Blue Moon (23 page)

"You must have loved him very much. More than you loved me."

Nimue sighed. “Don't be so pathetic. I loved you both with all my heart. I just ... I wanted...” She shook her head.

"Merlin was not a man for home and hearth. I told you that."

"I had to try."

Morganna put her arm around her sister. “I know. And perhaps the two of you were right after all. I used to look at this world every night and think of what could have been. I see people starving, homeless, and I think what I could do, if I had magic.” She shook her head. “But neither magic nor science makes things all that better. It's people, Nimue, and that's what I forgot in the war I waged to keep magic and science together. They're what bless or, ultimately, damn the world."

"We'll never know who was right or wrong, really,” Nimue said.

"No.” Morganna sighed. “I don't suppose we will.” She looked over at Nimue. “Why are you crying?"

"I don't know. Tired, perhaps. I miss things. I missed you. I miss Merlin. Maybe I'm in mourning for dead dreams."

"Hush, sister,” Morganna said, hugging her tightly. “Time passes. It cannot be helped. I'm sure things will work out.” Her voice cracked, and she realized her own face was wet.

Above them, the moon faded a little, and the Pleiades appeared and shone down on the reunited sisters.

Libby grinned as she took the last pages from the printer. She placed one sheet on each of two piles—one to go in a box, the other she would hole-punch and put in a three-ring binder. One book done. Well, at least until her editor looked at it and sent it back.

The best part was in being done. The manuscript was emailed to her agent already, but she also liked to send a hardcopy.

"I wouldn't be too happy,” Dashiel said. “It's a month late."

Libby stuck her tongue out at him and walked away, trying to decide if she wanted champagne or a margarita. She had frozen packets of the latter, but they were old, and she thought maybe they'd taste more like freezer than lime.

Pity she couldn't get anyone to deliver take-out to her house. She planned to be too tipsy—not drunk, just happy and silly—to drive. Oh, well, there were always TV dinners.

She went into the cupboard to get out some dog food.

"Err ... I guess I ought to ask you what you'd like to eat."

"Yeah!” he said, wagging his tail. “Now that I can finally talk, I can tell you what I like!"

"Oh,” Libby muttered, “I am so happy."

"I heard that."

She looked around. “How about if I mix some gravy and throw it over your regular food?"

"Cereal!” Dashiel did a little sit-up, paws waving in the air, and he looked enthusiastic, so she figured he was okay with it.

She heard a car pull up. It was coming on dark, but when she saw who it was she unbarred the door and ran out before Alex had slammed the rental's door shut. He looked somewhat grim, but she didn't care.

"I'm done with my book! I'm done with my book!” she sang, hopping up and down.

The grim look broke a little, and he chuckled. “I'm glad."

"Your timing is impeccable. I am about to break out the booze. You may sleep on the couch. Maybe.” She nodded at her own declaration and pushed him inside. Just because she was in a superb mood didn't mean the defenses could come down. She locked and barred the door behind him.

"Yankee pot roast or fried chicken?” she asked, then jabbed him in the stomach. “Actually, you're so thin, I think I'll cook you both. Or you can have the turkey dinner, or meatloaf or enchiladas..."

He held up both hands. “Whatever. Really, I don't care."

She smiled and disappeared into the kitchen.

"I know what you mean,” a rough voice said. “All tastes the same to me, too."

"Libby? Are you getting a cold?” He followed her, and found her rooting around in the freezer.

She coughed and cleared her throat, and smiled sheepishly.

"Yeesh!” she said, looking over her shoulder. “Must be the weather change."

She gave the dog a meaningful look, and misinterpreting, Alex got down on his knees and petted him.

He thought about his newly returned memories, and wondered for the five-millionth time what, if anything, he should tell her.

"I'll be back in a minute. I'm going to go take off my coat."

"Okay, hon.” She was getting a knife out of the drawer, lost in the world of puncturing the cellophane over the meat and peeling it off the corn.

He opened his mouth to tell her that he loved her, then changed his mind and walked away. He wasn't sure himself yet, but he thought it was probably true. Unfortunately, he thought, wandering around the living room, that was not why he was there.

