Roses and Rot (40 page)

“It was at midnight,” Marin said. “The accident.”

“I know.” Midnight. When the tithe had officially been broken. Everything I ever wanted.

“Do you think—I mean, with everything I said about keeping us safe—did they do this?”

Yes. That was exactly what I thought, though not for the reasons she did. The Fae, backhanded and precise about their gifts, knew that deep dark wish from my childhood. Not the safety Marin wanted, but the one that I did. It is possible to tell a truth, and tell it in pieces.

“She was drinking, Marin. There is no way that what you wanted caused this, okay?”

She nodded.

We turned the corner and were outside her room. I looked at Marin, and she nodded. “The last time.”

“It took you two long enough to get here,” our mother said as we walked into her room. I had braced for her to look terrible, the stepmother from a fairy tale, the witch who locked Hansel in a cage. The monster of my childhood memories. But even bruised and swollen and covered in tubes and machines, she looked flat.
Ordinary. Small. “I’m not sure why. Nothing is more important than family, didn’t I always tell you that? I assume you told that place you won’t be coming back.”

Marin snorted out a laugh.

“Did I say something funny? Someone has to take care of me.”

“Someone might,” I said. “But not us.”

“You ungrateful bitch,” she said. The machines beeped louder. “I always took care of you.”

“I suppose you might call it that,” I said. “But that’s over. It’s done.”

“We only came to say good-bye. That’s the only thing we owe you,” Marin said. “We never want to see or hear from you again.”

“Ungrateful. Spoiled. Too many people making a fuss over you. You’ve forgotten you’re nothing.” Blood leaked from the side of her mouth, and bubbled up into a froth as she spoke.

“No,” I said. “We know who we are. Good-bye.” Marin and I turned to the door.

“If you leave, you’re no longer my daughters.”

Marin smiled, and kept walking. “Good,” I said. “I’ve waited my whole life to hear you say that.” I followed my sister out of the door.

After.

I poured tea into a mug that said
WRITE YOUR OWN HAPPY ENDING
, and handed it to Beth. She raised a brow.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, I know. My publisher sent them, though. Could have been worse. Could have had a smiley princess on it.”

“You escaped the smiley princess cover, which is good,” she said. “What you have is gorgeous—Evan’s work, right?”

It was. A black-and-white photo of his trees. “I thought they looked like a fairy tale the first time I saw them. I was glad the art director agreed.”

“So are you two . . .” She let the words trail off.

“Friends. His art is, of course, doing very well. I’m happy for him.”

Beth walked around the edges of the apartment, then settled into a worn leather chair. “You look like you’re doing well yourself. And Marin’s living with you?”

I sat down across on the couch, the Brooklyn skyline through the windows at my back. “She is. It’s what we talked about, before. Finding a place together. And it’s nice to be around someone who gets it.”

Who got everything. It was the life we had talked about wanting as kids, before it had been taken from us. Before we were almost taken from each other, by our mother’s lies and manipulations. That was over. Done. And we were here.

When I sold my book, Marin went with me to the shelter, and paid the adoption fee for my kitten.

“And your success hasn’t been a source of friction?”

“Marin’s having plenty of success on her own. She got hired as a soloist at NBT, and she loves it there. They seem to love her, too.”

“If I remember correctly, that’s Gavin’s company.”

I nodded. “He abdicated.”

She set the mug down with a rattle. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

I nodded. “He’ll turn mortal. It’s why they don’t usually live here in the human world, or not for very long periods of time, anyway. Too much time away from Faerie, and you forget what you are. And the place forgets you. He says that soon he won’t be able to go back.” I thought he was relieved. It was easier that way.

“And he and Marin are still together?”

“They are.” It was a complicated thing to watch. He was almost too careful around her, and I wasn’t sure whether that was his residual
guilt at not being able to protect her from Faerie, or if it was awkwardness as he became human. But Marin was happy, and so that was enough.

“And they’re dancing together. In fact—you’ll love this—their premiere performance this fall? Oberon and Titania in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
.”

Beth laughed until tears streamed from her eyes.

“I did the same thing when she told me. I’ll get us tickets.”

“On to less entertaining things,” she said. “I was wondering if that reporter—I know she’s spoken to Ariel—has she gotten in touch with you, too?”

The early consequences of breaking the tithe were beginning to manifest. There was a delay in the announcement of next year’s mentors, due to three of them having sudden scheduling conflicts. A mutual fund that held a number of Melete’s assets had crashed, losing over a third of the value in the space of days. A magazine profile of Melete had revealed more scandals, and was being widely quoted in an ongoing conversation about toxic influences on artists, and the pressures to succeed. That one had been written by the reporter Beth mentioned, Christine Jenkins. She was sure there was more going on behind the scenes at Melete than she had found, and since I had been one of the people who had fled campus at the beginning of May, their residencies left unfinished, surely I could talk to her.

I hadn’t, yet. But I could, and Faerie knew that. When Gavin had lifted the no-speaking enchantment he’d put on me, he’d lifted it well enough that none of the normal prohibitions against speaking about Melete remained. If I wanted to, I could tell everything.

Ariel had found talking to Jenkins cathartic enough that she had finally signed the contract with the producer, was moving forward
with her play. But I wasn’t sure that I was ready. “I’m sure I’ll write about it someday,” I told Beth. “But I want to tell the story on my own, not give it to someone else.”

Even without my piece of it, there would be more, Beth said—more evidence that Melete’s foundations were rotten, that the gold was only gilt. “The next seven years should be interesting.”

I imagined they would be. I was looking forward to them.

“Will you go back?” I asked her.

“I don’t think so. There are other ways for me to mentor new writers, and I’m looking forward to being a grandmother in my non-writing time.

“The real question is, will you? Melete does love the prestige of having successful former fellows return. I’m sure they’ll ask you.”

“I’m sure they won’t,” I said. “Or if they do, it won’t be in seven years, or any multiple thereof.”

“You never know. The Fae have always liked a challenge,” she said, and stood up. “It was good to see you. You’ll come over for dinner next week?”

I nodded. Marin came home as Beth was leaving, and the two of them smiled and hugged.

“I’m craving Thai. Are you writing, or do you have time to grab dinner?” Marin asked, unpacking her dance bag.

“Thai sounds great,” I said.

“Perfect. Let me just shower and change.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll be waiting.”

Once upon a time.

This is how it should have happened.

If it had been a fairy tale, it would have ended on a kiss. A double wedding. A king and a queen—not an abdication, a broken crown.

Evil would still have been part of it. No story happens without some sort of evil, after all. No one leaves a house that’s warm and safe and comfortable to brave the terror and uncertainty of the forest without a reason. If you have an easy life, you don’t wake up and find yourself in a story.

All of the evil would have been punished, been undone, had it been a fairy tale.

If it had truly been a fairy tale, I wouldn’t bear the scars of Marin’s transformations. They are less than they should have been, but my abdomen is streaked white with healed-over burns, and the marks from the snake’s fangs are an angry red on my wrist.

If it had truly been a fairy tale, Helena would have lived.

We were left with ever after. Not happily, not quite. Not all the princesses climbed out of their glass coffins. Not all the kisses given were those of true love. There are reversals that remain, even after the turn of the page.

This is what happens, when things are not quite a fairy tale.

You go into the woods to find your story. If you are brave, if you are fortunate, you walk out of them to find your life.

Once upon a time.