Dark Ascension: A Generation V Novel (18 page)

When she did sleep, it was restless, tossing back and forth. She muttered a lot, sometimes too low for me to understand, and other times in languages that I didn’t know. Whenever I did understand something, it was always fragmented, disjointed.

Once, I was sitting next to Prudence when the muttering started, and I asked her if she knew what Madeline was talking about.

“I wish I did,” my sister said, her blue eyes never shifting from our mother’s face. There was an angry edge to her voice, under the sadness that lay over all of us like a stifling winter quilt, pressing us down and making it hard to think or even register the passing of time. “She always kept so much back, always said that I wasn’t ready to know things, or that she’d tell me later. And now there’s no later left, and I still don’t understand.” Prudence’s mouth twisted, angry and sad in equal measures now, and I remembered the words that the kobold had taunted me with. I reminded myself forcibly that they were history’s best publicized con artists, but somehow it was harder to believe while sitting beside my mother’s deathbed than it had been in the alley.

Maire was often present, checking my mother’s condition, giving her small shots of painkillers to try to make her more comfortable. Madeline’s staff flocked around her—on some days it felt as if every person my mother employed was finding a reason to come into the room. They brought flowers and get-well cards, and even a little teddy bear with G
ET
W
ELL
S
OON
embroidered in pink thread found its way into the room. Patricia agonized over arranging my mother’s pillows just so, and even though my mother hadn’t been able to eat solid food in a century, the cook kept putting together the most beautiful tiny sampling plates and sending them up, claiming that just smelling something delicious would perk my mother up.

The hours ticked past. It felt like we’d been there forever, and at the same time everything going on outside of the mansion seemed to fade away.

On the morning of the fourth day, I put on my last pair of clean underpants and realized that I would have to do my laundry, or go home and get more clothing, or go out and buy more clothes here. I sat next to Madeline’s bed and read articles from the
New York Times
to her, on the assumption that, even mostly unconscious and slipping into death, she’d probably still want to know what was going on with politics, and tried to decide what I was going to do about my underwear situation. It was the most basic decision, and one that was pretty easy to resolve, yet I found myself dithering. In the strange twilight world that I currently resided in, one where my mother was dying neither quickly nor slowly yet very, very immediately, I couldn’t even figure out how to provide myself with clean underwear. In a strange way, it almost began to seem to me that if I made a decision, then the situation would finally end and my mother would die, at which point I realized that I’d slid fully into magical thinking. Yet even identifying my own brand of temporary madness didn’t resolve the problem.

What resolved the problem was when Suzume showed up just after lunch with a second duffel bag of clean clothing.

“I was pretty sure that the kitsune weren’t psychic,” I said to her in the front hall of the mansion. It was the first thing I could think to say, given the completely unexpected sight before me.

“We aren’t,” she assured me. “But I counted how many sets of clothing you packed before you left, and when I knew that you’d be running out I asked Dan to pack some more for you.”

She stayed with me for the rest of the afternoon, but in fox form. It was comforting to have her with me, because she was soft and nice to pet as she sat in my lap, but I would’ve significantly preferred to have her in human form. When she was getting ready to leave, just before dinner was going to be served, and had finally resumed her human form, I asked her why she’d stayed fox.

“Low profile, Fort,” she said, sitting on my bed as she pulled on her shoes. “While I’m happy to be there emotionally for you, my grandmother was pretty specific about me staying under Prudence’s radar.”

“What’s Atsuko worried about?”

Suze’s feathery black eyebrows arched. “Your sister—who by the way was not exactly thrilled when your mother granted my grandmother and all her kick-ass unborn progeny, i.e., me, unprecedented levels of self-governance—is about to become head of the territory. Man friend, I know that you’re in a difficult emotional place right now, but think this one through.” She paused, then looked around. “Also, I’d consider trying to brighten your day by jumping you and defiling what is undoubtedly your virgin childhood bedroom, but I’m not sure that I can work up enthusiasm while surrounded by this many stereotypical teenage boy movie posters. What’s up with this?”

