Authors: Holly Black
SIMON & SCHUSTER
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SIMON & SCHUSTER
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2002 by Holly Black
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Book design by Paul Zakris
The text for this book is set in Meridien.
Printed in the United States of America
6 8 10 9 7 5
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Tithe : a modern faerie tale / Holly Black.—1st ed.
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Kaye, who has been visited by faeries since childhood, discovers that she herself is a magical faerie creature with a special destiny.
[1. Fairies—Fiction. 2. Magic—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.B 52878 Ti 2002
For my little sister Heidi
“And pleasant is the faerie land But an eerie tale to tell Ay at the end of seven years We pay a tithe to Hell; I am sae fair and fu o flesh, I’m feard it be mysel.”
—“YOUNG TAM LIN”
“And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God’s ways to man.”
—A. E. HOUSMAN, “Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff”
Kaye took another drag on her cigarette and dropped it into her mother’s beer bottle. She figured that would be a good test for how drunk Ellen was—see if she would swallow a butt whole.
They were up on stage still, Ellen and Lloyd and the rest of Stepping Razor. It had been a bad set and watching them break down the equipment, she could see that they knew it. It didn’t really matter, the sound system was loud and scratchy and everyone had kept drinking and smoking and shouting so she doubted the manager minded. There had even been a little dancing.
The bartender leered at her again and offered her a drink “on the house.”
“Milk,” Kaye smirked, brushing back her
ragged, blond hair and pocketing a couple of matchbooks when his back was turned.
Then her mother was next to her, taking a deep swallow of the beer before spitting it all over the counter.
Kaye couldn’t help the wicked laughter that escaped her lips. Her mother looked at her in disbelief.
“Go help load up the car,” Ellen said, voice hoarse from singing. She was smoothing damp hair back from her face. Her lipstick was rubbed off the inside of her lips but still clung to the edges of her mouth, smudged a little. She looked tired.
Kaye slid off the counter and leapt up onto the stage in one easy move. Lloyd glared at her as she started to pick up the stuff randomly, so she stuck to what was her mother’s. His eyes were glazed. “Hey kid, got any money on you?”
Kaye shrugged and took out a ten-dollar bill. She had more, and he probably knew it she’d come straight from Chow Fat’s. Delivering Chinese food might pay crap, but it still paid better than being in a band.
He took the money and ambled off to the bar, probably to get some beer to go.
Kaye picked up Ellen’s stuff and started hauling it through the crowd. People mostly got out of her way. The cool autumn air outside the bar was a welcome relief, even stinking as
it was with iron and exhaust fumes and the subways. The city always smelled like metal to Kaye.
It only took her a few minutes to get the car loaded up. She went back inside, intent on getting her mother in the car before someone smashed the window and stole the equipment. You couldn’t leave anything in a car in Philly. The last time Ellen’s car had been broken into, they’d done it for a secondhand coat and a bag of towels.
The girl checking IDs at the door took a long look at her this time but didn’t say anything. It was late anyway, almost last call. Ellen was still at the bar, smoking a cigarette and drinking something stronger than beer. Lloyd was talking to a guy with long, dark hair. The man looked out of place in the bar, too well dressed or something, but Lloyd had an arm slung over the man’s shoulder. She caught a flash of the man’s eyes. Cat-yellow, reflecting in the dark bar. Kaye shivered.
But then, Kaye saw odd things sometimes. She’d learned to ignore them.
“Car’s loaded,” Kaye told her mother.
Ellen nodded, barely listening. “Can I have a cigarette, honey?”
Kaye fished the pack out of her army-surplus satchel and took out two, handing one to her mother and lighting the other.
Her mother bent close, the smell of whiskey
and beer and sweat as familiar as any perfume to Kaye. “Cigarette kiss,” her mother said in that goofy way that was embarrassing and sweet at the same time, touching the tip of her cigarette to the red tip of Kaye’s and breathing in deeply. Two sucks of smoke and it flared to life.
“Ready to go home?” Lloyd asked, and Kaye almost jumped. It wasn’t that she hadn’t known he was there; it was the sound of his voice. It sounded velvety, a shade off of sleazy. Not normal asshole Lloyd voice. Not at all.
Ellen didn’t seem to notice anything. She swallowed what was left of her drink. “Sure.”
A moment later, Lloyd lifted his arm as though he were going to punch Ellen in the back. Kaye reacted without thinking, shoving him. It was only his drunkenness that made her slight weight enough to push him off balance. She saw the knife as it clattered to the floor.
Lloyd’s face was completely blank, empty of any emotion at all. His eyes were wide and his pupils dilated.
Frank, Stepping Razor’s drummer, grabbed Lloyd’s arm. Lloyd had just enough time to punch Frank in the face before other patrons tackled him and somebody called the police.
By the time the cops got there, Lloyd couldn’t remember anything. He was mad as hell, though, cursing Ellen at the top of his
lungs. The police drove Kaye and her mother to Lloyd’s apartment and waited while Kaye packed their clothes and stuff into plastic garbage bags. Ellen was on the phone, trying to find a place for them to crash.
“Honey,” Ellen said finally, “we’re going to have to go to Grandma’s.”
