Lies and Prophecy (26 page)

It was meant to be encouraging, but failed. Liesel shook her head. “It's easier for you,” she said.

“Easier?” I gave her a confused look. “How?”

“You're not as close to your family as I am. I'm used to having them for support; I always tell them when I'm having problems.” Liesel hugged herself, and for a moment she looked unutterably lonely. “I want to run screaming to my mami. I want her to tell me it's all going to be okay, because she can make me believe it.” She laughed, but the sound was flat and disbelieving. “I don't dare talk to her. If I do, I'll blurt out everything. I know I will. I can't believe you managed to stay quiet.”

Her remark about my relationship with my family hit uncomfortably close to home—all the more because a strong part of me felt just like Liesel. My mother was a Ring anchor; she was a high blood and far-better trained. Grayson was good, but she wasn't comforting.

Then again, neither was my mother.

I had no doubt she could defend me, and would if she knew what was going on—but when I imagined running to her, another part of me rebelled. It wasn't just a desire to avoid going back to the overprotective days after Noah's death, and it wasn't just Grayson's gag order, either.

So what was it?

Pride. That was part of it, maybe a big part. I didn't want to admit to her—admit to
myself
—that I couldn't handle this. I couldn't handle it on my own; that was obvious, and that's why I'd told Grayson about Falcon. But there was a difference between dealing with the Unseelie—protecting the world from their machinations—and dealing with it inside myself. I didn't want to admit to my mother that I wasn't strong enough to look this problem in the eye and stand my ground.

That was the other part. Curiosity. Of the morbid kind.
Could
I stand my ground?

I honestly didn't know.

Liesel touched my arm. “Are
you
all right?”

Back to the normal order of things. She was playing—not seelie; I couldn't use that word in its slang sense, not anymore. Playing the empath. I meant to say yes, that I was fine, but when I opened my mouth what came out was the truth. “I don't know.”

I sank down onto the couch. Liesel sat on the floor. I stared at my feet for a long moment before another thought swam out of the morass of my brain and voiced itself. “Back at the beginning of fall quarter, when I did that reading, the cards tried to warn me about this. That there was danger coming … and that I needed to be prepared.”

Liesel waited quietly, knowing I wasn't done.

I leaned back and put my head on the cushion, staring at the ceiling. It wasn't uncommon for me to tell Liesel things I wouldn't tell anyone else, but I couldn't always face her while I did it. My next comments I addressed to the light fixture. “I tried. I kept working at CM, and it paid off; I'm not blocked like I used to be. But it went further than that. The cards said I would become—maybe that I
needed
to become—someone else, in order to deal with this. Someone like a Guardian. And I'm just not there.”

“No one could be,” Liesel said quietly, and laid her hand on my knee. She could have soothed me, but didn't; she just let me feel her lack of judgment. “Even if you hadn't had a block to get past—which, by the way, congratulations—nobody can turn themselves into a Guardian in a few months.”

The Chariot danced before my eyes, upside down. “Nobody ever said the cards had to offer me a
feasible
path.”

Liesel sat quietly for a moment. Then I caught a whiff of amusement. “Your screen's too heavy for me to drag it over here and wave in front of you.”

Professor Madison's quote. Hadn't I just echoed it to Julian? Lies, damned lies, and prophecy. But there was a point at which catchy sound-bites lost their force, when the weight of the future grew too heavy to be ignored. During my efforts today, in one reading after another, the Knight of Cups—the card I used to signify myself—came up reversed. There were other factors surrounding it I couldn't interpret, but my confidence in the mutability of the future could only stretch so far.

Sooner or later, I was going to crack.

~

Dinner that night was a quiet affair. The four of us had picked a table in a back corner, well away from anyone who might overhear our conversation, but it was a moot point; we weren't having one. Liesel picked at her food. Robert seemed unaffected, but his appetite could survive any shock. Julian ate mechanically.

