Sirensong

  I assumed everything was going to move out of the way and make a big clearing like the trees had at yesterday’s rest stop, but that didn’t seem to be what was happening. As far as I could tell, the trees were scurrying about as haphazardly as the servants. I jumped down from the wagon and tried to stay out of the way so I wouldn’t be trampled.

  After a couple of minutes, I realized with a start that the trees and bushes were forming themselves into a multitude of enclosures, like they were the giant, living walls of a cubicle farm. The tallest of the trees bent over each of the enclosures, forming roofs.

  “Cool,” I murmured, forgetting for a moment to be weirded out.

  I wandered through the crowd until I found my dad and my friends. Servants were unloading wagons, carrying luggage and crates into the enclosures. Others were tending to the horses, while still others were setting up what looked like an open-air kitchen.

  “If Henry can manage all this,” I said to my dad, “why did he have to invite himself and the rest of us to stay over at someone’s house last night?”

  “I’m sure you can guess the answer to that,” he responded drily, and he was right. Commandeering someone’s house like that had been a power play, something Henry did just to show that he could. What a jerk! And because the Fae were completely fixated on their archaic class structure, they just had to take it.

  Eventually, a servant came for us and led us to a cluster of tree-lined enclosures, informing us that once again, Kimber and I, and Ethan and Keane would be sharing “rooms.” I doubt Henry’s people planned it that way, but Finn decided to join Ethan and Keane, which seemed positively forward of him. I immediately suspected he was worried about what kind of trouble the two of them might get into if left unsupervised.

  When Kimber and I entered our “room,” it was to find our luggage already delivered, suitcases stacked neatly in the corner. There were two feather mattresses on simple wooden frames, and there was a wooden folding table, complete with a basket of fruit, a pitcher of some dark liquid I suspected was wine, and a couple of silver goblets. Considering we were basically camping in the forest, this looked suspiciously like the Ritz. Not that I was complaining, mind you. My body was just as sore after hours in the wagon as it was after hours on horseback, and, to tell the truth, I was still seriously shaken up by the Bogle attack. I collapsed onto the bed, heedless of the fact that I stank of horse with a hint of dead Bogle. Kimber stood in the doorway for a moment, then said, “Be back in a few,” before slipping out.

  “Where are you—” I started to ask, but she was already gone. I was too tired to get up and see what she was up to. Instead, I closed my eyes and tried hard not to think.

  * * *

  I had almost fallen asleep when I heard the sound of footsteps approaching. I cracked my eyes open and saw that Kimber had returned, carrying two ceramic mugs and an earthenware pitcher from which wisps of steam rose. I sniffed the air as I propped myself up on my elbows and caught a whiff of a familiar scent.

  “Hot posset?” I asked, my mouth automatically watering. I’d never even heard of hot posset before I came to Avalon, and now it was nearing chocolate at the top of my list of best comfort foods ever.

  Kimber looked very proud of herself as she filled both mugs to the brim. “I figured we could use it after everything that happened today.”

  I forgot my exhaustion as I wrapped my hands around the mug Kimber handed me. “Where did you get hot posset?”

  “From the kitchen,” she answered simply.

  Ask a stupid question …

  I sniffed at my mug before taking a sip, and the smell of whiskey practically made my eyes water. “Geez, Kimber, how much booze is in this?” She knew I wasn’t a big fan of alcohol, so she usually used only a touch of whiskey for flavor when making hot posset for me. Except when she took it upon herself to prescribe “extra-strength,” that is.

  Kimber took a sip of her posset, then gave a satisfied sigh before answering. “Just enough.”

  I rolled my eyes but didn’t have the energy to protest. I blew lightly on the surface of my posset, then took an incautiously large sip. Not only did I burn my tongue, but that sip kept burning all the way down my throat and into my belly. No doubt about it, this was the extra-strength version. I drank it anyway.

