Dark Light of Day (46 page)

Was I brave enough to test my theory at tomorrow night’s bonfire?

T
he next day was the sort of day I’d dreamed about during school, after I’d read 180 pages of Oathbreaking cases, drafted a dozen case briefs, memorized the elements of sixteen evil deeds, reviewed eight sacrifice offers, and wrote (yet another) futile letter of advice to Nergal, all on less than five hours of sleep with barely more than coffee and a chocolate bar to keep me going. We slept in, woke to a breakfast of whole wheat pancakes with bacon and pan-seared potatoes and then lounged around on the couch playing mancala and looking through old photo albums.

One picture, in particular, fascinated me. A young Joy stood in front of the Lethe with an infant in her arms. Bright sunlight glinted off her hair and she squinted, one hand raised over her brow to block the sun. She grinned and gazed adoringly up at the camera obscura. I knew Steve had taken the picture. At her feet was a small reed basket.

“What’s with the basket?”

“Joy found me at the riverfront one morning, floating around in that basket.” He took the picture from me, staring at it more closely. But the only emotion in his voice was amazement. “If she hadn’t come along, I would have drowned.” He put the picture back in the album and turned to me. At first, I was unable to speak. It was unthinkable that a mother would have floated her newborn out into the Lethe to drown.

“Why?”

Ari shrugged. “Who knows? At first, my parents thought it was someone from Bradbury who couldn’t afford a child. Even then Joy was known for taking things in, shining them up, and making them useful again. But then, when it became clear I was no ordinary Hyrke child, they looked to Etincelle. There are a few Host families in New Babylon, but not many, and the current flows in the opposite direction. It was pretty clear that basket had come from your side of the river.”

“Then who are your real parents?”

Ari laughed. “Steve and Joy Carmine.”

“But… don’t you want to know?”

“No. As far as I’m concerned, I was born in that basket.”

Ari tucked the picture back into the album and turned the page, chuckling over some other recalled memory. His signature was flat and steady as a board. I marvelled that he could be so cavalier about the circumstances surrounding his birth. I remembered the conversation we’d had in my dorm room on the first day of school, when Ari had confronted me about my birth and my angry, resentful feelings over it. What had he said?

Why do you waste one second on what might have been? What is, is. That’s the only thing that matters.

He hadn’t just been saying it; he’d been living it.

D
usk came quicker than I would have liked. I knew Ari was expecting me to participate in the bonfire lighting, but the whole idea of willingly burning something in front of an audience, no matter how celebratory the occasion might be, made me heart-poundingly nervous. I hemmed and hawed
about getting ready. I took an unbelievable amount of time to shower and get dressed. Ari knew I was stalling but he didn’t say anything. I think he knew I had to work through my fears on my own.

The day had been humid and hot. Some of the heat lingered so I chose to wear the only dress I had, a white cotton sheath that just skimmed the tops of my knees. I left my hair long and loose and, thinking of the uneven cobblestone walk down to the riverfront, slipped on a pair of low sandals.

When I emerged from my room everyone was at the door. Instantly I felt horrible about making everyone wait. The trepidation I was feeling must have shown on my face.

“Are you okay?” Matt asked, looking concerned. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

Steve glared at his youngest son.

My anxiety only increased as we made our way down to the riverfront. As we walked, more and more people joined us. Soon, we were caught up in the crowd the way a leaf gets swept away on the surface of swiftly flowing water. The crowd streamed down to the docks with us riding the crest of the wave. This was all new to me. I’d never participated in any of Etincelle’s bonfires.

“Then who lights them on the Onyx estate?” Matt had asked.

“We don’t have them,” I’d told him.

“Your Hyrkes have to go elsewhere? They can’t celebrate at home?” He’d seemed aghast, put out on behalf of his southern shore brethren. I hadn’t understood why until now. These Hyrkes had no signatures, but it was impossible not to feel their excitement.

Children were propped up on shoulders, shouting to one another, dogs barked and chased their owners, young men yelled and jostled each other, each one trying to muscle their way closer for a better look. We came to a stop not far from the river’s edge. The crowd was so thick; I could only see the very top of the bonfire frame. In front of us were two large wooden boxes. Ari climbed up on one.

There were easily a thousand people down by the docks,
all facing Ari. He spoke to them as if he were addressing Copeland in Sin and Sanction, strong and confident, respectful but somewhat informal. He spoke in a clear oratory tone that carried well above the crowd, despite the rumblings of the mass and the blowing wind coming in off the Lethe.

“Pax vobiscum,”
Ari said to the crowd.
Peace be with you all.

Almost as one, they responded back.

“Pax tecum,
Aristos
!” Peace be with you.
A few of the young men whooped and cheered after that and then it got quiet again.

“We’ve come here to celebrate Beltane—the Bradbury way,” Ari shouted. This time the crowd broke out in a contained riot. Their community pride was evident. When they calmed down again, Ari continued. “Tonight, we honor Estes, Patron Demon of the Lethe, protector of Bradbury’s life-blood.”

I looked down at my bandaged hand. So Estes
was
more than a potential client to Ari. He had acted like Host didn’t need to make offerings and show thanks. But I rather thought the opposite. I hadn’t offered enough. Ari had said, as far as he was concerned, he’d been born on the Lethe. Estes had been his first protector, his first provider. Because of the demon’s beneficence, Ari was alive now for me.

Ari turned around and reached out his hand to me. I took it and stepped up on the block. For one moment, it was as if the crowd was frozen in time. I knew I would remember this moment forever. Like the moment I’d written my name on The List, or the moment I’d let go of the lilies Peter had given me, some moments have the power to redefine a person, to redirect a life. I knew this moment was such a moment.

“I’ve brought a guest here tonight,” Ari said, still holding my hand, but addressing the crowd. “Another Maegester-in-Training, from Etincelle. Nouiomo Onyx.”