I put food down my throat only because I knew I needed it. My stomach roiled with conflicting emotions. I would never have thought it was possible to feel sick dread and utter elation at once, but the combination of my shadowed future and Julian's presence at my side produced it handily.

I wished I knew whether Julian was having the same problem. It would make me feel better.

His equanimity in the face of this trouble was either unbelievable, or a facade. I still couldn't tell which. Shard's prophecy had upset him, but he didn't seem afraid of the Unseelie. I, on the other hand, had enough fear for both of us. And I hadn't even met them, hadn't encountered them more closely than a few long-distance brushes. Those were nothing next to what Julian had endured.

Maybe those very experiences had broken his fear.

The unknown. A faceless enemy was more terrifying than one you could see and attack. I clenched my hand on my table knife, then made it relax when Liesel noticed. It was crazy to think that maybe I'd be better off if I'd been captured and tortured by the Unseelie, but the thought wouldn't go away. At least then I would know what I was facing, no matter how terrible it was.

I would know—but I still wouldn't be ready.

Maybe that was how I would be lost.

I cast a covert glance at Julian. He wasn't watching me; he was intent on his dinner, still eating as though he hadn't been fed in a week. He'd burned more of his resources lately than he could afford. I studied his profile as if to memorize it: the sharp line of his jaw, the level set of his eyes. I'd never noticed how long his lashes were.

My hands curled tight again on my knife and fork. I'd fight with everything I had to protect him, and he would do the same for me. And if I wasn't ready, then so be it. No power in this world or any other could make me abandon him.

Brave thoughts. If I was going to make them lead anywhere other than disaster, I needed to find something more to bring to the fight.

I shoved my chair back from the table. The sudden scrape made Liesel drop her spoon. I muttered an apology, then said, “I'm going to the library.”

Robert raised an eyebrow. “Therapeutic classwork?”

“Hardly. Research. Welton has the best psychic sciences library in the United States; there's got to be
something
on the sidhe here. And maybe I won't find it tonight, but I can start looking.” I put on my coat and picked up my tray. “I'll let you guys know if anything comes up.”

It was time to make myself useful.

~

The guy at the checkout desk in Talman barely glanced up as I passed him. It was late enough on a Sunday night that he had his feet up on the desk while he read something off his port. I was the only library patron in sight. The rows of screens, for students who preferred to work on their papers at the library, were uniformly dark.

I didn't bother settling in at one to search the catalogue. Individual titles didn't matter; I just needed to find the right sections of the library. Then I could start browsing, maybe even try to coax my gifts into nudging me toward the right books. Legends, and also divination. Maybe if I tried a different approach, I could get more concrete advice. The I Ching was familiar enough to be manageable, if I had a book to help me—and if that failed, there was a whole arsenal of obscure divinatory systems to try.

I went after that first, because it was home territory. Maybe I was asking the wrong questions—not what was coming, but what we should do to prepare. Or what weaknesses our enemies had, that we could exploit.
Something.
Even if the Unseelie had warded themselves against divination, there had to be some angle they'd missed. And I would find it.

Carrying home half of Talman, however, wouldn't get me anything other than a sore back. I made myself cull the pile I'd accumulated on the floor to something more manageable; after all, I still had the other sections to visit. Shoving one last fat little book back onto the shelf—did I really think I could master Mayan calendrical divination in time to make use of it?—I bent to pick up my stack.

Thunk.

I turned around. The book I'd just put back had fallen off the shelf.

Frowning, I replaced it, pushing it well in. And then I watched.

A second later, it wiggled forward and dropped again.

I snatched it up and took a deep breath. Just poltergeist activity. Perfectly normal, and nothing I hadn't seen before. Except that Talman wasn't haunted, and I doubted any teenagers in the throes of manifestation were lurking in the stacks.

This time, when I put the book back on the shelf, I held it there telekinetically.

The one next to it shot out and smacked into the opposite row before falling to the floor.

Faint, mocking laughter drifted along the aisles.