“Did you call her?” Kaye asked, stacking her Grace Slick vinyl albums into an empty orange crate. They hadn’t so much as visited once in the six years that they’d been gone from New Jersey. Ellen barely even spoke to her mother on the holidays before passing the phone to Kaye.
“Yeah, I just woke her up.” Kaye couldn’t remember the last time her mother had sounded quite so tired. “It’ll just be a little while. You can visit that friend of yours.”
“Janet,” Kaye said. She hoped that was who Ellen meant. She hoped her mother wasn’t teasing her about that faerie bullshit again. If she had to hear another story about Kaye and her cute imaginary friends …
“The one you e-mail from the library. Get me another cigarette, okay, hon?” Ellen tossed a bunch of CDs into the crate.
Kaye picked up a leather jacket of Lloyd’s she’d always liked and lit a cigarette for her mother off the stove burner. No sense in wasting matches.
The Lost Lunar Baedeker “Coercive as coma, frail as bloom innuendoes of your inverse dawn suffuse the self; our every corpuscle become an elf.”
—MINA LOY, “Moreover, the Moon,”
Kaye spun down the worn, gray planks of the boardwalk. The air was heavy and stank of drying mussels and the crust of salt on the jetties. Waves tossed themselves against the shore, dragging grit and sand between their nails as they were slowly pulled back out to sea.
The moon was high and pale in the sky, but the sun was just going down.
It was so good to be able to
Kaye thought. She loved the serene brutality of the ocean, loved the electric power she felt with each breath of wet, briny air. She spun again, dizzily, not caring that her skirt was flying up over the tops of her black thigh-high stockings.
“Come on,” Janet called. She stepped over the overflowing, leaf-choked gutter along the street
parallel to the boardwalk, wobbling slightly on fat-heeled platform shoes. Her glitter makeup sparkled under the street lamps. Janet exhaled ghosts of blue smoke and took another drag on her cigarette. “You’re going to fall.”
Kaye and her mother had been staying at her grandmother’s a week already, and even though Ellen kept saying they’d be leaving soon, Kaye knew they really had nowhere to go. Kaye was glad. She loved the big old house caked with dust and mothballs. She liked the sea being so close and the air not stinging in her throat.
The cheap hotels they passed were long closed and boarded up, their pools drained and cracked. Even the arcades were shut down, prizes in the claw machines still visible through the cloudy glass windows. Rust marks above an abandoned storefront outlined the words
SALT WATER TAFFY
Janet dug through her tiny purse and pulled out a wand of strawberry lipgloss. Kaye spun up to her, fake leopard coat flying open, a run already in her stocking. Her boots had sand stuck to them.
“Let’s go swimming,” Kaye said. She was giddy with night air, burning like the white-hot moon. Everything smelled wet and feral like it did before a thunderstorm, and she wanted to run, swift and eager, beyond the edge of what she could see.
“The water’s freezing,” Janet said, sighing, “and your hair is fucked up. Kaye, when we get there, you have to be cool. Don’t seem so weird. Guys don’t like weird.”
Kaye paused and seemed to be listening intently, her upturned, kohl-rimmed eyes watching Janet as warily as a cat’s. “What should I be like?”
“It’s not that I want you to be a certain way—don’t you want a boyfriend?”
“Why bother with that? Let’s find incubi.”
“Demons. Plural. Like octopi. And we’re much more likely to find them”—her voice dropped conspiratorially—“while swimming naked in the Atlantic a week before Halloween than practically anywhere else I can think of.”
Janet rolled her eyes.
“You know what the sun looks like?” Kaye asked. There was only a little more than a slice of red where the sea met the sky.
“No, what?” Janet said, holding the lipgloss out to Kaye.
“Like he slit his wrists in a bathtub and the blood is all over the water.”
“That’s gross, Kaye.”
“And the moon is just watching. She’s just watching him die. She must have driven him to it.”
Kaye spun again, laughing.
“Why are you always making shit up? That’s what I mean by weird.” Janet was speaking loudly, but Kaye could barely hear her over the wind and the sound of her own laughter.
“C’mon, Kaye. Remember the faeries you used to tell stories about? What was his name?”
“Which one? Spike or Gristle?”
“Exactly. You made them up!” Janet said. “You always make things up.”
Kaye stopped spinning, cocking her head to one side, fingers sliding into her pockets. “I didn’t say I didn’t.”
The old merry-go-round building had been semi-abandoned for years. Angelic lead faces, surrounded by rays of hair, divided the broken panes. The entire front of it was windowed, revealing the dirt floor, glass glittering against the refuse. Inside, a crude plywood skateboarding ramp was the only remains of an attempt to use the building commercially in the last decade.
Kaye could hear voices echoing in the still air all the way out to the street. Janet dropped her cigarette into the gutter. It hissed and was quickly carried away, sitting on the water like a spider.
Kaye hoisted herself up onto the outside ledge and swung her legs over. The window had been long gone, but her leg scraped against the residue as she slid in, fraying her stockings further.
Layers of paint thickly covered the once-intricate moldings inside the carousel building. The ramp in the center of the room was tagged by local spray-paint artists and covered with band stickers and ballpoint pen scrawlings. And there were the boys.