I tried to smile, but it likely looked like a grimace. I gripped Ari’s hand hard enough to crack the bones. He didn’t flinch. I remembered all the times my magic had gone awry. The times I’d tried to light something on fire and something
else next to it had gone up instead. There were a thousand people here. Did Ari really have any idea what he was doing when he asked me to join him in lighting this bonfire? I wanted to do right by Estes. I owed the demon that much and more. But what if I failed?

A woman stepped forward from the crowd. She was young and pretty, but shabbily dressed. She waddled a little, her large, round belly making her gait uneven. She walked up to the boxes solemnly and stopped a few yards in front of us. It was Grace. She bowed her head and then, to my surprise, she addressed me.

“Nouiomo,” she said, her voice higher than Ari’s but just as clear. “Welcome.” Some cheered after that but most were subdued. Their faces were expectant, however, not wary. They didn’t know me as they knew Ari.

“Yesterday,” Grace said, “you gave our hearth demon your blood. Today, we wanted to offer something to yours.” The crowd parted to reveal a second, smaller bonfire frame some distance away from Estes’ massive tower. “We built this bonfire frame to honor Flora. Will you light it?”

I nodded. Speaking was out of the question. I tried to swallow and couldn’t. My stomach flipped and my hands shook. We Onyxes had no hearth demon, at least not that I knew of. But I wasn’t about to insult these good people, or Flora, by saying that now. Ari let go of my hand and stepped back from me. All attention turned solely to me. It was the strangest sensation. All my life I’d avoided lighting fires in front of people. Now, the whole of a neighborhood looked to me to start one.

“Remember what I said,” Ari said quietly, “strong and controlled.”

“Sunt facta verbis difficiliora,”
I croaked. Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who might accidentally set the crowd on fire.

He smiled. “You can do this.”

I focused my attention on the small frame and felt my magic surge. For a single instant, I was full of heat and light.
Could a waning magic user throw magic mixed with anything
but fear, fury, or hate?
I had only a moment, but I tried to remember a time when I’d successfully thrown magic mixed with a warmer, softer emotion. I couldn’t. The closest memories to what I had in mind were the times I’d used infatuation, arousal, or recklessness to provoke Ari. Instinct and past experience told me
those
emotions weren’t going to make my magic less capricious. So instead I drew inspiration from the beaming faces of the people in the crowd. I knew I wouldn’t be able to feel their emotions with my magic because they were Hyrkes, but I opened up my signature as if I could.

Then, feeling only hope and joy, I released my magic and directed it in a tightly controlled blast right into the heart of the little bonfire frame. To my delight and everyone else’s, it sprang to life immediately, all fiery red and crackling. There were oo’s and ah’s, sounds of wonder, but no sounds of outright amazement. This was what they’d expected me to do, what they’d
wanted
me to do. I was the one who was amazed.

I turned to Ari and saw the light from my bonfire reflected back in his eyes. “Let’s light the big one together,” he said, looking eager. For once, so was I.

We faced the tower together, clasping hands. The crowd turned with us as one. I felt Ari’s large, strong hand close around mine and it echoed the embrace of his signature. I tingled with the hum of gathered waning magic. Knowing there was a safe repository for all the chaos I was collecting and knowing that my fire was wanted, allowed me to feel my magic as I never had before. A molten, viscous heat developed at my core. I felt the edges of my signature blur into Ari’s. For a moment, all that magic was too much. I felt myself bursting apart, losing control, but then I remembered to be hopeful, joyful, even giddy. In a heady rush, I abandoned my fear, opening myself as wide in offering as I had the first time I’d given myself to Ari. Only it wasn’t just Ari I was giving myself to. It was Estes and his people, the living, breathing beings surrounding me who needed to know there was still magic in the world.

I heard Ari’s sharp intake of breath beside me. I glanced
down at our clasped hands and saw a wisp of flame licking at his fingertips. Fire danced across my skin. I felt as if I’d immersed myself in a hot bath. The heat wrapped around me, seeped into my pores, and filled every open crevice until I couldn’t stand it any longer. There was an elastic moment when everything seemed to expand and contract simultaneously. Then I felt the heat sluice off me and rush toward the bonfire frame as if it were Lethe water surging out to sea. The bonfire tower erupted. Every piece of the timber frame ignited at once, producing an explosion of heat and light. The crowd stepped back, shielding their eyes from the blast. One by one they lowered their hands and turned to us. Then they erupted as the tower had, their arms waving like flickering fire, their whoops and cheers competing with the roar of the flames.

Ari grinned and pulled me close, murmuring in my ear,
“Lucem in tenebras ferimus.” Into the darkness, we bring light.

D
espite the success of the bonfires, my sleep that night was uneasy. I woke up feeling heavy and thick. My limbs were sore. Ari said it was the aftereffect of the bonfire magic but it felt like tiredness and plain old worry to me. If I hadn’t known that it had been hundreds of years since a real demon had actually been seen in Bradbury, I might have thought one was sitting on my shoulder (either Fraitan or Worghen, the demons of fret and worry respectively, to be sure). I even slumped from the imaginary weight of them while I sat at Joy’s kitchen table, clutching my mug of coffee like a ward against the thoughts that plagued me.

For starters, I hadn’t heard from either Night or Peter since the Barrister’s Ball. Considering Peter’s expression as he stood glowering over the blackened lily bouquet I’d ungratefully shoved back at him immediately before dashing off to find Ari, I couldn’t blame him. But it was unlike Night not to at least send a brief note of assurance when he had to have known I was worried. But I reminded myself that it had
taken him almost six weeks to write after he’d left to join the Demeter Tribe. And it certainly wasn’t that I didn’t have anything else to worry about.