  The second sip burned less than the first, and the third less than that. The flavor was rich and heady—no skim milk here—and I started to relax almost in spite of myself. Until I thought about my mom, sitting at home enjoying similar beverages in much higher quantities. My heart squeezed in my chest, and the sudden sense of loss made me feel hollow inside. I’d had Sober Mom for a grand total of about four weeks, and thanks to Titania and her “invitation,” that was all gone now.

  “What’s wrong?” Kimber asked, sitting on the bed across from me.

  I forced a little laugh. “After everything that happened today, you have to ask?”

  But Kimber was coming to know me uncomfortably well. “It’s not that,” she said, not a trace of doubt in her voice.

  Kimber knew about my mom’s drinking problem—she was the only person I’d ever told—but that didn’t mean I liked to talk about it. I’d considered my mom my shameful secret for so long and was so used to covering up for her that it was always my first instinct to avoid the subject. I took another couple swallows of posset without answering, hoping Kimber would decide to change the subject. But she doesn’t give up that easy.

  “I noticed some tension between you and your mom when we left yesterday,” she said.

  I froze with my mug halfway to my mouth. Damn. She was much too observant—and much too understanding—for my own good. I might have thought she wouldn’t have caught the connection between the alcoholic beverage I was drinking and the alcoholic mother I’d publicly given the cold shoulder to yesterday, but no, not Kimber.

  Figuring this conversation would end a lot quicker if I just gave in to the inevitable and talked, I told Kimber about my doomed-from-the-start attempt to get my mom to promise she’d stay sober. I stopped frequently for sips of posset, so my muscles felt all loose and comfortable, and my head was spinning just a bit. All signs that I’d had too much posset already. And all signs I ignored as I drained my mug.

  Kimber gave me a look of sympathy, although she wasn’t giving me that pitying look some people give me when they see me with my drunken idiot of a mother. It was a look of compassion, and it was one I could accept without shame.

  “Parents stink sometimes,” she said, finishing her own posset and setting the mug on the floor at her feet. “At least your mom is around, however screwed up she may be.”

  I winced in sympathy. Kimber’s mom had left to live in Faerie when Kimber was twelve. I knew how much that had to hurt. “When did you see your mom last?” I asked.

  She scrunched up her face. “It’s been about two years, I think. We went to see her in Faerie over a Christmas break. I guess that means it’s about two and a half years.”

  “And she never comes to Avalon to visit?”

  Kimber shook her head. “Not once since she left. She always seems glad to see us, and when we visit, it sometimes feels almost like the old days. Only it isn’t.” She reached for her mug, then grimaced when she saw it was empty. “It can never be like the old days again. I can never unlearn that she didn’t love me enough to stay in Avalon.”

  I am not a touchy-feely person. But the bitterness and hurt in Kimber’s words inspired me to heave myself off my bed—and wow, that was harder to manage than it should have been—and sit beside her. I gave her the hug I thought she needed. She patted my back and pulled away, smiling sadly at me.

  “You don’t need to comfort me,” she said. “We’re supposed to be talking about you, not me. I’m just trying to make you feel better by letting you know I understand.”

  “Thanks,” I said, my veins practically buzzing with the aftereffects of my posset. That she would try to make me feel better by opening her own wounds and sharing th
em … humbled me. And made me feel even guiltier about all the secrets I was keeping from her. She deserved more from me than I was giving her.

  Maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was just that the guilt had reached critical mass and forced my hand. But at that moment, my mouth seemed to take on a life of its own, moving without any conscious thought.

  “I lied to you,” I blurted. The part of me that had never truly trusted another person started screaming at me to shut up before it was too late.

  Kimber blinked in surprise. I guess my confession did sort of come out of the blue. “Oh? About what?”

  She’s never going to forgive you, my inner voice told me. I feared it was right. I knew I wouldn’t forgive me in her shoes. But I’d already said too much, and it was too late to back down. I opened my mouth to blurt out my secret—at least one of them, the biggest one—but I couldn’t get any sound out. Tears swam in my eyes. I was terrified I was about to lose my best friend—just like I was losing my mom to the alcohol again.