“Summer blockbusters with copious explosions were my gateway drug to film theory,” I acknowledged. Then, refocusing on the important part of her statement, I asked, “Atsuko is worried?”

“Everyone is worried,” she said. “But I can stay longer if you need me to.”

I appreciated her offer, but turned it down, to her obvious relief.

As I walked her to her car, a thought occurred to me. “Have I been fired yet?”

“Do you want me to find out?”

I thought about it for a second. “No. No, I think that I really don’t even give a shit.”

She hugged me, and I leaned into her, linking my arms behind her back and pressing my face into her neck. “I just want this to be over,” I said, quietly enough that I could barely hear it myself. “But if it’s over, it means that she’s dead, and I don’t want that either.”

Suze didn’t try to say anything. She just stood there holding me as the sky darkened around us from the violet and orange tones of sunset to a soft gray, and finally blackness. We could hear the distant sounds of crashing waves from where we stood, and the occasional lonely cries from seagulls. She didn’t complain that it was too cold, or that she had places to be—she simply waited until I was ready to let go.

*   *   *

Another week passed with no change. Then one morning I was walking along the hallway to my mother’s suite, and I saw Chivalry and Prudence standing outside her door, clearly waiting for something.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Chivalry just shook his head. He stretched out one arm and put a hand on my shoulder. I could feel the strength in that hand, and was reminded how much stronger he was than me, how he could probably crush my shoulder without much effort.

“Wait with us, brother,” Prudence said quietly. Her pupils were larger than they should’ve been, so wide that there was only the faintest hint of the blue of her iris present.

We stood in the hallway for long minutes; then I felt a sudden yank of the bond inside me that linked me to my mother. Beside me I could feel my siblings flinch at the same moment, and knew that they had felt it as well. There was an electricity in the air, like before a storm rolls in from the ocean, and I could feel every hair on my body stand on end.

“She’s ready for us now,” said Prudence, and opened the door.

My mother’s sitting room was the same as ever, innocuous. My hands began to shake as we walked to the closed door of her bedroom. Chivalry and Prudence looked grim, though not as affected as me.

The first thing that I saw when the bedroom door opened was that my mother was sitting up in bed. Her expression was lucid, alive, and her blue eyes glowed. Power radiated out of her, strong enough that I felt it not just in the bond between us, but along my skin and even in the air that I sucked into my lungs. For a second my heart skipped a beat, and I thought,
She’s better
.

Then I saw what was lined up against the wall of the room. The bodies of eight of her oldest, most loyal staff members, lying against the wall like broken dolls. Patricia was there, seated on the floor, a euphoric expression still frozen on her dead face. Her sensible slacks were tan, and her sweater was cream. And her face and skin were paler than they’d ever been, as pale as wax paper, except for the long, ripped wound on the side of her neck that still oozed blood. Beside Patricia was James, who had served my mother since he was a young boy, even after I’d attacked him in a fit of bloodlust a few months ago. The wrinkled skin of his face was smoothed out now, relaxed. And six more beside them, all of whom I knew, had known since I was a child. The ones most devoted to my mother, the ones who had served her longest. The ones who’d been the most distraught over the past week, visited her the most frequently.

“Are you a pharaoh, Mother?” My throat was almost too tight to force words through, but I managed it. “Demanding that your retainers follow you into the afterlife?”

“My poor Fortitude,” Madeline crooned. “You still do not understand. They volunteered for this, my darling. Gave up those last few years of their lives for a greater purpose.”

“I don’t understand either, Mother,” Prudence said, surprising me.

“Come.” Madeline crooked a finger at us, urging us closer. “Time is short, my dearest ones, my babies. This gift will not last long, and must not be squandered.”

We shuffled forward, almost pulled, though whether it was by the power that rolled off her or by those old instincts to obey our mother, I didn’t know. Maybe it was both. We lined up beside her, with Prudence the first in the line, standing by Madeline’s pillow, and me third, by her hand.

“Our lives are long,” Madeline said. “So long that humans think us immortal. And when our bodies begin to fail, many of us fall into a sleep that can last decades, as we struggle to maintain ourselves, to hold on to life. There are periods of waking—hours, then minutes. Eventually moments so brief that the eyes cannot even open before consciousness falls back into slumber. There are those who cling to this, who refuse to pass until they have wrung every droplet of life. But I have tasted that these last days, and it’s not what I choose.”

