don't go far. And don't wander into goblin territory. There's a sort of dead zone—hard to miss—that marks the edges of the two domains. Don't go beyond that. Things can get . . . weird.”