  Kimber put her hand on my back. “About the ‘geis’ the Erlking put on you so you can’t talk about your agreement?” she prompted gently. I could hear the mental quotes around the word geis.

  Come to think of it, when I’d first told her that a geis prevented me from telling her what I’d done, she’d been openly skeptical. But I’d been too humiliated by the agreement to tell her the truth. I was such a pathetic coward.

  A tear dribbled down my cheek, and I swiped it away angrily. I’d made the decision to lie, and it was too late to cry about it now. “You never really believed me, did you?” I asked in a tear-raspy voice.

  “Not for a moment,” she confirmed. Strangely, she didn’t sound angry. Maybe just because this wasn’t coming as a surprise, which I probably should have known from the beginning. Kimber was pretty sharp.

  “You’re not mad?” I asked, risking a glance at her face.

  “I was at first,” she admitted. “But I figured you were keeping it secret for a reason and that you’d tell me when you were ready. And you don’t have to tell me now if you’re still not ready. I’m not going anywhere.” She made a face. “Well, not anywhere you’re not going, anyway.”

  I managed a hint of a smile. Then I took a deep, steadying breath and told her just what I’d had to promise the Erlking to get him to release Ethan.

  Kimber didn’t interrupt my halting explanation. I sneaked glances at her face every now and then, but I couldn’t read her expression. She was certainly surprised, and horrified, but I couldn’t tell if she was pissed or not.

  I told her about the day I’d gone to see the Erlking and bargain for Ethan’s freedom, and about the magic that had sealed our deal. I even told her about the kiss the Erlking had given me and how the magic had made that kiss feel good despite the fact that I knew he was a cold-blooded killer.

  There was a lot I left out, some things—like the Erlking’s mark—because I didn’t want to talk about them, some things—like my magical abilities—because I shouldn’t talk about them, and one thing—the real reason the Erlking wanted me to give him my virginity—that I couldn’t talk about. I wasn’t covered by the geis that kept the members of the Seelie Court from talking about it, but the Erlking had promised me that Connor would suffer for the rest of his immortal life if I told anyone. Maybe if I told Kimber, the Erlking would never know, but I didn’t dare risk it.

  “There are things I still can’t tell you,” I said to assuage my guilt. “I’m sorry.” I clasped my hands together in my lap and stared at them, wondering if all the years I’d been a loner had made me incapable of being a good friend. “And I’m sorry I lied to you about the geis. I just…” I shuddered. “The truth was too embarrassing, and I’m used to keeping embarrassing things to myself.” I swallowed hard. “Do you think you can ever forgive me?” I asked in a pathetically tentative voice.

  Kimber sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m not in any position to throw stones,” she said, not looking at me. “Practically every word out of my mouth when we first met was a lie, and you managed to forgive me.”

  She had a point, but I couldn’t help noticing that she hadn’t actually answered my question. She’d lied to me when we’d barely known each other, when there weren’t any bonds of friendship to betray. What I’d done was entirely different, and we both knew it.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “There’s nothing I can do. I’m not having sex with the Erlking, and I’m not letting him take Ethan back. So…” I shrugged. “I guess I’ve taken a lifelong vow of chastity. Maybe I should join a convent or something.”

  Kimber made a little snorting sound that might have been a reluctant laugh. “Don’t. You’d look lousy in black.”

  I smiled and whapped her shoulder. She smiled back, though the expression didn’t reach her eyes. She was either pissed at me or hurt—or maybe both—but if she was going to pretend she wasn’t, that was fine with me. I’d had all the turmoil I could take for one day.

  “Do you think the prince’s people have managed to magic up a shower somewhere?” I asked. “I feel all gross and stinky.”

  “That’s because you are,” Kimber said, jumping to her feet before I could whap her upside the head. “I believe I did spot an impromptu bathhouse on my way to the kitchen. Follow me.”

  I wasn’t quite as steady on my feet as I would have liked, but I managed to get upright and totter off after Kimber.

