Night's End (22 page)

He cocked his head, staring at her. A look of pale recognition crossed his face, and I knew what was going to happen. My mother hadn't noticed me yet, nor had the Elementals or the healer. Myst was so preoccupied that she wouldn't feel me near.

“Old friend, the Ice Elementals are loyal to me, and unswerving, and they will never speak. But the problem with secrets? When two people know about something, that thing is no longer sacrosanct. No longer a secret. You know this, don't you?” She slipped off her bed, already healed from her ordeal. Our kind healed incredibly fast.

He stuttered, stepping back. “I give you my word, Your Highness.”

“Unfortunately, words are only as good as their speakers. And while I love you, I can never trust you.” And with that I watched as my mother fell upon the healer, ripping him to shreds with her great jaws. She was a most magnificent creature, huge beyond the rest of us, and by the time she finished, there was neither bone nor drop of blood left. She licked the floor clean before returning to her form.

The Ice Elementals stood unwavering, waiting for her. With one last look at the bedchamber, she depressed a place on the wall and a secret door opened—one I'd never seen before. I stayed where I was. I loved my mother, but I knew, instinctively, that if she even so much as
thought
I might know about this, she would kill me. I'd be as dead as the healer, her daughter or not.

Followed by the Ice Elementals carrying the silver box, Myst stepped into the passageway. As the door closed behind her, I realized that I now knew what my mother's vulnerability was. She was as vulnerable as every other Fae Queen now. Find her heartstone, and she was a dead woman.

And with that as I turned to exit the chamber, I heard a voice calling my name. Only it wasn't my name—close, but not the same. But I couldn't resist. The pull was too strong.

“Cicely? Cicely! Can you hear me?”

The voice began to blur the world around me. Who was Cicely? And yet, a part of me answered,
“I'm Cicely.”
But then, the image of a little girl flashed in front of my eyes and I thought,
“No, I'm Violet.”

Stumbling, I turned to the door, but it wasn't there. Instead, I was standing in a current of mist, and I blindly fell into the slipstream, following the siren song luring me on.

Chapter 11

“Cicely? Cicely! Can you hear me?”

The voice echoed through the mist again. I stumbled forward, knowing that I had to follow the voice. And then, behind the voice, I heard a song. It sounded familiar. The melody was haunting and made me want to follow it, no matter where it led me. I looked around, wondering where I was.

And then another memory hit me and I
knew
. I was in the slipstream. I wasn't sure why, but that was the name for this place. I was in the slipstream, journeying through a darkened passageway filled with mist and fog. I thought I saw the silhouettes of trees as I began to speed up, and then boulders hidden by the fog. A pale light streamed down from overhead, but whether it was the moon or sun wasn't clear in this monochromatic land.

And then I was running, following the voice, suddenly eager to get out of this place and back to . . .
Where was I heading back to?
I didn't know, but wherever it was, it felt like home. I was going home, and once I arrived there, I'd know who I was and why I'd made this journey.

The mist began to thicken, until it surrounded me, and I felt like I was choking. Another minute, and I was breathing fog soup. I stumbled out, into what seemed a very bright light, and lastly, I opened my eyes. I was in the living room, and I remembered my name—I was Cicely. And I had been Violet. And I had been Cherish.

And . . .

. . . now I knew what Myst's vulnerability was. And I knew how to destroy her. The only question left was: Where would I find her heartstone?

I struggled to sit up, dazed and wondering what time it was. Squinting in the candlelight that had just a few minutes ago seemed bright as the sun, I realized that the candles were half-melted, and there was a faint light outside.

“What time is it?” My voice sounded like it was stretched, my throat was parched, and I felt like I'd been screaming for hours.

Ysandra brushed the hair off my forehead, and then she pressed a cool cloth to my cheeks. The chill felt comforting against my skin, which was hot and inflamed. As I struggled to sit up, Grieve sat on the sofa next to me and braced my back. I leaned against him, the cool of his skin a welcome respite.

