Blue Moon (35 page)

The bridge was barely as wide as her hand, a narrow lip of stone that arched across the abyss. Sierra had seen a handful of Shadow people cross over using it, and realized that they could float, but only if they had something under them.

She waited to see if more Shadow people—or worse, their noisy, misshapen followers—were coming. The Shadow people seemed to be forming ranks on the hillside at the opposite end of the castle, and she wondered what they were waiting for. They carried only their light, fragile swords. The creatures had charge of other weapons, heavier things their masters would soon be able to use. Sierra remembered the stories she'd read about the Shadow kind, and shuddered.

Do I have the guts? she wondered as she neared the tiny span. Do I dare?

Her boots were good, flexible, new enough that the tread carved into the soles was still useful. She stepped on the bridge. Best foot forward, she thought, and swung the other foot around and placed her weight on it.

Maybe I should consider crawling across. She took another small, swaying step. She felt like a vertigo-stricken tightrope walker, and there was no net between her and the swirling, green-and-pale-brown magic pooled below.

Step. Breathe. She balanced carefully, praying she wouldn't slip. She looked up just once before quickly returning focus on her feet. The castle seemed so far away. The distance made her freeze. How was she going to make it? She must be crazy to even consider it.

You have no choice, she told herself fiercely. Step, now! She slowly lifted one foot and reached out with it, set it down then brought the other foot up too fast. She stubbed it on the edge of the pathway and felt herself falling. Panicked, she tried to regain her balance.

Cold hands caught her, twisted her around. It was Sabin. He pulled her against his chest and smiled at her with his sharp teeth.

"I've been waiting for you,” he said. He looked over his shoulder at the Shadow minions on the bridge behind him. “Pity they're not solid yet, eh?"

Unfortunately, the Terfa behind them were more than solid enough, and Sabin thrust her into their hands.

She was taken to a tower room. She paced it, studied every inch. It was perfectly circular, tiled with gray-black tiles. The walls were slick, and she could see herself there when she stood in front of the perfectly round window. The Shadow King's forces scrambled below, crawling over each other, fighting as they made their preparations. They were, she realized, amazingly unorganized. They fought over places to stand, they pushed each other's war machines out of the way as they sought the best position for their own.

She stared at the moon. She never thought it would be so blue; it painted everything with a bright sapphire brush. When it left, this castle would be gone, and with it all the wonder of magic.

Zorovin would be gone, too, she supposed. She leaned against the window frame, pressing the back of her hand to her eyes.

"Zorovin,” she whispered, with such keen longing the name took the form of a feather, black as night. The feather floated on the wind, skirting the lower towers and leaping the river on one large gust. It tumbled pinion over tip, joining clusters of leaves then turned against the wind, rolling sideways until it came to rest against the toe of a black boot.

A pale hand reached down and picked it up. Zorovin held it in front of his eyes for a long moment before frowning and putting it in his pocket.

"What is it?” his son asked.

"Nothing,” he said quietly. “We must get going."

But the feather haunted him. He kept being drawn to the highest tower of the castle, wanting to go there.

"I have to go see your sister,” he blurted.

"Which one?” Libby asked.

He frowned at her. “Sierra.” He strode away into the woods.

Alex held her back from following.

"It'll be all right,” he said, putting a comforting arm around her as a black form took to the sky and made for the castle.

Sierra sat on the floor under the window. The moonlight cast a perfect circle on the wall.

A small black shadow darted across the disk of light, and she jumped. A dragon not much larger than a loaf of bread landed on the floor in front her. It grew to the size of a large dog, and she turned away, because the sight of it growing, blurring the space around it, made her eyes feel itchy.

When she looked back, Zorovin crouched on the floor. He raised his head and looked at her with inscrutable eyes.

"Zorovin?” she whispered.

"You called, wizard woman?” His voice surrounded her. His coat was a patch of night with scales that sparkled like captured stars. “I was surprised you came back. I had thought perhaps you would be in your boat, floating down the ley lines until you reached the mythical portal that would take you to the other side."