  * * *

  I began day three of my trip through Faerie with a headache I suspected might be a hangover. Maybe I shouldn’t have drunk the second dose of hot posset Kimber had nagged me into downing before bed. Then again, I had actually slept, which after the day’s nightmarish events was a minor miracle. I would have loved a nice, strong cup of coffee for breakfast, but the Fae don’t do coffee, so I was stuck with strong, weird-tasting tea that probably didn’t have anything resembling caffeine in it.

  I was not looking forward to a full day in the servants’ wagon. So when Ethan suggested I ride double with him on his horse, I jumped at the offer.

  “It’s going to be pretty uncomfortable,” Ethan warned. “These saddles aren’t meant for two.”

  I waved off his concern. “It won’t be much more uncomfortable than the stupid wagon.”

  As soon as I climbed on behind Ethan, I realized I was dead wrong about the comfort level. The edge of the saddle dug into my butt so hard I would probably have bruises, and since there was only one set of stirrups, my legs were dangling. Still, I was with Ethan, my body pressed up against his back, my arms around his waist. I rested my cheek against his shoulder, closing my eyes and breathing in the scent of the minty Fae soap he favored even when we were in Avalon. I hadn’t realized how much I’d begun to associate that scent with Ethan until I’d used a bar of the same stuff to wash with last night.

  “Are you miserably uncomfortable?” Ethan asked as we started forward. “I can take you to the wagon if it’s too—”

  “I’m fine,” I told him, despite the way the saddle dug into me in unfortunate places. I was happy to put up with the discomfort, as long as I got to spend some time with Ethan, even surrounded by an audience as we were.

  We passed a few minutes in companionable silence before Ethan said, “Seeing that horse run off with you yesterday was one of the worst moments in my life.”

  I tightened my arms around him, hearing the genuine pain in his voice. “I didn’t enjoy it a whole lot myself,” I said. I remembered the sick feeling in my stomach as I’d watched Ethan and Keane fighting off Bogles as Phaedra carried me helplessly away. “I felt like I was abandoning you.”

  He turned to look at me over his shoulder, his face a mask of amazement. “You’ve got to be kidding! It’s not like you chose to run off. And it’s not like you could have done anything to help the rest of us. Besides, we were more than a match for a bunch of Bogles.”

  It was true that no one had died, and it was also true that I hadn’t left
them behind voluntarily. That didn’t make the memory any easier to bear.

  “Actually, I could have helped in the fight,” I said, then told Ethan about what I’d done to the Bogles that had attacked me.

  “But you would never try to cast a spell in front of witnesses, right?” he asked, and I could feel the tension in his body and hear it in his voice. He was convinced that if anyone learned about my affinity with magic, I’d be viewed as even more of a threat than I already was.

  I sighed, not sure what I would have done if I’d been in the middle of the battle and found myself or one of my friends in life-threatening danger. I had a sneaking suspicion I’d have cast the spell even with witnesses around, but Ethan didn’t need to hear that.

  “Of course not,” I told him. “Besides, like you said, you didn’t need my help.”

  I think Ethan heard the falseness of my tone, but he didn’t challenge me on it, which was a good thing. I didn’t want to waste this precious time we had together with arguing.

  I shifted in the saddle, trying to find a more comfortable position. My arms were still locked around Ethan’s waist, and I could feel him holding his breath.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “Nope. Not a thing,” he replied, his voice a little breathy. “But if you don’t hold still, things could get a little embarrassing.”

  I froze, thinking about how my fidgeting caused me to rub against him. The moment I thought of it, I forgot all about the discomfort of the saddle, my mind focusing on the fact that my breasts were smooshed up against his back and his butt was cradled between my legs. My cheeks heated with embarrassment, even as the tingle of awareness spread throughout my body and made me want to rub up against him harder. I wondered if he was even now thinking about our venture to second base the night I’d snuck out of my safe house to see him. I knew I was, my mind conveniently editing out the strain we’d both been under at the time and the anger and desperation that had tainted the encounter.