“No, Mother,” Chivalry whispered.

“Hush, my dearest.” She was so gentle in that moment, and so terrible. Like a mother crocodile lifting its hatchling with its mouth. “I have lived long, seen much, and done great things. I am content that this is the end.” Madeline looked at all of us in turn, those bluer-than-blue eyes lingering, drinking us in. “This is my will, my final order, my final wish. It is the last thing I will ever ask of you, and my hope for your future.” She paused, drew a deep breath. “I have no sole heir.”

We stared at her. Then we stared at each other. Prudence began to open her mouth, and Madeline cut her off.

“No, listen to me, because there is no time left. I have left the paperwork behind, for the banks and the property, but this is more than that. Each of you will receive a third of my estate, of my interests, and also of my authority. You must remain together, act not as a Nest with a single ruler, but as siblings and equals. We vampires have thought that we are stone, unchanging as the winds of time and humanity swirl around us. But change has worn us down, diminished us. Few see the changes that have already been wrought, even though to an outside eye the damage is clear. I will be gone, my doves, and will not live through the times ahead. You will, and you must work together to see them through. With one of you left to rule, the other two would flounder and move away, regardless of which I chose. Only with this is there a chance that you would stay together, to gain strength through each other, to advise and guide. Swear this, my children.”

Chivalry was first, speaking without hesitation, even as tears ran down his cheeks. “When have I ever doubted or turned away? You know that I’ll do whatever you ask. I swear.”

Madeline looked at Prudence. Rage and anguish fought each other on my sister’s face, and then she slid down to her knees and pressed her forehead against my mother’s. “I could’ve done it, Mother,” she whispered, and now the tears were coming for her, the sorrow winning out. “I could’ve protected them.”

“Whatever waits for me on the other side of death,” Madeline said, one hand reaching up to stroke my sister’s red hair, “it cannot change that I will miss you, my daughter. You were the gift that filled my arms after your sister died, and how I have loved you. Now promise, darling. Promise me this last thing.”

A long minute passed. Then, muffled, but unmistakable, Prudence whispered, “This last thing, Mother, this hardest thing, I promise.”

Madeline’s eyes turned to me, and she stretched out her left hand. I caught it, feeling the veins, the dry, thin skin, the chill of the flesh. “And you, my last born, my rebel, fool and foreseer both. Swear.”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Mother,” I said, my voice breaking. “None of this makes sense.”

“Trust me, my son, my creation. All your terror, all your love—trust me now.”

Her hand moved up and cupped my face. How many times, I wondered, had she done this one action since the moment that I was born? And now here was the last time. There were centuries of life stretching in front of me, yet my mother was dying when I wasn’t even thirty. My tears were hot on my face, and I nodded. “Fine,” I said. “I promise. I swear.”

“Thank you, my little virtues, my greatest loves. Now . . .” She relaxed back against the cushions of her bed, spreading out her arms. “My final gift to you: drink. Drink until nothing remains. Whatever strength, whatever power is still flickering in me, better that it be yours, my children, then be cast aside or preserve a useless half-life.” She smiled at the expressions on our faces, her long ivory fangs flashing. “Yes, I know that this is difficult, dears. But this is the death I choose, rather than lingering and dwindling down to nothingness. This is what I want, and I’ve already given Loren and the staff their other orders.” Her hands stretched out, touching each of us on our heads, our cheeks. “All has been arranged.”

We arranged ourselves the way that our mother directed us—Chivalry gently carried her over to her chaise longue, then knelt at her left side. I was at her right, and Prudence was at her neck. As my sister turned down the collar of Madeline’s dressing gown, I rolled up her long sleeve, exposing the soft bend of her elbow. Chivalry was echoing my movements, or maybe I was echoing his—this was nothing that I could’ve ever imagined doing, and yet somehow, as we all acted together, there was almost a familiarity to what we were doing. A strange, disturbing, wholly unwelcome sense of rightness.