“What time is it?” I couldn't quite focus on the clock—my vision was blurry, and I wasn't seeing all that well, but I knew it would wear off as I pulled further out of the trance.

“Four thirty in the morning. You were out for several hours, and I was worried that I wouldn't be able to bring you back. How are you feeling? Are you nauseated? Ears ringing? Headache?” As she listed off the symptoms, I could tell Ysandra was searching for something. Probably a clue as to whether I'd permanently damaged anything.

I sucked in a long breath, examining my body. How
did
I feel? Pinpricks where it felt like I had lain in one position too long. Tingles ran through my arm as I moved off of it. But that was nothing to worry over. Headache? Slight one, yes. But no ringing of the ears. And my stomach, while a little upset, wasn't in danger of losing my dinner.

“I feel like I have a mild hangover, but that's about it. Mild queasiness, a slight headache. Nothing major that I can tell. But I do know one thing.” I gazed up at the ring of faces gathered round.

They waited, expectantly.

“I know how to destroy Myst. I'm just not all that certain on where to find what we need in order to do so.”

Of course, my statement incited an outpouring of conversation. Luna, even in her anger, which I could still see seething beneath the surface, hurried over to the sofa to listen.

Peyton appeared, a cool glass of water in her hand. I downed it and asked for another, and after that—a third. When my throat was no longer parched, I told them what I'd seen, and what I'd discovered. And as I spoke, I felt something inside had changed. There was a part of me that felt like it had always needed to be there, but had been missing.

Violet. For some reason, I'd needed to be reunited with Violet.

Who she'd been, when she'd lived, remained unclear. But the fact was I'd returned to life too soon—before Grieve—and I'd known about our pact. I'd taken my own life again to go in search of him. Violet had known very well that the fly agaric would poison her. But in whatever wisdom her—my—soul had possessed, she'd swallowed them down and sped out into the slipstream again.

You need to know me because I can give you something you never had—a happy childhood. I was happy, until I realized I'd come back at the wrong time.

Her voice echoed in my head . . . or perhaps it was my gut. The words were muffled, but the feeling came through loud and clear. And the tattoo of the little Fae girl on my chest suddenly laughed, and tickled me. She'd woken a few times, but only briefly. My owl tattoos had woken when I'd discovered the owl-shifter within. My wolf had always been connected to Grieve. But my belladonna faerie? She belonged to me, to a part of me that had been cut out too quickly, if out of necessity.

I laughed at her tickling; it was playful and joyful and with a slightly wicked sense of humor. Everybody stared at me, and I realized they had no clue what I was laughing about.

“I'm just glad to be alive. Even with everything we're facing, I'm grateful I'm here and that I have all of you. And that I've found . . . a part of myself that I never knew about.” As I said the words, I knew they were true. I'd never felt particularly joyful about my life, but now, here in this room at four thirty in the morning, facing one of the most dangerous adversaries we could be facing, I didn't care. All I wanted to do was hug everyone dear to me and tell them I loved them. So I did just that. And when they stared at me like I was off my rocker, I laughed again.

And then I slept like the dead.

By the time I woke, it was nearing noon. I was in my old bed, and Peyton was sitting near me. She was knitting something—I couldn't tell what it was, but I hadn't even known Peyton could work a needle.

I struggled to sit up, and squinted. The snow was holding off but, as usual, the skies were overcast. Stretching, I sniffed my armpit and grimaced. I needed a shower. Bad. Though my clothes had been removed and I was in a long nightgown, the fact was I smelled like I'd been in a bar fight. The combination of the fighting, the blood, and the herbs in the tincture did not for a pleasant combination make.

“Shower?” Peyton smiled, holding out a towel and some bath gel. “The bathroom's empty. Go to it.”

I slid out from beneath the covers, the cold floor no longer bothering my feet. I smiled softly. For so many years I'd hated waking up because of cold tile or cold hardwood. Now, I'd never mind it again. One of many blessings in disguise.