He took his coat off and placed it carefully on the couch, started toward the shelves, feeling for what he'd felt before. He found it a few steps away from the closet door, a persistent warmth that was not made by fire but by magic calling to magic. It told him things—about where it was, and about why Libby's eyes were so strange. Knowing the nature of the object that called to him, he no longer believed the iron shutters and barred doors were enough.

"Whatcha doing?"

Her arms came around him as she hugged him tightly. He placed his hand over hers. He would not be holding her hands for much longer, and it made him miserable.

"Nebbing at your books."

He turned in her arms and pulled her close to him. He rested his cheek on top of her head and thought how well she fit against him, despite his height. His grip must have tightened, because after a minute she said, giggling, “Let me breathe, Alex."

"Oh, sorry.” He let her go. Now would be a good time. Just tell her the whole truth. She was on the side of the good guys, and he needed to convince her he was, too.

There was a knock on the door, and she jumped.

"I'll get that,” she said. “Please check my stove for me?"

"Uh ... sure.” He wasn't sure what she meant. Check to see if it was hot enough? To see if she'd turned it on?

He entered the kitchen while she peeked out the spyhole. He heard her murmur something to God, then a clunking scrape as she grabbed the door bar. Something tingled along his spine, and he turned just as Dashiel abandoned his dinner and ran.

"Libby, no!” Alex cried.

She ignored him. Her eyes were wide. “Rita?"

The woman on the porch smiled demurely. “It is I,” she said.

Libby shook her head. “I don't ... I don't understand. You were dead.” She started to cry. “I ... I found you."

"Yes, I suppose you did,” the woman said, shivering in her thin clothes.

Libby stared hard at the tiny skirt then shook her head, hard. Alex could feel her thoughts. She recognized the skirt, and was trying to think how Rita could have gotten it. He felt something haze over her mind. She tried to think, tried to make sense of her sister—

Her sister was alive?

"You look so cold!” Libby said, and suddenly all her thoughts were blocked. Was the woman casting a glamour over her?

Rita smiled. “I am. Please, let me in. I'll explain everything."

"No.” Alex stepped behind Libby. He took her by the arm and pulled her out of the way so he could shut the door.

"Alex? What are you doing? This is my sister. I thought ... Rita, I..."

Rita touched her lips, silencing her. Libby shivered.

Alex looked at the woman speculatively. Unlike the one who had intruded on him, this woman did have the look of Libby's sister. Something about the cheekbones, the eyes. She was a little shorter than Libby, a little more curvy.

"Interesting choice of clothes,” he commented dryly.

"Alex!” Libby said, exasperated.

"This isn't your sister,” he told her. “Even if it is, Sabin's obviously brought her back for his own purposes. He probably killed the poor thing in the first place."

Libby ripped away from him.

"Sabin? What do you know about Sabin?” She pointed at the woman, her hand going over the threshold. “This is my..."

She paused. She looked at him with bewildered eyes, and he winced at the pain in them. Rita grabbed the outstretched hand tightly, and Libby pulled, whether to get her hand away or to pull her sister in, he didn't know. But the pull was as good as an invitation, and Rita crossed the threshold.

"I've missed you, Libby!” She hugged her tightly. Over Libby's shoulder, she looked at Alex, her eyes bright yellow-green. She smiled and pulled away. “I have something for you."

She wrapped her hands around the pendant that hung from a chain around her neck and yanked it off. The cheap chain snapped easily.

"Dread spirit, I banish thee from this house, walk no more upon these floors,” Alex began, fumbling desperately for the old words.

Rita held the pendant in the air between them at eye level. It glowed with hypnotic purity, all white and milky. With a quick jerk of her wrist, she threw the pendent over Libby's shoulder. It shimmered in the air, twisting and turning. Dashiel rushed for it, but the rug skidded under his feet. Alex turned and grabbed for it, but it slipped free, leaving him only with a length of cheap chain.

It shattered on the hardwood floor, one drop of pure, unadulterated magic. White and brilliant, it slipped through the floorboards and into the cellar. Alex grabbed Libby, threw her on the floor behind the couch.

The magic touched the box, and the explosion caused the house to shudder.

"Rita!” Libby cried, trying to squirm out from under him. He held her tightly.