A practical joke. There were still idiots, even at Welton, who thought it was fun to imitate old horror movies. I sent a probe outward, searching my surroundings for the perpetrator, until it ran into something

inhuman.

I leapt back before the other mind could react and stood frozen, my heart pounding in my chest.

I'd wanted to face the Unseelie. Now I was getting my wish.

Grabbing the books off the floor, I slammed the offending volume into its spot and began to back quietly along the aisle.

It fell out again, as did the first one. And the one next to that. And then one book after another began to shoot out, from both sides of the aisle, coming closer and closer to me. I gathered my minimal telekinetic ability and managed to keep from being hit, but that was my limit. Dropping my collection, I ran.

Books pursued me. They flew out of the narrow gaps between the stacks and careened around corners like heat-seeking missiles. I'd turned the wrong way in my panic, and was going to have to circle half the floor to get to a staircase; I didn't dare cut down an aisle. Laughter followed me, seeming to come from all sides.

My heart was thundering in my ears, but that initial, unthinking fright faded as I ran. I'd only felt one of them. And I might be fleeing pell-mell right now, but that didn't mean I couldn't spare a bit of attention for him.

He was easy to spot, sticking out like a beacon of Otherworldliness in the middle of the level. He wasn't even trying to hide himself. Smiling through my gritted teeth, I threw a quick bolt of psychic energy his way.

It wasn't much of an attack, but he hadn't expected me to hit back. He flinched momentarily, and the books fell to the floor. They were up again in an instant, but by then I was that much closer to a staircase and freedom. I tossed off another bolt; he parried that one easily, contemptuously. Dammit—what was that smart-ass comment I'd once made, about combat and PK? I put my head down and ran.

A trail of books flew after me as I threw myself down the stairs, feet barely touching, shooting down them three at a time. I'd never have managed it had I practiced for a week, but with the incentive of an Unseelie sidhe after me, I didn't think twice. Somehow I got down without falling, without breaking my neck. And then I was in the deserted screen room, and I slammed the door shut just before the leading book collided with it.

Panting for breath, I leaned against the door and looked about warily.

Nothing.

The sidhe was three floors up. Had I passed out of his reach? Telekinesis on things you couldn't see was hard, but maybe not for his kind. He seemed to be irritated. I smiled fiercely. Good; I hoped I'd ruined his little trick.

With a ear-piercing shriek, a screen wrenched free of its theft-proof housing and flung itself at me.

“
Fuck
!” I screamed, and threw myself to the floor.

A lash of telekinetic energy barely kept shattered glassite from falling on me. As I rolled to my feet, the screen was followed by one of its fellows, and a third just behind it. I slapped them both aside, but they circled around and came again, two more joining them. How many could he keep in the air at once? More than I could hope to parry, not when they were coming at me from all sides. I needed more defensible ground.

I ducked the next one coming at me; surprised by the lack of resistance, the sidhe accidently threw it into the wall. Another one ripped free to replace it, but by then I was running again, covering my head with my arms as though that would protect it, sprinting for the far side of the room.

The checkout boy was gone, but I didn't care. My goal was the massive wooden desk he sat at.

Its polished top was slipperier than I expected. I shot across too fast and hit the floor off-balance. One of the pursuing terminals clipped my outflung arm before crashing into the wall. I swore in pain and dove headfirst into the shelter of the desk, cramming myself into the niche below.

With only one side to protect, I felt infinitely safer. I could guard this. One of the terminals flew at the opening, but I slammed it aside easily.

Then one shattered against the thinner wood at my back.

That, I decided after my heart started again, was a worry for later. The wood would hold, at least for a while. The sidhe was just trying to distract me, to divide my attention. The real threat was still my open front. I'd guard that until the wood weakened, however long that took, and maybe in the meantime that goddamned checkout boy would return.

Excellent logic—and less comforting with every crunching thud.

Then the noises stopped. Nothing flew at me. I inhaled deeply and marshaled my wits, knowing the sidhe was planning something new.