She licked her lips.

"It's what the books promised,” she said. “But I thought about it, and realized my place was here, with my sister. And with you.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I mean, you shouldn't let someone you love go to battle all by themselves."

He arched an eyebrow. “Your sister is not alone. She has my son to fight with her."

She swallowed, feeling a blush heat her cheeks, and murmured, “I meant you."

"Ah.” He sat down slowly and crossed his legs. He let the silence rest between them, and with each second she felt like she had made a greater mistake. Her cheeks flushed deeper, and she tried to think of how to get out of this.

"It is good that you decided to stay,” he said at length. “Even now, Sabin has your abandoned shell."

As he spoke, she also saw thoughts, his thoughts, in her head. It was odd, for his thoughts were cool and calm like a silver scalpel inserted into her mind. She saw the body she used to have, and shuddered when she saw the eyes.

"We cannot guess the purpose behind his obsession to use your old body, but we can assume he desires to use it to hurt you or your sister. So, it is time now for you to tell me exactly what happened. The truth."

She did not ask what he meant. After her confession of love this was the last thing she wanted to talk about. She complied, though, because he was not the kind to ask things for no reason.

"Sabin was my sister's boyfriend,” she began, “but I didn't like him, not from the beginning. He felt ... wrong ... filthy. I know she thinks I slept with him out of jealousy, but that's not it. I knew she'd find out, and back then, I didn't really care who I screwed. Sex didn't mean anything because ... I'd been used unkindly a couple of times, and I had really shitty self-esteem, so it just started to not matter. And I didn't even like it, most of the time. It was just something to do and get over with."

"What you have done with others does not matter to me, wizard woman."

"Gee, thanks,” she said, embarrassed because she knew she'd gone on too long. “I knew she'd catch me with Sabin, and would dump him.” Sierra shrugged. “She'd forgive me eventually. We'd just get drunk, agree that men everywhere are creeps, and all would be well. And it worked—for a while."

"Your sister ‘dumped’ Sabin?"

Sierra nodded.

"But that did not stop him."

She frowned. “It seemed to, for a while. He...” She blushed even darker, and she hoped he couldn't see. “He lured me. I know that now. He told me all about where he came from. About how there was a world made of magic and that he could make it so, if I got there, I could start all over again, clean. I was hooked. I let him do whatever he wanted to me, because he was leaving Libby alone, and it didn't matter, because someday, I'd go to this other world, and I could start all over again. I'd bathe in the magic, and it'd make me pure."

"Magic is not religion,” he said.

"What?"

"You're confusing magic and God. Magic is a tool. Like fire or an alarm clock."

"Yeah, and I could use that tool to do what I want.” She fluttered her hands in the air for a second, like nervous butterflies; then she shoved them in her lap.

"Anyway, one night he makes me undress and lie on a table, and he ties me down. Then he brings in this other girl, and he switches our essences or souls or whatever, and he's all pleased with himself because he's moved me out of my ‘whore's body,’ as he called it, and into a clean new one that he could be the only one to defile. And I don't know this girl, but I don't want to hurt her, so I try and convince him to switch us back, but he killed my old body and the girl inside it, and later, I found out, planted it in Libby's bathtub.

"Somehow, I think this body is more naturally attuned to magic, because there was a well of it, deep inside, that I tapped. I was able to escape. So, I ran, because I could start over, with this body. I could care what happened to it."

"I see."

She thought she heard skepticism in his tone. “Two men. My husband and Raul, that's it. Not too shabby, really.” He didn't say anything. “I'm not a whore,” she said softly.

"I am not judging you,” he said.

"Oh.” She bit her lip. She must be tired, she thought, to have these tears in her eyes. She turned from him and willed them away. What happed to the tough girl who'd taken over another person's life? Who'd survived the suicide of her husband? Who'd cut herself off from this world and single-mindedly planned how to get to the other?

"What do you want me to say?” he shouted, angry.