"That is not your sister,” he said. “I think I met her, and that's not the same woman."

She struggled all the harder. “Who are you? I don't even know you. Let me go!"

He rolled off her, and she crawled out from behind the couch. She made a low, moaning sound, and he got up to see.

Most of the house was still all right, except for the huge hole in the shattered floor.

Rita looked down at the hole, then up at Libby. Her lip trembled, her eyes teared. “Oh, God, Libby, what have I done?"

"What you were told to do,” Alex said bitterly.

"I want you both to leave. Now,” Libby said. She was crying, but her words were angry. “I don't know what either of you want, and I don't have time to sort it all out, so just go, okay?"

"Libby...” Alex touched her shoulder.

She pulled away. “Alex, I can't trust anyone right now. If you want to help me, just go."

She circled the pit, as if looking for a way down in.

"If only things were so easy, Elizabeth,” came from the other side of the open door.

"Sabin,” the sisters said in unison, both with a touch of fear.

Alex grabbed Rita's shoulder. He felt death and perverted magic. He ignored it. “Take her to the back door."

She pulled away. “I have my own job to do,” she hissed, and stepped forward.

Sabin smiled widely. “Usually, when we get to this point of the story, I ask you, ‘Where is it, Elizabeth?’ And you stick your little nose up in the air and say...” He raised his voice a little. “'I'm not telling you.'” He laughed. “As you can see, I've already taken care of that part."

"You still have to come in and get it,” Libby said. She had grabbed the door bar and stood, defiant.

"But there's already a little bit of me in there.” He grinned and started to say something else, but Dashiel, slinking low, slipped behind the door. With a thrust of all his weight and strength, he slammed it shut. Libby slapped the bar in place then clicked the locks, her hands trembling.

"Good work, Dashiel."

He bowed his head. “Now what?"

"First, we get rid of Sabin's passkey,” Alex said.

"No,” Rita said. “He doesn't need me anymore. He'll kill me."

"So? You're already dead. We can take her to the back door, throw her out and have everything zipped back up again before he can react."

"Alex, no,” Libby said. “I can't just throw her to the wolves."

"Why not?” He rubbed his eyes. “How much proof do you need that she isn't on our side?"

"About the same amount of proof that I need to figure out where, exactly, you stand,” Libby retorted. “All of a sudden you're acting like you know what everything is about."

"I do,” he snapped. “It's returned to me."

"Oh.” She nodded. “And how long ago did your memory so fortuitously return?"

He spoke in a voice that was dangerously quiet. “Quite recently, actually."

"Well, thanks for letting me in on it."

"Maybe that was why he was here tonight,” the rough voice he'd heard earlier interjected. “I don't really care. He's good people, Libby. Let's just shut up, and leave it at that."

Alex looked down and saw Dashiel standing in the space between them. The dog sighed, and said, “We have better things to discuss."

Libby looked into his eyes. “Alex, I can't fail her again."

Alex saw the tears, and stepped over Dashiel so he could hug her. “I don't get it."

Rita waved her hand. “It's a dumb thing she has. She thinks she killed me or something."

"Look, you can trust me,” Alex said. “Always. I won't let you down."

He let Libby go and crossed to the shutters. He opened the little door and looked outside, cursed under his breath and slammed it shut again.

"What is it?"

"He's probably seen Sabin's little army,” Rita said.

"That freaking nutcase has raised the Shadow King!” Alex said.

"Okay. What can we do? We're barricaded in. Will they go away in the morning?"

"They don't seem to like any kind of light,” Rita offered.

"Turn on all the lights,” Alex said.

"Right,” Libby said. She looked at the hole in the floor. “Dashiel, watch Rita. Rita, I love you, but you're at least partially under Sabin's control, so I don't trust you not to do something. Dashiel will rip your throat out if you do."

Rita blanched at this, and Libby added, gently, “I don't even know if you're really my sister. I'm only protecting you just in case you are, because I want you to be her. If you do anything to jeopardize what I'm trying to do, I'll have no choice but to kill you. I hope you understand."

Rita licked her bottom lip. “I guess."

Libby smiled at her. “Okay. Lights, then we'll check to see if the explosion compromised anything."