The Best Paranormal Crime Stories Ever Told (55 page)

“You take it, or you’re not going.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“You’ll figure it out. Oh, and one more thing.”

“What?”

“You wait until the full moon. You hear me?”

“Yes, Gran.”

Maggie was different, that night. Different in pretty much every way I could think of. Clothing was different. Hair was pulled right back off her face, and her skin seemed almost silver, like moonlight incarnate. Her eyes were clear and dark, and she didn’t look afraid. Of anything.

The cars made their constant background purr, punctuated by honking. Gran cursed them roundly as she joined us in front of Maggie’s house. “I’ll stay until you get back,” she told us firmly.

“You’d better,” Maggie replied. But her tone of voice was strange as well.

Gran seemed smaller, thinner, than she usually did. “It’s your time,” she told Maggie, “not mine. But you’re right—the maiden is out there. I can see her in your face.”

Maggie didn’t seem to hear. I took a good, hard look at Gran. “Don’t light that,” I told her, because she was fumbling with her pipe.

“I know, I know.”

So, with a ring for a compass, and one that swayed every time there was the faintest hint of breeze, we began to walk down the street. Maggie decided—for reasons that aren’t even clear to me now—that we had to walk in the
middle
of the damn road.

“You’ve got kids to think of,” I told her. “What the hell is wrong with the sidewalk?”

She didn’t answer. Then again, if I’d asked Gran that question, she’d have clipped me with her cane.

Instead, she walked. She didn’t apparently look at the ring to see which direction we should be walking
in
, but she had me for that, and I was thankful for streetlights.

“Do you think your husband was a Unicorn? I mean, your ex?”

“No.”

“But the ring—”

“No.”

“But you think a Unicorn gave him the ring.”

“Yes, I do.”

Light dawned, in the figurative sense. “Because then you wouldn’t know.”

She nodded.

“And if you didn’t know—”

“I couldn’t find them.”

“Why didn’t they try that on Gran?”

“I don’t think your Gran can do this,” she said softly. “She’s too far away from the maiden. And she
has
to be.”

“Why?”

“Because of what she is. She can see the maiden in my face,” she added softly. “But I would guess that
if
we manage to find the Unicorn, and
if
the Unicorn is with the maiden, the maiden will see her in my face as well.”

I thought about that for a long time. “My Gran does like you,” I said.

“I know. She drives me crazy, but I like her too.” She gave me an odd look, then. I didn’t understand it. “She’s tired.” Maggie banked left. “But she’s waited a long time, and I’m really grateful to her. She’s the hardiest of the three of us,” she added.

Looking at Maggie, I wasn’t so sure.

I fingered the invisible knife, thought some more, and then asked Maggie, tentatively, if she wanted it.

Maggie’s brows rose. “Me?”

“That would be no.”

“Definite no.”

“Why?”

“I’m the mother,” she said quietly. “I don’t think I could use it.”

“Then I’ll use it for you.”

Maggie said nothing. After a while, I joined her in nothing, and we walked into the darkness.

When the darkness changed, I can’t be certain. But the streetlights vanished, and the moonlight grew more distinct. I could see stars, cold and clear, without the haze of light and pollution as a veil. Trees passed us by; they were tall, weeping willows, and beneath them, water pooled in still, clear mirrors. Everything about this road was beautiful. But you don’t live long with Gran if you’re an obvious sucker for beauty.

I followed Maggie. Maggie glanced occasionally at the ring, tilting her head with a vague look of disgust as she listened to it. I didn’t hear anything. But it was clear that in this place, she could. I almost envied her the ability.

“We should have gone on the new moon,” she said. Something about her voice made my hair stand on end. But she didn’t dwell on the should have, and I was just as happy not to.

We made our way down a sloping hill, crushing flowers as we did; there wasn’t any way to walk this place without leaving a mark. Maggie didn’t seem to care, and because she didn’t, I didn’t. I never did like flowers much, anyway.