“Peyton . . . how are you doing? Your mother . . . Rex . . .” Both of her parents had been killed by the rogue vampire Geoffrey. In the intervening weeks, I hadn't had a chance to ask her how she was coping.

Her doe-eyed gaze was solemn, but she seemed to be holding the tears at bay. “I'm managing. Some days are harder than others. I've contacted my father's Pride, and when this is over . . . when Myst is found and defeated, I'll visit them to take my vision quest. Then I'll return here and run my investigations agency. I'm going to be okay, Cicely. I'll be all right.”

I wanted to say something to help, but at this point, only time would heal. She knew how I felt. I'd been with her both when Rex, and then Anadey, died. “What about the diner?”

“Up for sale. Asking a song and a prayer. Half of what it's valued at, but it's worth it to me. I hated working there, and Mother . . . I've still got so many conflicting emotions surrounding her death. She tried to kill you, Cicely. She tried to have my father killed. Even though she protected me at the end, it's rather difficult to have much sympathy at this point. I'd rather just let her go quietly. Forget my life with her and make a new one.”

I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant. When I'd found Krystal dead in an alley, I'd pilfered her pockets, closed her eyes, and turned my back on the past as I walked away from her body. After calling the cops—anonymously—I'd taken off and had never seen her again. I didn't even know what they'd done with her remains. Now, a pang raced through me. Did the mortuary still have her ashes? If so, I could claim them. Lay her to rest in the woods where we staked Heather, so the two sisters could be together again.

You know they aren't around, Cicely. Their spirits have moved on.

I know, Ulean, but the poetry of it . . . Sometimes the gesture is more important than the meaning behind it. I don't know if I'm explaining that right, but sometimes . . .

I know what you mean. Let it rest, girl. Take your shower. There is much to do today, and just because you now know how to destroy Myst, doesn't mean that it's going to be a walk in the park.

I nodded; then, feeling I needed to say something to Peyton, I opened my mouth. But by then she was back to her knitting and looking quietly content, so I picked up my towel and cinnamon-scented bath gel, and headed in to take a long shower.

As I lathered up, I ran over what I remembered about the night before. The images from my journey were clearer now. A good night's sleep had provided enough distance to give me insight to everything I'd seen.

The Barrow in which I'd seen Myst hide her heartstone? I knew the lay of the land around it. I vaguely remembered seeing an area deep in the Golden Wood that resembled it. Had Myst created the Barrow centuries ago? Thousands of years ago? Even if she'd deserted it, chances were I could find it again. And if I did . . . could I possibly find the entrance to where she had taken her heartstone?

I scrubbed my body thoroughly as I thought over everything that had happened. Violet—she'd been important to meet, and while I still wasn't sure why, I felt whole now. Meeting that part of myself seemed to have given me back some joy robbed from me during my childhood in this life. Violet hadn't been unhappy. She merely realized she was in the wrong time period, and so she had found a way to leave it.

By the time I finished lathering and rinsing my hair, I was deep in thought, trying to sort out where and when I had seen the area surrounding Myst's Barrow. It was definitely deep in the Golden Wood, long before there had been a New Forest to border it. Long before there had been a Seattle . . . or a United States of America to mark borders and territories.

I knew it was farther back into the wood than the Twin Hollies. So deep that we never routinely passed by it. And then . . . then, a memory tugged at me. I knew where it was. One day, a long time ago when Rhia and I were five and just starting to know Grieve and Chatter, we'd gone for a walk and gotten lost in the woods. We kept going, certain we'd be able to find our way out again.

The drowsy bees had bumbled by, a deer had brought her fawn out for us to see, and she had stopped, allowing us to pet the young doe. We were totally unaware of how rare a gift she'd given us. At one point, we lay down and took a nap around noon, in the shade of a giant cedar. An hour or so later, we were worried—home seemed so far away, and we'd gotten turned around, no longer sure of where we were. So we kept walking.