Seanan McGuire - Late Eclipses

She walked straight past us. I relaxed slightly. This was a dream; she couldn’t see what wasn’t really there. She stopped at the tower door, where she raised her hand and knocked, calmly as you please. A minute or so later, the door opened, and my mother stepped out onto the tower steps.

My breath caught again, this time for an entirely different reason. I haven’t seen my mother in years—not really. The real Amandine slipped away while I was in the pond. I wasn’t prepared for the sight of her in her prime. It was easy to forget how beautiful she was, to assume I was romanticizing her, making her into some impossible ideal. I wasn’t.

Karen’s hair was white-blonde and looked faintly bleached. Amandine’s hair was white-gold, the simple, natural color of some unknown precious metal. She wore it twisted into an elegant braid that trailed down the back of her wine-colored gown to her waist. Her eyes were the same smoky gray-blue as morning fog. They widened when she saw Oleander, before narrowing in outrage.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “You are not welcome. I grant you no hospitalities, nor the warmth of my hearth.”

“Why, Amy, aren’t you the high-nosed bitch these days.” Oleander’s own voice was thick with loathing. “He sent me. Someone thought he should know you’d come home again, and now he’s wondering after your welfare.”

Amandine pursed her lips. Finally, dismissively, she asked, “Is this what you’re reduced to? Playing messenger girl for the Daoine Sidhe? I thought you held yourself better than this.”

“At least I didn’t whore myself to the mortal world for a replacement,” Oleander spat. “Has he even seen your little imitation, Amy? I can take her to see him, if you still think you’re too good for social calls. Or are you afraid she’ll realize what she is? Are you afraid—”

I winced even before Amandine started to move. Oleander didn’t know her like I did, and didn’t recognize the tension in her posture until it was too late. Amandine lunged, wrapping one hand around Oleander’s throat and the other around her wrist before the other woman had a chance to react.

I shouldn’t have been able to hear what came next. We were too far away, and she was speaking too softly. But this was a dream, and I was going to hear what Karen wanted me to hear.

“If you come near my daughter, if you touch her, if you look at her, I will know, and I will make you pay.” Amandine’s tone was light. She would have sounded almost reasonable, if not for the fury in her expression … and the fear in Oleander’s. Oak and ash, one of the scariest women in Faerie was looking at my mother like she was the monster in the closet. “Do you understand me, Oleander? I will make you pay in ways you can barely comprehend. I will make it hurt , and the pain won’t stop just because I do. Do you understand?”

“Bitch,” hissed Oleander.

Amandine narrowed her eyes. The smell of her magic—blood and roses—suddenly filled the formerly scentless garden, and Oleander screamed. Her own magic rose in response, acid and oleanders, and was almost immediately buried under Mother’s blood and roses. Amandine didn’t move, but she must have been doing something , because Oleander kept screaming, a high, keening sound that wasn’t meant to come from any human-shaped throat.

The smell of blood and roses faded. Oleander slumped in Amandine’s hands. My mother looked down at her dispassionately, not letting go.

“How much of who you are is what you are?” Amandine asked. Her voice was still soft. That was possibly the worst part. “How much do you think it would change? Would you like to find out?”

“No,” whispered Oleander.

“I’m afraid I can’t hear you. What was that you said?”

Oleander licked her lips. “I said I wouldn’t go near your daughter. I’ll leave. I’ll say you don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Ah, good.” Amandine released her, looking satisfied. Oleander dropped to her knees, gasping, as Amandine stepped back to her original position. “That’s what I hoped you said. Your visit has been most enlightening, Oleander. I trust it won’t be repeated.”

Oleander staggered to her feet, glaring daggers at my mother as she stumbled backward, out of reach. “It won’t. I won’t come here again.”

“Not even if he sends you?”

“There are some things I won’t risk for anyone.” Oleander took another step back, keeping her eyes on Amandine the whole time. “Keep your little half-breed bitch. The two of you can rot for all I care.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” said Amandine. Turning her back on Oleander, she walked back into the tower and closed the door.

Oleander stayed where she was for a brief second, glaring daggers at my mother’s wake. Then she turned, storming down the path and out the gate, into the fields beyond the tower grounds.

I turned to Karen. “Why did you show me that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged helplessly. “I’m still not very good at this. I just sort of do what the dreams tell me I have to. But I didn’t show it to you.”

“What?” I frowned. “Of course you did. I just saw it.”

“No.” She looked past me, into the bower of whiteon-white flowers where the dream began. “I didn’t show you. I just reminded you that you knew it.”

It took me a moment to realize what she was saying. Slowly, I turned, and saw myself—my much smaller, much younger self, still new to the Summerlands, still so dazed by the wonders of Faerie that I hadn’t started looking for the dangers—crawling out from underneath the branches.

“See?” said Karen. “You already knew.”

“I … I don’t remember this.”

“You do now.” I felt her hand on my arm, as light as the flower petals still drifting in the air around us. “It’s time to wake up, Auntie Birdie.”

So I did.

LATE AFTERNOON SUN STREAMED through the bedroom window, hitting me full in the face. I opened my eyes, trying to blink and squint against the glare at the same time. Not a good combination. Sunlight. I was only supposed to sit down for a few minutes before calling Sylvester. But then I’d fallen into Karen’s dreamscape, and that meant I’d been asleep. And it hadn’t even been dawn yet when I got home.

“Crap!” I sat bolt upright. The cat that had been curled in the middle of my chest went tumbling to the bed, her purr turning into an irritated yowl.

“Afternoon, Sleeping Beauty,” said May. I turned to see her standing in the doorway, a coffee mug in one hand. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“What time is it?” I demanded, raking my hair back with both hands. It was tangled into hopeless knots, matted stiff with sea salt. Crossing the city on a yarrow broom probably hadn’t helped. The cat—Cagney—stalked stiff-legged to the foot of the bed where she settled, her back to me. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

“You didn’t tell me to,” she replied matter-of-factly. Expression turning solemn, she continued, “Also, you didn’t twitch when I opened your curtains half an hour ago, so I figured you needed the sleep. It’s almost sunset. Marcia’s been calling every two hours; there’s been no change in Lily’s condition.”

“She filled you in?” I let my hands drop to my lap.

May nodded. “Yeah. Now get up, get something into your stomach, and get dressed before we’re late.”

“Late? For what?” Cagney stood again, arching her back into a furry mirror of the moon bridge, before strolling across the bed and smacking her sister awake. Lacey responded by biting her. I sympathized.

“I repeat, it’s almost sunset. On the first of May. That means what?”