And I discovered, that night, that Unicorns run in packs. This goes against conventional wisdom, but then again, everything does. We stopped for a minute while we watched these creatures cavorting in the shadows. The shadows cast by one huge tree that seemed to go up forever. I thought that it must go down forever as well, but then again, Gran leaves the weeding to me, and I’ve learned to take roots personally.

I expected them to be beautiful. And they were. Breathtakingly beautiful, in the sense that I stopped breathing while watching them. Their white coats were gleaming, and they looked like some sort of cross between a deer and a horse. But their horns glittered, and it became clear after only a few minutes that they weren’t exactly involved in a dance of joy.

They were fighting.

I don’t think they noticed us at all. I really, really wanted to be unnoticed. But Maggie had other plans, and she didn’t actually take the time to impart any of them to me. Instead, she ran the rest of the way down the hill, as if her feet were on fire.

As if, I thought suddenly, her children were in danger. This is the danger of putting the full moon, the old roads, and the mother together. I wouldn’t have guessed it, but then again, Gran never called me the brightest star in the sky.

When she almost crashed into them, I was just a few feet behind her. Running down the damn slope had been effortless for her—but for me it was a constant battle not to wind up sliding down on my face. The ground here was treacherous; it whispered.

And the Unicorns? They screamed. In outrage. In fury. They reared up, muscles rippling on their hind legs, horns no longer turned in casual cruelty against each other, as they faced this unexpected intruder.

Maggie hardly seemed to notice.

But I knew that dying here was pretty much death. It didn’t matter if we weren’t in the city; it didn’t matter if we weren’t in reality. Had Gran told me that? I couldn’t remember. I’d try later.

Gran’s knife in hand, I leapt in after Maggie, moving faster than I’d ever moved in my life. A horn hit the blade, and the blade was no longer invisible.

I expected the impact to knock the weapon out of my hand; it’s not as if I use weapons, much. But that didn’t happen. Instead? The horn
gave
. The knife passed through it. The Unicorn’s scream of rage gave way to a scream of what sounded—I swear—like mortified pain.

They had hooves, cloven hooves, and those should have been their weapon of choice. Would have done a damn sight more damage. But they didn’t seem to clue in, and I wasn’t about to tell them what to do.

I thought Maggie would; she’s like my Gran that way. But even if we’d started out hunting Unicorns, they weren’t on her radar at the moment. And I couldn’t see what was, but I could guess.

I would have been half right.

The Unicorns drew back when I approached; the knife was literally glowing, and a faint trace of black ran down its edge. I thought it was blood, but the wrong colour. It probably was. Unicorn horns are tricky.

But they didn’t approach us again, and no one was stupid enough to try the horn against the knife. I shadowed Maggie—literally. I knew that if I was too far away, they’d fall on her like jackals. Like really beautiful, really delicate, jackals.

She made her way to the tree they had been circling around, and I discovered a second thing about Unicorns. They can look an awful lot like men.

Or a man.

White haired, but youthful, tall, slender, garbed in something that would probably pass any fashion test an enterprising highschooler would set—except for that horn. Middle of the forehead. Dead centre. Glistening as it drank moonlight.

Maggie was mad. Not angry, which I’m used to.

Mad mother? Not a good thing. I tried to call out to her. No, I
did
. But she was beyond listening.

And in a second, I was beyond trying. Her eyes were better than mine. If she was seeing with her eyes at all.

Because beyond the man, was a girl. Bruised eyes. Bruised lips. Skin the white that skin goes when fear has overtaken almost everything else. A lot of skin; exposed and framed by shredded fabric. Might have been a shirt, once. Or the top of a dress.

School-girl, I thought. Maybe. She seemed
so young
to me as I looked at her, I couldn’t think straight. I had never been that young. Gran said I was born old.

Should’ve been a hint.

But Gran could have
told
me that Unicorns are rapists.