She hadn't thought he was capable of raising his voice or changing his expression. She looked at him.

"I don't know what to say,” he continued, in a quieter tone. “I do not understand why you're upset."

She whipped her hand across her eyes. “It doesn't matter,” she said. “Can you get me the hell out of here?"

His sigh seemed to say “As you wish” as he got to his feet. She went to stand beside him in front of the window.

He moved behind her and whispered in her ear, “Do you have faith, wizard woman?"

"Aye,” she whispered back.

"Step on the windowsill,” he ordered, and she obeyed, clutching the window frame for support.

"Jump,” he said. “I will come after you, and catch you ere you reach the ground."

She understood. He needed to get outside and transform to be large enough to carry her ... although she'd rather he go first.

He's testing me, she realized, and leaned out. The ground was so far away. Good. He'd have plenty of time.

She took a deep breath, and behind her she heard the door slam open.

"I would not recommend that,” Sabin said.

The mirror was as large and round as a sidetable top. The silver of it—and it was silver, Morganna had assured her, silver-backed and silver-framed—was pure as moonlight, the crystal face of it clear and deep like spring water. The frame was simple, a plain circle of silver.

"Why does it have such a deep lip?” she'd asked.

"Sometimes it has to hold things,” Nimue had said, sitting cross-legged next to it.

Morganna lit a taper and dripped the creamy tallow next to the frame in front of Nimue, then used the warm drippings to hold the candle. She repeated the process, setting a candle in front of Melnue and then one in front of herself. They sat so that if someone were to draw lines from each female heart to the heart of her neighbor, it would form a perfect triangle.

Melnue tried not to shift, uncomfortable on the hard, cold floor. They had needed a private place for this spell, a place that was as empty as possible. Morganna suggested an abandoned school building she knew of, and they went to her home to pick up what they needed.

They were in the gymnasium, hardwood floors dusty, the air stuffy from being locked in. She could see the painted marks—circles and straight lines covering the floor like a gigantic rune. She worried that perhaps the random markings would interfere with their spell.

The windows were set high in the wall, most of them boarded over. Dim gray light filtered through the cracks between the joinings, and moonrise sparkled off the sharp, shattered edge where one window had been smashed by a thrown brick. She knew it was a brick, because she had found it earlier and used it to help blockade the double door that lead into the hall.

"Pay attention now,” Morganna said.

She picked up a crystal pitcher of water and poured it into the mirror. The surface seemed to shimmer, and even though she emptied pitcher completely, there seemed to only be the slightest skim of water on the glass. She produced a measuring cup from her carry bag, and a small bottle of cheap vodka. She poured a portion of the spirits into the cup, returned some to the bottle, shook her head and added a few drops back into the cup. When she was satisfied she had exactly a half a cup, she used the stream of liquid to draw a circle on the water.

She took out a jar of oil, very clear and faintly gold, and sketched an X with it on the mirror. A nod to Melnue and her sister, and they placed their hands against the side and beat their palms against the frame. The mixture rippled, and an oily sheen marred the surface.

Melnue stared at it a long moment and struggled not to yawn. The room was dark, and the odor of dust underlaid with old varnish and sweat and the greasy smell of the tallow seemed to clog her nose, her eyes, her mind. All she wanted to do was lie down and drift into sleep.

Nimue raised her fingers to her lips and kissed the tips. She held her hand, palm up, over the middle of the mirror. Her fingertips shimmered, and she turned her hand over. A drop of something like liquid pearl fell from her fingers and into the water below.

The oil on the surface took on all the colors of the rainbow. The sisters took each other's hands then reached out to Melnue. She joined hands with them and stared at the swirling colors that began to take shape before her.

Being alone with Alex and Dashiel again was perfectly satisfactory to Libby. Zorovin made her uncomfortable, with his intense eyes and his sharp questions. She had a very firm suspicion he did not approve of her.

She and Alex took turns carrying the magic while Dashiel scouted ahead.